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A gorgeous and gripping portrait of Fenne's last two years, Big Picture was pieced together in an effort to self-soothe. Tracked live in co-producer Brad Cook's North Carolina studio, the album delineates the phases of love and becomes a map of comfort vs claustrophobia. Though its creation took place amid personal and global turmoil, the ruminative yet candid Big Picture is Fenne's most cohesive, resolute work to date, both lyrically and sonically. "This isn't a sad album _ it's about as uplifting as my way of doing things will allow," she says. "These songs explore worry and doubt and letting go, but those themes are framed brightly." With confidence and quiet strength, each track provides an insight into Fenne's ever-changing view of love and, ultimately, its redefinition _ love as a process, not something to be lost and found. While the album was written alone in Fenne's Bristol flat - a fact intentionally reflected in its compact sonic quality - Big Picture was transformed from a solitary venture into a unifying collaboration during the recording process when she was joined by her touring band, Melina Dutere of Jay Som (mixing), Christian Lee Hutson (guitar and co production), and Katy Kirby (vocals). Notably, these 10 songs are Fenne's first and only to have been written over the course of a relationship; 2018's On Hold and 2020's BREACH both confront the pain of retrospection, saying goodbye to a love that's gone. Big Picture does the exact opposite _ rooted firmly in the present, it traces the narrative of two people trying their hardest not to implode, together. "This album is an observation of the way I think about love, the selfexamination that comes with closeness and the responsibilities involved in being a big part of someone else's small(er) world," summarizes Fenne. "It was written in a place of relative emotional stability - stability that felt unstable because of its newness, but also because of the global context. 2020 was the year of letting go, but we'd all already let go of so much and nothing felt like mine anymore. Writing always did, though, so that's what I chose to do."

ULTRAMARINE VINYL

A gorgeous and gripping portrait of Fenne's last two years, Big Picture was pieced together in an effort to self-soothe. Tracked live in co-producer Brad Cook's North Carolina studio, the album delineates the phases of love and becomes a map of comfort vs claustrophobia. Though its creation took place amid personal and global turmoil, the ruminative yet candid Big Picture is Fenne's most cohesive, resolute work to date, both lyrically and sonically. "This isn't a sad album _ it's about as uplifting as my way of doing things will allow," she says. "These songs explore worry and doubt and letting go, but those themes are framed brightly." With confidence and quiet strength, each track provides an insight into Fenne's ever-changing view of love and, ultimately, its redefinition _ love as a process, not something to be lost and found. While the album was written alone in Fenne's Bristol flat - a fact intentionally reflected in its compact sonic quality - Big Picture was transformed from a solitary venture into a unifying collaboration during the recording process when she was joined by her touring band, Melina Dutere of Jay Som (mixing), Christian Lee Hutson (guitar and co production), and Katy Kirby (vocals). Notably, these 10 songs are Fenne's first and only to have been written over the course of a relationship; 2018's On Hold and 2020's BREACH both confront the pain of retrospection, saying goodbye to a love that's gone. Big Picture does the exact opposite _ rooted firmly in the present, it traces the narrative of two people trying their hardest not to implode, together. "This album is an observation of the way I think about love, the selfexamination that comes with closeness and the responsibilities involved in being a big part of someone else's small(er) world," summarizes Fenne. "It was written in a place of relative emotional stability - stability that felt unstable because of its newness, but also because of the global context. 2020 was the year of letting go, but we'd all already let go of so much and nothing felt like mine anymore. Writing always did, though, so that's what I chose to do."

Tape

A gorgeous and gripping portrait of Fenne's last two years, Big Picture was pieced together in an effort to self-soothe. Tracked live in co-producer Brad Cook's North Carolina studio, the album delineates the phases of love and becomes a map of comfort vs claustrophobia. Though its creation took place amid personal and global turmoil, the ruminative yet candid Big Picture is Fenne's most cohesive, resolute work to date, both lyrically and sonically. "This isn't a sad album _ it's about as uplifting as my way of doing things will allow," she says. "These songs explore worry and doubt and letting go, but those themes are framed brightly." With confidence and quiet strength, each track provides an insight into Fenne's ever-changing view of love and, ultimately, its redefinition _ love as a process, not something to be lost and found. While the album was written alone in Fenne's Bristol flat - a fact intentionally reflected in its compact sonic quality - Big Picture was transformed from a solitary venture into a unifying collaboration during the recording process when she was joined by her touring band, Melina Dutere of Jay Som (mixing), Christian Lee Hutson (guitar and co production), and Katy Kirby (vocals). Notably, these 10 songs are Fenne's first and only to have been written over the course of a relationship; 2018's On Hold and 2020's BREACH both confront the pain of retrospection, saying goodbye to a love that's gone. Big Picture does the exact opposite _ rooted firmly in the present, it traces the narrative of two people trying their hardest not to implode, together. "This album is an observation of the way I think about love, the selfexamination that comes with closeness and the responsibilities involved in being a big part of someone else's small(er) world," summarizes Fenne. "It was written in a place of relative emotional stability - stability that felt unstable because of its newness, but also because of the global context. 2020 was the year of letting go, but we'd all already let go of so much and nothing felt like mine anymore. Writing always did, though, so that's what I chose to do."

PURPLE VINYL


A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

Eric D. Johnson rarely lingers at one location too long. As a kid growing up in the Midwest, Johnson's family moved around a lot, but it wasn't until he became a touring musician years later that motion became a central part of his identity. That transient lifestyle stoked an enduring reverence for the world he watched pass by through a van window. A sense of place is a unifying theme he's revisited with Fruit Bats throughout its many lives. From the project's origins in the late '90s as a vehicle for Johnson's lo-fi tinkering to the more sonically ambitious work of recent years, Fruit Bats has often showcased love songs where people and locations meld into one. It's a loose song structure that navigates what he calls "the geography of the heart." "The songs exist in a world that you can sort of travel from one to another," says Johnson. "There are roads and rivers between these songs." Those pathways extend straight through the newest Fruit Bats album, aptly titled A River Running to Your Heart . Self-produced by Johnson_a first for Fruit Bats_with Jeremy Harris at Panoramic House just north of San Francisco, it's Fruit Bats' tenth full-length release and one that finds the project in the middle of a creative resurgence. After two decades of making music, hard-earned emotional maturity has seeped into Johnson's songs, resulting in a more complex sound that's connected with audiences like no other previous version of Fruit Bats. A River Running to Your Heart represents the fullest realization of that creative vision to date. It's a sonically diverse effort that largely explores the importance of what it means to be home, both physically and spiritually. And while that might seem like a peculiar focus for an artist who's constantly in motion, for Fruit Bats, home can take many forms_from the obvious to the obscure. Lead single "Rushin' River Valley" is a self-propelled love song written about Johnson's wife that clings to the borrowed imagery of the place where she grew up in northern California. Then, there's the gentle and unfussy acoustic ballad "We Used to Live Here," which looks back to a time of youthful promise and cheap rent. But the wistful "It All Comes Back" is perhaps the most stunning and surprising track on the album, Johnson's production skills on full display. Built upon intricate layers of synths, keyboards, and guitars, it's a pitch-perfect blend of tone and lyricism that taps into our shared apprehensions and hopes for a post-pandemic life. "We lost some time / But we can make it back / Let's take it easy on ourselves, okay?" sings a world-weary but ultimately reassuring Johnson in the song's opening lines. It's the kind of performance that makes you hope Fruit Bats stays in this one place, at least for a little while longer.

BLUE & BONE VINYL

Eric D. Johnson rarely lingers at one location too long. As a kid growing up in the Midwest, Johnson's family moved around a lot, but it wasn't until he became a touring musician years later that motion became a central part of his identity. That transient lifestyle stoked an enduring reverence for the world he watched pass by through a van window. A sense of place is a unifying theme he's revisited with Fruit Bats throughout its many lives. From the project's origins in the late '90s as a vehicle for Johnson's lo-fi tinkering to the more sonically ambitious work of recent years, Fruit Bats has often showcased love songs where people and locations meld into one. It's a loose song structure that navigates what he calls "the geography of the heart." "The songs exist in a world that you can sort of travel from one to another," says Johnson. "There are roads and rivers between these songs." Those pathways extend straight through the newest Fruit Bats album, aptly titled A River Running to Your Heart . Self-produced by Johnson_a first for Fruit Bats_with Jeremy Harris at Panoramic House just north of San Francisco, it's Fruit Bats' tenth full-length release and one that finds the project in the middle of a creative resurgence. After two decades of making music, hard-earned emotional maturity has seeped into Johnson's songs, resulting in a more complex sound that's connected with audiences like no other previous version of Fruit Bats. A River Running to Your Heart represents the fullest realization of that creative vision to date. It's a sonically diverse effort that largely explores the importance of what it means to be home, both physically and spiritually. And while that might seem like a peculiar focus for an artist who's constantly in motion, for Fruit Bats, home can take many forms_from the obvious to the obscure. Lead single "Rushin' River Valley" is a self-propelled love song written about Johnson's wife that clings to the borrowed imagery of the place where she grew up in northern California. Then, there's the gentle and unfussy acoustic ballad "We Used to Live Here," which looks back to a time of youthful promise and cheap rent. But the wistful "It All Comes Back" is perhaps the most stunning and surprising track on the album, Johnson's production skills on full display. Built upon intricate layers of synths, keyboards, and guitars, it's a pitch-perfect blend of tone and lyricism that taps into our shared apprehensions and hopes for a post-pandemic life. "We lost some time / But we can make it back / Let's take it easy on ourselves, okay?" sings a world-weary but ultimately reassuring Johnson in the song's opening lines. It's the kind of performance that makes you hope Fruit Bats stays in this one place, at least for a little while longer.

For the 7th installment of their split-series, Dalmata Daniel welcomes both Roberto Auser for his sophomore contribution to the label, as well as a fresh addition to the catalogue: Cestrian, aka. Ali Renault, the tireless Margate-based DJ and producer, well known for his frantic, dazzling and rough releases at labels like Bunker, Cyber Dance Records or Mechatronica.

Massive, thumping kickdrums and hypnotic whispers introduce the first tunes of side A, that is 'Awakening' - Auser's take on slow, EBM-esque industrial vibrations as an eerie, industrial waltz. 'Selvage' drives effortlessly to disco- and retrofuturistic territories, arriving at the closing track of Auser's side, 'Long Night' This third cut is his longest one, steadily building up harmonic layers of dark, intertwining melodies with the devoted beats of a minimalistic drum machine, full of echoes and shimmering high-ends.

Side B starts with the energetic, rolling bassline of 'Satan'. Ideal title for such a fiery, blazing electro hit: if you ever find yourself in any sort of Inferno-situation trying to Shazam that heated banger you hear, it is likely that it's one of Cestrian's intense tracks from this 12". 'Zoltan' delivers a gentle rumbling of a dusty bass-synth. An atmospheric, chill sequence dominates the split's penultimate track, with dreamy chords and smooth twists on a chaotic noise-source. Finishing off the split, Cestrian hits us with 'Lids' - an excited and raw vision of electro, full of hazy sparks and detuned, tense oscillations. The bass cuts into our minds like blades from a giallo-opus, leaving behind nothing but the unsolved mystery of ineffable horrors.

Rupert Marnie’s debut album “Evocative Rhythm” is a singular object to begin with. Split over two parts, each one working as an individual piece and under seemingly endless configurations when played together on a pair of record players, “Evocative Rhythm” is an elusive piece of musical abstraction you will play a crucial role in shaping, fashioning it as you dabble with it - certainly curious and cautious at first, then manipulating its raw clay more firmly as you envision it with a clearer idea of where to go with it. Or is that just a mirage?
Fruit of geographical meanderings through Hamburg’s tentacular architecture, Rupert Marnie’s maiden full-length effort reflects that of the city’s tonal, rhythmic and harmonic structures in a uniquely vibrant way: dancy and not, ethereal and full-bodied, oneiric and anchored. From field recordings garnered here and there across town, then either truncated, morphed, stretched out beyond recognition via a wide palette of technical means (granular synthesis, time-stretching, use of resonators, delay, reverb, pitch-shifting…), Marnie weaves a narrative that bridges the gap continually betwixt non-formulaic beatless meditation and proper club-focused functionality, plus the countless possible creations that will emerge when combining both sides of the disc to form your own story out the battery of elements at reach.
Evocative Rhythm” is much more than the sum of its parts. A mirage of ambient, techno, electro, whatever style and labels that could be stuck all over it, yet never managing to say a true word of it.

Pink Blue Marbled Vinyl

Angelo is an EP, named after a car, featuring nine songs Brijean have crafted and carried with them through a period of profound change, loss, and relocation. It finds percussionist and singer Brijean Murphy and multi-instrumentalist/producer Doug Stuart processing the impossible the only way they know how: through rhythm and movement. The months surrounding the acclaimed release of Feelings, their full-length Ghostly International debut in 2021 which celebrated tender self-reflection and new possibilities, rang bittersweet with the absence of touring and the sudden passing of Murphy's father and both of Stuart's parents. In a haze of heartache, the duo left the Bay Area to be near family, resetting in four cities in under two years. Their to-go rig became their traveling studio and these tracks, along with Angelo, became their few constants. Whereas Feelings formed over collaborative jams with friends, Angelo's sessions presented Murphy and Stuart a chance to record at their most intimate, "to get us out of our grief and into our bodies," says Murphy. They explored new moods and styles, reaching for effervescent dance tempos and technicolor backdrops, vibrant hues in contrast to their more somber human experiences. Angelo beams with positivity and creative renewal _ a resourceful, collective answer to "what happens now?". Angelo the car is a 1981 Toyota Celica they got off Craigslist during their first stint in Los Angeles, where Murphy and Stuart have since settled. "Such a bro-y, `80s dude car, it's been super fun to drive around in a new town," Murphy says. "He's older than us, he's a classic, he's got a story." It is a spiritual vehicle with a cinematic appeal, first dropping them off in an alleyway for the scene-setting intro, "Which Way To The Club." The question is quickly resolved by "Take A Trip" as a cruising bassline mingles with crowd sounds, hand-claps, cuíca hiccups, whip-cracks, even a horse neigh. Brijean have found some club on this cross-dimensional trip - the kind of imagined space or chamber within one's self capable of "shifting a fraction of who you are," says Murphy. They wrote the track with the simple intention to be "as free as we could be," adds Stuart, likening the flip on the B section to a realm unlocked: "What if the world changed completely? You open the door to a new room." Next is "Shy Guy," a motivational anthem for the wallflowers among us. Murphy sets up the daydream: "We are in junior high, we're on the dance floor, what's going down, who is dancing, who is not, how are we gonna make them dance?" The narrator, the MC, hypes up the room as conga-driven rhythms bounce between languid synth and guitar lines. "Show me how to move...I feel something...I know you feel it too," Murphy sings sweetly, calling back to the opening lines of Feelings, and this time the audience chants it back. It is easy to picture Brijean performing this one - something they only got to do a handful of times until more recently, opening shows for Khruangbin and Washed Out, an experience they found informative. Murphy explains, "It was inspiring to be out there and let loose more. To see how people can expand their expression on stage gave me more liberty with how I viewed my musicianship. My role for so long was to be a backup percussionist, so why would I ever leave the drums, you know? But then after playing all these runs, you see these artists and realize you can, you have permission." "Angelo" and "Ooo La La" deliver the danciest stretch in Brijean's catalog to date. The title track adopts a deep house pulse replete with strings, hi-hats, and kicks. The latter opts for a funkier groove that foregoes verses in favor of warbled hums and extended breakdowns. What follows is perhaps the duo's dreamiest run, a comedown initiated with the honey-hued interlude "Colors" drifting into "Where Do We Go?", a tropicália reverie where Murphy contemplates the passage of time and space. It all culminates in "Caldwell's Way," a fond farewell to their Bay Area community - "a part of my life that I knew couldn't come back," says Murphy. Above shimmering organ sounds, lush strings, and the birdcall of their former neighborhood, she wistfully articulates the uncertainty of moving on by remembering the characters dear to them. There's the wisdom of their neighbor, Santos, who refused payment when helping them move out: "I'd rather have 100 friends than 100 dollars." And the song's namesake, Benjamin Caldwell Brown, a friend and club night cohort for many years. "I'm only miles away, maybe I'm just feeling lonely," the line resigns to warm nostalgia, and "Nostalgia" runs the closing credits to this healing and transportive collection.

Violeta Vicci rides a motorbike, is fluent in seven languages, and feels at home in England, Switzerland and Spain. A multifaceted, contemporary violinist, vocalist and composer, she feels comfortable genre-crossing from classical to ambient, multilayered electronics, her influences ranging from Bach to Brian Eno. Her music has been played on BBC Radio 3 (Hannah Peel), Radio 4 Woman's Hour, BBC6 (Iggy Pop), KEXP and Resonance FM.

Since starting the violin at the age of four and giving her concert debut at the age of fifteen, she fulfilled her long life dream to study at the Royal Academy of Music. Violeta has recently supported the Orb on their 30th anniversary UK tour and collaborated with the likes of Thom Yorke, Elbow, Jonsi (Sigur Ros), Steeleye Span and Ellie Goulding. She also arranges the strings for Fontaines DC and writes and performs with psychedelic rock band TTRRUUCES. "We didn't have a TV when growing up, so spending time in nature, building castles in the sand, reading, playing music and listening to fairy tales, played a big role in creating my inner magical universe."

During lockdown, Vicci started "Live Music in Nature" a series of live-streamed concerts performed in beautiful natural locations around the UK, combining strings, voice and effect pedals to create a soundtrack to nature.

She has been nominated for a Royal Philharmonic Society Award 2021 and has released two studio albums to date.

The ten-track LP marks the latest collaboration of "Swiss born Gotham bred" (SPIN) indie rocker Sam Koechlin with his longtime producer / "Second Beatle" Daniel Schlett (Iggy Pop; The War on Drugs) and mastering engineer Greg Calbi and features Chris Egan (Solange; Blood Orange) on drums and Josh "JD" Werner (Ghostface Killah; CocoRosie) on bass.

Singles Golden Days (Sept 16) and Never Let Me Go (July 22), the album's title track, offer a taste of what to expect from the "King Of Tears’" (Radiotélévision Suisse) sophomore effort: a soundtrack for the first day after what looked like the last, fueled by the madness of a rapidly accelerating career trajectory, the thrill of touring with his band again, and the promise of a reopening world whose studios, stages and dance floors we get to share again at long last. In 2021, Sam released his debut album Power Ballads, a largely home-recorded yet “well-crafted set of atmospheric post-punk” (KEXP) to international acclaim.

All the best music has a community underneath it. The extended family around London’s Total Refreshment Centre (TRC) connects continents and generations, creating the rich relationships in full effect on Transmissions From Total Refreshment Centre. It’s an eclectic and electric collection that draws from new school jazz, hip hop, dub, soul, funk, and drill: sounds you’ll hear trailing out of cars as they spin up the Kingsland Road or spiraling out of doorways like so much smoke. Turn it up loud to hear the widescreen young cousins of Guru’s landmark Jazzmatazz in full effect: top players from London, Chicago, and Melbourne seeking out new collaborations, new ways of working, or just new tunes, always coming back to that central truth – that we all need each other.

Hawthorne is the powerful new album and short film from Queens-by-way-of-Detroit emcee Motown Priest, a gifted lyricist with a penchant for writing gripping narratives. More than just a gifted storyteller, he also has a phenomenal ear for production that helps to take this project to another level. It’s a cohesive, poignant, and incredible piece of art that serves as a searing look at the world we all live in today. “This album and film weren’t about cheap moralism or heady preaching, it's a very simple idea of confronting who we are, and who we are affects the world around us,” Motown Priest explains. “This is where Hawthorne, in both music and film, connects.” He’s true to his word, too, because the album’s 12 tracks bang just as hard as they make you think. They’re the type of songs you can sit with and unpack, or you can blast them at full volume to make your system rattle - or both. Tracks like “For Sale” and “The Calogero Effect” boast soulful, nostalgic production that fits their more meditative narratives of succumbing to vices and childhood innocence. On the other hand, “Pandora’s Box” straight-up slaps thanks to its distorted guitars and live drums, while “New Religion” is an aggressive, teeth-gritting banger. It’s all part of Motown Priest’s plan to fully engage with his audience while delivering one of the year’s best releases, regardless of genre and medium. In addition to the album, Hawthorne exists as a short film that further explores many of the same themes (ceaseless desire, identity, and capitalism) through the visual format.Within its 35-minute runtime, the film follows the same protagonist as the album, a young man who seeks change and fulfillment but doesn’t consider the pain and damage he causes along the way. It makes for a damning look at so many cultural ills, and it couldn’t have arrived at a more fitting time.

Tape

A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

On Labyrinth, Heather Woods Broderick serves as our reflective host, subverting expectations of conventional songcraft with impressionistic language and quietly relentless explorations of the human experience that's at once light and dark, more circular and less linear. "Many of us yearn for stillness and peace, as an escape from the movement all around us," she explains when asked about the themes of the album. "Yet movement is perpetual, happening all the time on some level. It's as wild as the wind, yet eternally predictable in its inevitability. It is linear in part, but infinite in its circuitry. Our lives just punctuate it." Broderick began crafting Labyrinth in March 2020, when most forms of move- ment were brought to a screeching halt. The Maine-born, Los Angeles-based songwriter _ who, in addition to her work as a solo musician, built a life playing and touring with acts such as Sharon Van Etten, Beth Orton, Damien Jurado, and Efterklang _ was suddenly forced off the road for the first time in her career. She used this disruption as an opportunity to pare down her creation process and construct the scaffolding for Labyrinth in her apartment. Employing only the most crucial tools at her disposal, Broderick found herself opening different artistic doors as she focused on sharpening her recording skills, capturing the majority of the album on her own before finishing the remainder with co-producer D. James Goodwin. For all of Broderick's sage lyricism and vocal authority, Labyrinth never provides the listener with any easy answers. If the image of the labyrinth represents the enormity of modern life and the difficulty of navigating it, Heather Woods Broder- ick provides a guide to its endless kinetic wonders _ of being present, aware, and connected despite its disconnects. She describes the texture of its walls, its indifferent rhythms, and the inherent poeticism of feeling lost amid the dead-ends and unexpected turns. At this point in our history, perhaps that's all we need to keep moving.

Grey Vinyl

On Labyrinth, Heather Woods Broderick serves as our reflective host, subverting expectations of conventional songcraft with impressionistic language and quietly relentless explorations of the human experience that's at once light and dark, more circular and less linear. "Many of us yearn for stillness and peace, as an escape from the movement all around us," she explains when asked about the themes of the album. "Yet movement is perpetual, happening all the time on some level. It's as wild as the wind, yet eternally predictable in its inevitability. It is linear in part, but infinite in its circuitry. Our lives just punctuate it." Broderick began crafting Labyrinth in March 2020, when most forms of move- ment were brought to a screeching halt. The Maine-born, Los Angeles-based songwriter _ who, in addition to her work as a solo musician, built a life playing and touring with acts such as Sharon Van Etten, Beth Orton, Damien Jurado, and Efterklang _ was suddenly forced off the road for the first time in her career. She used this disruption as an opportunity to pare down her creation process and construct the scaffolding for Labyrinth in her apartment. Employing only the most crucial tools at her disposal, Broderick found herself opening different artistic doors as she focused on sharpening her recording skills, capturing the majority of the album on her own before finishing the remainder with co-producer D. James Goodwin. For all of Broderick's sage lyricism and vocal authority, Labyrinth never provides the listener with any easy answers. If the image of the labyrinth represents the enormity of modern life and the difficulty of navigating it, Heather Woods Broder- ick provides a guide to its endless kinetic wonders _ of being present, aware, and connected despite its disconnects. She describes the texture of its walls, its indifferent rhythms, and the inherent poeticism of feeling lost amid the dead-ends and unexpected turns. At this point in our history, perhaps that's all we need to keep moving.

Everything eventually turns to dust. Everyone knows this, but few want to acknowledge that our time on this mortal coil is fleeting, preferring to remain in stasis, in hopes that "the end" will pass them by. Chicago trio FACS (guitarist Brian Case, bassist Alianna Kalaba & drummer Noah Leger) have been perfecting their brand of intense, cathartic post-punk over the course of four ever-evolving albums, beginning with 2017's "Negative Houses" thru 2021's landmark "Present Tense', which saw the trio dig deep into the gaping maw of a black hole & pulling back whatever debris they could grasp onto. Their newest "Still Life In Decay" comes as an addendum to the last album - a "post-event review" if you will. "Still Life In Decay" starts with a squall of white noise before collapsing into the band already locked into "Constellation"s lumbering groove, with Case's guitar a ghostly presence, appearing & disappearing in washes of gauzy feedback throughout the track. FACS have never been more locked in as a unit, and "Still Life In Decay" is a decidedly more focused effort. The apocalyptic chaos that defined their previous album "Present Tense" is waved away in favor of an examination of events with cumbrous clarity. FACS are a heavy band, but they don't necessarily FEEL like one (see side two's "Still Life", where Case's fluttering, melodic guitar lines are buoyed by the insistent, underlying pulse of the bass & drums). As a rhythm section, Kalaba & Leger dance & twist around each other like a double helix, forming the DNA of what makes FACS special. Collectively they approach rhythm from outside the groove as opposed to inside it, creating a lattice where Case weaves guitar lines like creeping vines, which makes the moments on "Still Life In Decay" where the band DOES lock in even more powerful. When the guitar punctures the lock-step swing of "When You Say", it hits like a hammer. Case utilizes his lyrics like a person suffering from anterograde amnesia; repeating phrases & holding onto old memories in a desperate attempt to avoid the slide into oblivion. Freeform poetic missives touching on themes of resignation, cynicism, class warfare, and a search for identity & meaning in a crumbling society; A primal desire to hold onto anything in a post-pandemic barrage of sensory overload. The album is a decidedly local affair; recorded once again at Chicago's famed Electrical Audio by renowned engineer Sanford Parker & mixed at his Hypercube Studio in Chicago's Ravenswood neighborhood & mastered by Matthew Barnhart at Chicago Mastering Service.

Everything eventually turns to dust. Everyone knows this, but few want to acknowledge that our time on this mortal coil is fleeting, preferring to remain in stasis, in hopes that "the end" will pass them by. Chicago trio FACS (guitarist Brian Case, bassist Alianna Kalaba & drummer Noah Leger) have been perfecting their brand of intense, cathartic post-punk over the course of four ever-evolving albums, beginning with 2017's "Negative Houses" thru 2021's landmark "Present Tense', which saw the trio dig deep into the gaping maw of a black hole & pulling back whatever debris they could grasp onto. Their newest "Still Life In Decay" comes as an addendum to the last album - a "post-event review" if you will. "Still Life In Decay" starts with a squall of white noise before collapsing into the band already locked into "Constellation"s lumbering groove, with Case's guitar a ghostly presence, appearing & disappearing in washes of gauzy feedback throughout the track. FACS have never been more locked in as a unit, and "Still Life In Decay" is a decidedly more focused effort. The apocalyptic chaos that defined their previous album "Present Tense" is waved away in favor of an examination of events with cumbrous clarity. FACS are a heavy band, but they don't necessarily FEEL like one (see side two's "Still Life", where Case's fluttering, melodic guitar lines are buoyed by the insistent, underlying pulse of the bass & drums). As a rhythm section, Kalaba & Leger dance & twist around each other like a double helix, forming the DNA of what makes FACS special. Collectively they approach rhythm from outside the groove as opposed to inside it, creating a lattice where Case weaves guitar lines like creeping vines, which makes the moments on "Still Life In Decay" where the band DOES lock in even more powerful. When the guitar punctures the lock-step swing of "When You Say", it hits like a hammer. Case utilizes his lyrics like a person suffering from anterograde amnesia; repeating phrases & holding onto old memories in a desperate attempt to avoid the slide into oblivion. Freeform poetic missives touching on themes of resignation, cynicism, class warfare, and a search for identity & meaning in a crumbling society; A primal desire to hold onto anything in a post-pandemic barrage of sensory overload. The album is a decidedly local affair; recorded once again at Chicago's famed Electrical Audio by renowned engineer Sanford Parker & mixed at his Hypercube Studio in Chicago's Ravenswood neighborhood & mastered by Matthew Barnhart at Chicago Mastering Service.

Everything eventually turns to dust. Everyone knows this, but few want to acknowledge that our time on this mortal coil is fleeting, preferring to remain in stasis, in hopes that "the end" will pass them by. Chicago trio FACS (guitarist Brian Case, bassist Alianna Kalaba & drummer Noah Leger) have been perfecting their brand of intense, cathartic post-punk over the course of four ever-evolving albums, beginning with 2017's "Negative Houses" thru 2021's landmark "Present Tense', which saw the trio dig deep into the gaping maw of a black hole & pulling back whatever debris they could grasp onto. Their newest "Still Life In Decay" comes as an addendum to the last album - a "post-event review" if you will. "Still Life In Decay" starts with a squall of white noise before collapsing into the band already locked into "Constellation"s lumbering groove, with Case's guitar a ghostly presence, appearing & disappearing in washes of gauzy feedback throughout the track. FACS have never been more locked in as a unit, and "Still Life In Decay" is a decidedly more focused effort. The apocalyptic chaos that defined their previous album "Present Tense" is waved away in favor of an examination of events with cumbrous clarity. FACS are a heavy band, but they don't necessarily FEEL like one (see side two's "Still Life", where Case's fluttering, melodic guitar lines are buoyed by the insistent, underlying pulse of the bass & drums). As a rhythm section, Kalaba & Leger dance & twist around each other like a double helix, forming the DNA of what makes FACS special. Collectively they approach rhythm from outside the groove as opposed to inside it, creating a lattice where Case weaves guitar lines like creeping vines, which makes the moments on "Still Life In Decay" where the band DOES lock in even more powerful. When the guitar punctures the lock-step swing of "When You Say", it hits like a hammer. Case utilizes his lyrics like a person suffering from anterograde amnesia; repeating phrases & holding onto old memories in a desperate attempt to avoid the slide into oblivion. Freeform poetic missives touching on themes of resignation, cynicism, class warfare, and a search for identity & meaning in a crumbling society; A primal desire to hold onto anything in a post-pandemic barrage of sensory overload. The album is a decidedly local affair; recorded once again at Chicago's famed Electrical Audio by renowned engineer Sanford Parker & mixed at his Hypercube Studio in Chicago's Ravenswood neighborhood & mastered by Matthew Barnhart at Chicago Mastering Service.

Belgian junk jazz trio schroothoop (which translates as 'junk yard') bring together multi-instrumentalists Rik Staelens (wind & string instruments), Timo Vantyghem (bass & thumb piano) and Margo Maex (percussion). Their new album called 'MACADAM' will be out April 7 via Sdban Records, home of many strongholds in the lively contemporary Belgian jazz and groove scene.

In 2020, schroothoop first emerged with their much-acclaimed and infectious debut album Klein Gevaarlijk Afval (Small Hazardous Waste). "Music on homemade instruments with a surprisingly good result" (De Standaard). "Schroothoop show that material limitation can be liberating and that sometimes the source of new sounds is just old junk."(Written in music). "We assure you that this "scrap heap" is worth gold!" (Le Grigri).

On their second album, to be released on April 7, schroothoop explore the vast sounds of discarded objects found on the macadam streets of Brussels. Wooden crates turn into guitars and lyres. Scrap metal becomes a thumb piano, a cimbalom, or percussion bells. Their compelling collection of semi-improvised songs is born out of several fruitful residencies and live performances during which Margo Maex, Rik Staelens and Timo Vantyghem dive deeper into the possibilities and unique timbres of their DIY instruments.

The junk jazz trio find inspiration in traditional Afro-Cuban and North-African rhythms, New Orleans second line grooves, and Arabic Hijaz scales. On Macadam, the band also explore the realms of electronic music, not shunning hints of drum and bass, dub riddims and ambient soundscapes, using pitch shifting delays or gauzy reverbs. The album delivers a mesmerizing trip through the most diverse capital of Europe, mixed and post-produced by none other than sound wizard Dijf Sanders.

The trio originally met in the Brussels street orchestra scene. One night they found themselves jamming on trash cans, buckets and other illegally dumped materials. Soon after, they started building their own DIY instruments from street trash. Imagine flutes made out of pvc pipes, a scrap metal drum kit, thumb pianos made out of old kitchen knives, a tin can violin, worn-out cutting discs as gongs, and a washtub bass. Delivering their own brand of "junk jazz", Schroothoop literally gives junk a second life by immortalizing a whole range of lost and found objects through music. The Brussels-based group effortlessly incorporates jazz, Northern African music, and Afro-Cuban rhythms, resulting in a danceable and hypnotic trip through the city's melting pot.

Belgian junk jazz trio schroothoop (which translates as 'junk yard') bring together multi-instrumentalists Rik Staelens (wind & string instruments), Timo Vantyghem (bass & thumb piano) and Margo Maex (percussion). Their new album called 'MACADAM' will be out April 7 via Sdban Records, home of many strongholds in the lively contemporary Belgian jazz and groove scene.

In 2020, schroothoop first emerged with their much-acclaimed and infectious debut album Klein Gevaarlijk Afval (Small Hazardous Waste). "Music on homemade instruments with a surprisingly good result" (De Standaard). "Schroothoop show that material limitation can be liberating and that sometimes the source of new sounds is just old junk."(Written in music). "We assure you that this "scrap heap" is worth gold!" (Le Grigri).

On their second album, to be released on April 7, schroothoop explore the vast sounds of discarded objects found on the macadam streets of Brussels. Wooden crates turn into guitars and lyres. Scrap metal becomes a thumb piano, a cimbalom, or percussion bells. Their compelling collection of semi-improvised songs is born out of several fruitful residencies and live performances during which Margo Maex, Rik Staelens and Timo Vantyghem dive deeper into the possibilities and unique timbres of their DIY instruments.

The junk jazz trio find inspiration in traditional Afro-Cuban and North-African rhythms, New Orleans second line grooves, and Arabic Hijaz scales. On Macadam, the band also explore the realms of electronic music, not shunning hints of drum and bass, dub riddims and ambient soundscapes, using pitch shifting delays or gauzy reverbs. The album delivers a mesmerizing trip through the most diverse capital of Europe, mixed and post-produced by none other than sound wizard Dijf Sanders.

The trio originally met in the Brussels street orchestra scene. One night they found themselves jamming on trash cans, buckets and other illegally dumped materials. Soon after, they started building their own DIY instruments from street trash. Imagine flutes made out of pvc pipes, a scrap metal drum kit, thumb pianos made out of old kitchen knives, a tin can violin, worn-out cutting discs as gongs, and a washtub bass. Delivering their own brand of "junk jazz", Schroothoop literally gives junk a second life by immortalizing a whole range of lost and found objects through music. The Brussels-based group effortlessly incorporates jazz, Northern African music, and Afro-Cuban rhythms, resulting in a danceable and hypnotic trip through the city's melting pot.

Voïvod’s commercial peak and one of their many artistic peaks, 1989’s
Nothingface marked a move away from the Quebec metal band’s thrash beginnings to a more progressive rock sound epitomized by their fantastic cover of Pink Floyd’s “Astronomy Domine.” But it remains quintessential Voïvod, complete with sci-fi themes and tricky tempo changes. Long out of print on vinyl, Nothingface returns with a metallic (natch!) red vinyl pressing remasteredfor vinyl by Peter Moore.

The New York-based heavy metal band Riot released their third studio album Fire Down Under in 1981, which instantly became their most popular effort and is considered by many to be an early ‘80’s classic. It was the last album to feature the vocalist Guy Speranza.
The album features Riot’s most recognizable and popular tune “Swords
& Tequila” as opening track. Other standouts include the fast-paced title
track “Fire Down Under”, “Outlaw,” and “Don’t Bring Me Down.”
Fire Down Under is available as a limited edition of 750 individually
numbered copies on translucent red coloured vinyl.

Former Granville Sessions frontmen and current Moose Funk Squad members have returned.
MNSR Frites, Archetype and Luca Brazi finally join forces for Mustard Tiger, their full-length debut
as a trio.
Having already written and performed nationally together for over a decade, this long overdue LP
showcases the effortless chemistry these respective artists have honed during their time as touring
band members and established solo acts.
Archetype is an audio craftsman, capable of both intricate rhyme schemes and a dynamic vocal
ability to boot. MNSR Frites has flows for days, with unpredictable and complex wordplay that
results in stunning verses. Luca Brazi always delivers hard hitting bars and punchline haymakers,
while providing the stylistic sample based production to formulate the beast that is Mustard Tiger.

Released in the UK in January 1967 by Decca Records and February by London Records in the US – Between The Buttons was the Stones’ fifth British and seventh US studio album. Released as the follow-up to Aftermath, this album marked a high point in the band’s career, continuing their ventures into psychedelia and baroque pop balladry, it is among the band’s most musically eclectic works. Brian Jones sidelined his guitar on much of the album, instead playing a wide variety of other instruments including organ, marimba, vibraphone, and kazoo. Piano contributions came from two session players: former Rolling Stones member Ian Stewart and frequent contributor and studio legend Jack Nitzsche. It was the last album produced by Andrew Loog Oldham, the band’s manager and producer of all of their albums to this point.

The album has one of the most striking sleeves of the period, featuring a classic Gered Mankowitz image on the cover. The photo shoot took place at 5:30 in the morning following an all-night recording session at Olympic Studios. Using a home-made camera filter constructed of black card, glass and Vaseline, Mankowitz created the effect of the Stones dissolving into their surroundings – according to Mankowitz… ""to capture the ethereal, druggy feel of the time; that feeling at the end of the night when dawn was breaking and they’d been up all night making music, stoned.”

The songs continued Aftermath’s lyrics of acute social observation and savage insight, their earlier raw, rootsy power enhanced by other influences of the period – notably The Beatles, The Kinks, and again Dylan. It is one of their strongest, most varied LPs, with many great songs that remain unknown to all but Stones devotees.
The inventive arrangements and innovative instrumentation on brooding near-classics like All Sold Out, My Obsession and Yesterday’s Papers brought a new dimension to the music. She Smiled Sweetly shows their hidden romantic side at its best, Connection is one of the record’s few pieces of more conventional driving rock and album closer Something Happened To Me Yesterday includes Keith’s first solo vocal.

The US version includes contemporaneous hits – the two songs that gave the group a double-sided number one in early 1967: the shameless and controversial Let’s Spend The Night Together and the beautiful, melancholy Ruby Tuesday.

Released in the UK in January 1967 by Decca Records and February by London Records in the US – Between The Buttons was the Stones’ fifth British and seventh US studio album. Released as the follow-up to Aftermath, this album marked a high point in the band’s career, continuing their ventures into psychedelia and baroque pop balladry, it is among the band’s most musically eclectic works. Brian Jones sidelined his guitar on much of the album, instead playing a wide variety of other instruments including organ, marimba, vibraphone, and kazoo. Piano contributions came from two session players: former Rolling Stones member Ian Stewart and frequent contributor and studio legend Jack Nitzsche. It was the last album produced by Andrew Loog Oldham, the band’s manager and producer of all of their albums to this point.

The album has one of the most striking sleeves of the period, featuring a classic Gered Mankowitz image on the cover. The photo shoot took place at 5:30 in the morning following an all-night recording session at Olympic Studios. Using a home-made camera filter constructed of black card, glass and Vaseline, Mankowitz created the effect of the Stones dissolving into their surroundings – according to Mankowitz… ""to capture the ethereal, druggy feel of the time; that feeling at the end of the night when dawn was breaking and they’d been up all night making music, stoned.”

The songs continued Aftermath’s lyrics of acute social observation and savage insight, their earlier raw, rootsy power enhanced by other influences of the period – notably The Beatles, The Kinks, and again Dylan. It is one of their strongest, most varied LPs, with many great songs that remain unknown to all but Stones devotees.
The inventive arrangements and innovative instrumentation on brooding near-classics like All Sold Out, My Obsession and Yesterday’s Papers brought a new dimension to the music. She Smiled Sweetly shows their hidden romantic side at its best, Connection is one of the record’s few pieces of more conventional driving rock and album closer Something Happened To Me Yesterday includes Keith’s first solo vocal.

The US version includes contemporaneous hits – the two songs that gave the group a double-sided number one in early 1967: the shameless and controversial Let’s Spend The Night Together and the beautiful, melancholy Ruby Tuesday.

Following in the footsteps of "Mind Palace" and "Lost Spirits", respectively issued in 2018 and 2021, Hidden Empire return to Stil vor Talent with their eagerly anticipated third studio full-length, "Momentum". Going the same route that came to define their sound throughout the years, Branko Novakovic and Niklas Schäfers cook a savvy mix of deep electroid flavours and prog techno magnitude which flourishes in the long-playing format. Orbiting the frontier between proper no-nonsense, floor-focussed effectiveness and a trademark exploratory take on electronics, Hidden Empire here delivers one of their most accomplished slices to date, which not only spans the largest span of their many-faceted influences, from tribal anchorage to hypermodern escapology, but breathes a truly epic wind into it.

Draped in luscious, silken envelopes and easternmost ambiences, "Dawn" gets the ball rolling on a mystique-imbued note, halfway meditation-friendly material and square-shouldered club busting wares. Moving into Afro-infused house grounds, "Modesty" finds Branko and Niklas heading for the deeper end of the spectrum, as they pull out a clinically precise blender of rattling percussions, opaque incantations, lush synth swashes and verbed-out machine talk, tailored for nightly boogie rituals in the forest. "Avalanche" opts for a more brooding, deadlier approach. Cutting its path away from prying eyes, this one finds Hidden Empire pulling the stealth weaponry to absolute hypnotic effect - perfect for serious in-between peak time business with its thick, thriller-like tension, mist-shrouded atmosphere and surgical focus. Featuring Felix Raphael on vocals, "Who We Are", is a pop-influenced chugger that perhaps best defines Hidden Empire's ambivalent style, both hi-NRG and innervated with a melancholy that infuses down to the bass and most functional elements. Geared up for big-room traction with its seesawing synths and clinical drumwork, Raphael's moving timbre does more than offer a sensible counterpoint to the track's overall sturdy backbone, it takes it to a whole other dimension completely.

"Repeat The Good" ft. Wolfson balances out a fast-ticking groove with those subtle melodic lines Hidden Empire champion to astounding vibrancy, offering a particularly satisfying glimpse into their vortical imaginarium, whereas "Last Call" has us journeying to straight out Moroder-esque territories, flush with the aptly configured palette of fuzzy space disco bass, fast-paced Italo churn and vocodized talk for good measure. All in breaks and chopped-up euphoria, "Vivid" runs the hoodoo down in muscular fashion and with impressive levels of energy throughout, all set at cranking up the heat one notch further, while "Rebel" provides us with the kind of rough-around-the-edges EBM horsepower and neon-clad synth engineering that'll get the basement in a state of alert. Encompassing all of the pair's idiosyncratic merger of styles - from pop-laced Italo to spaced-out techno wares, through jagged motorik and heavily mecched-out jacking house, "Alright" shows off Hidden Empire's wide arsenal of pyrotechnics under the most compelling of lights. A more openly jagged and quirky weapon that hatches into a full-fledged solar number around the half, "Momentum" roars up the club's highway at full throttle, proving a formidable asset when it comes to plunging dancers into a state of weird, left-of-centre euphoria.

A stroboscopic eclipse is predicted as "Dark Sun" enters the room, deploying its obscure wingspan over the ravers, not quite a bad omen as it lets more light in with every bar, its brittle piano lines and heart-wrenching vocals cutting a path into the crowd's pulsating hearts. Graceful as Hidden Empire's music can be, a moment of utter exhilarating beauty. "Savasana" wraps up the voyage with a pure slab of cyphered 4x4 seduction, as an ASMR-like voice guides us across the soul-questioning haze that blankets our pathway onto a luminous finale. A piece of elusive nature, clearly designed for the club and yet telling a tale of off-piste initiation through twelve fascinating movements, "Momentum" will undoubtedly etch on the listeners' mind as one of the German pair's most strikingly powerful emanations.

Download:
1. Hidden Empire - Dawn Interlude
2. Hidden Empire - Modesty
3. Hidden Empire - Avalanche
4. Hidden Empire & Felix Raphael - Who We Are
5. Hidden Empire & Wolfson - Repeat the Good
6. Hidden Empire - Last Call
7. Hidden Empire - Vivid
8. Hidden Empire - Rebel
9. Hidden Empire - Alright
10. Hidden Empire - Momentum
11. Hidden Empire - Dark Sun
12. Hidden Empire - Savasana
13. Hidden Empire & Felix Raphael - Who We Are (Instrumental)

Platform 23 again explores to the dense voids, this time with a touch of the funk, with a reissue of Dutch experimentalists De Fabriek and two tracks from their "Music For" cassette series, this time calling all Hippies.

Featuring both original and reinterpretations from modern-day heads, Dunkeltier and Khidja, this double-pack is something of an oddity, showcasing the bands' expansive range, moving away from the noise, drone and industrial soundscape releases they had become known for and crafting here, free flowing, groovy longform jams.

Active since the late 70s to today, De Fabriek (The Factory) have never considered themselves a real band - being also a label too - with an evolving and irregular line up centred around Richard van Dellen, they present their music and output as a kind of work-union.

With literally four decades and dozens of releases across all formats, 1988's cassette release, 'Music For Hippies', has become something of a cult curio, with the long improvisational tracks, Lullabye and Coming Down eschewing the rougher, industrial experience for something completely different.

In opener Lullabye, we go full leftfield P-Funk meets Motorik undertones. An incessant beat is laid from the start and doesn't cease for over 10 minutes, while spoken vocals call closer to the Krautrock realms of Can and hark to Liebezeit's stylised grooving best.

Analog, echo washed, with touches of glam and wrapped in simple effects pedal work, the secrets are passed to Dresden / Berlin inhabitant Dunkeltier aka Sneaker DJ aka Thomas Smorek. His darker moniker, appearing on obscure edits for Macadam Mambo and the much-missed Bahnsteig 23, his 'Hey Robot' mix adds bass, percussion, strings and synth to remold Lullabye into a late night, red light, basement denzien. This is followed by an additional, bonus reimagining, creating an all-new time piece, an ear worm of the best kind with Tik Tok Goes The Clock.

The second slab presents in Come Down, a more resembling De Fabriek werk. Edited to fit, the darkness is entered as snapshot vocal quips, oscillations and synthesised mutations are laid over a lazy, relentless ostinato rhythm where cymbals crash on the bar. Inviting, calling, De Fabriek's aptly titled downer is in fact, a joyous journey.

To complete, label affiliates, Khidja take a break from finalising their debut album to unfold their 'Psychebabble Mix', a dozen plus minutes of warped, twisted, cassette machinations that suck the listener further along the trip. Added bass propels their edit suddenly to a new direction, a hook for mind and for the open willed, the body. De Fabriek's "coming down lullabye" arriving on vinyl for the first time, with a twist and shake, calling deeper to acceptance.

Eco Coloured Edition

Elena Tonra ist zwar keine passionierte Schwimmerin, aber der Sound auf dem neuen Daughter Album "Stereo Mind Game" klingt wie ein Ozean, in den man eintauchen möchte. Das dritte Album der britischen Band, gleichzeitig das erste Studioalbum seit sieben Jahren, setzt sich damit auseinander, was es bedeutet, von geliebten Menschen und auch von sich selbst getrennt zu sein - ein komplexes Thema. Daughter, das Trio bestehend aus Elena Tonra, Igor Haefeli und Remi Aguilella - wurde 2010 gegründet. Nach der Veröffentlichung von zwei Studioalben, "If You Leave" (2013) und "Not to Disappear" (2016), und dem Videospiel-Soundtrack Music "From Before the Storm" (2017), beschlossen sie, eine Auszeit voneinander zu nehmen. Kurz zuvor jammten sie allerdings noch gemeinsam in Los Angeles, zwischen einer Support-Tour für The National und ihren ersten Headline-Shows in Südamerika. Hier begann die Arbeit am neuen Album. Danach herrschte erst einmal Stille - als Band und untereinander. In den nächsten Jahren, in denen die Mitglieder an ihren eigenen Projekten arbeiteten, darunter auch Tonras Soloplatte als Ex:Re, trafen sich Daughter gelegentlich zum gemeinsamen Schreiben in Studios in London, Portland und San Diego, wo Haefeli 2019 für sechs Monate lebte. Die zentrale romantische Figur der Platte ist jemand, den Tonra dort kennengelernt hat, als sie aus London zu Besuch kam. Sie teilten eine bedeutende Verbindung, aber sie wusste, dass der Atlantik zwischen ihnen liegt. Daughter begann 2021 konkret mit den Aufnahmen für die zwölf Songs des Albums. Haefeli, der in Bristol lebt, traf sich mit Tonra in den Middle Farm Studios in Devon. Aguilella, der in Portland, Oregon, lebt, nahm seine Schlagzeugparts im Bocce Studio in Vancouver, Washington, auf. Haefeli produzierte eine Reihe der Songs, während Tonra "Junkmail" produzierte. Den Rest haben sie gemeinsam produziert. Die Sehnsucht, physische Entfernungen zu überwinden, ein Gefühl, das sich während der Pandemie noch verstärkt hat, ist in viele dieser Stücke eingeflossen. Auf "Wish I Could Cross the Sea" hören wir Sprachnotizen von Tonras junger Nichte und ihrem Neffen, die in Italien leben. "(Missed Calls)" enthält eine weitere Sprachnotiz, in der ein Freund einen Traum beschreibt. Gefüttert mit einigen modularen Effekten, klingt er geisterhaft eindringlich. Diese Nachrichten, Versuche einer Verbindung von geliebten Menschen, die man nicht sehen kann, "können einen aus dem Brunnen ziehen", sagt Tonra - aber nur, wenn man den Hörer abnimmt. Wenn man andere hereinlässt, kann Schönheit entstehen. Tiefes Gefühl kommt von den Bögen des 12 Ensemble, dem in London ansässigen Streichorchester, das bei vielen Stücken des Albums zu hören ist. Die von Haefeli und Tonra arrangierten und von Josephine Stephenson orchestrierten Stücke wurden, passenderweise, im The Pool aufgenommen, einem Raum in Bermondsey im Süden Londons, der eine ehemalige Badeanstalt war. Ein Blechbläserquartett verleiht auch "Neptune" und "To Rage" eine wohlig klangliche Wärme. Während Daughters frühere Arbeiten ihre Kraft in ihrer entwaffneten und emotionalen Ehrlichkeit fanden, handelt "Stereo Mind Game" von gegensätzlichen Gefühlen. "Es geht darum, nicht in absoluten Kategorien zu arbeiten", sagt Haefeli. Nach mehr als einem Jahrzehnt, in dem sie die dunkelsten Emotionen darstellten, haben Daughter ihr bisher optimistischstes und ein fast schon strahlendes Album aufgenommen.

A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

Kerri’s Kaoz Theory label unlocks the vault to two key tracks from the early days of the label that have never pressed on vinyl before.

First up the man himself, Kerri Chandler with a deep, heads down stomper ‘Who’s Afraid Of The Dark’. Kerri at his hard hitting best, as vocal refrains wash over the chunkiest of synth stabs and basslines with crunched up percussion laying the basis for a track that is readymade for smoke filled clubs and pumping sound systems.

On the flip, Josh Butler ‘Sunday Club’ goes deep down the rabbit hole effortlessly moving from ethereal elegance to twisted machine energy, showcasing that light and dark can sit together seamlessly to produce something seriously special.

A four track full colour special edition vinyl from Mella Dee.

The lead ‘Riptide’, features original vocals from synth-pop trailblazer and founder of New Order/Joy Division Bernard Sumner. A slice of euphoria streaked with melancholy,

'Big Eff Off Groove' was the first track of the EP to be released as a single, following on it's massive Summer of 2022 where it garnered support across some of the biggest festival stages and clubs internationally. Mella Dee speaking on the record describes it as “Exactly what it says, heavy hitting no frills groove, complete with full on dubbed out effects. Enjoy.”!

Followed up with two cuts of rolling house music on track 'Find Love Yourself', the 'Deeper Love Mix' explores Mella Dee’s affinity for the murkier corners of dance music, whilst the original mix is a deep-in-the-dance groover paired with a haunting Little Dragon vocal sample.

Lofi “heavyweights” Phlocalyst und Mr. Käfer liefern den zweiten Teil ihres gemeinsammen Projekts “Now / Again” auf Melting Pot Music.

Aber Moment mal.. kann man bei “Now / Again II” überhaupt von Lofi sprechen? Wenn man die einschlägigen Playlists verfolgt hat man mit Sicherheit schon Tracks der beiden gehört und wenn man ihre Zahlen betrachtet, gehören sie zu den erfolgreichsten Produzenten der Szene. Aber was ist mit der Musik? “Now / Again II” ist weit entfernt von melancholischen Piano Loops, imitierten Vinylrauschen und überstrapazierten SP-404 Effekten (oder was auch immer der Waschbär in dir mit Lofi assoziiert).

Stattdessen würden wir “Now / Again II” als Contemporary Smooth Jazz mit souligen Hip-Hop Einflüssen beschreiben. Umgesetz mit einem feinen Gespür für starke Melodien, ausgefeilten Arrangements und der nie endenden Liebe für Blue Notes. Überzeugt euch selbst.

Phlocalyst – Trumpet, Rhodes, Synths, Piano, Bass
Mr. Käfer – Drums, Rhodes, Synths, Piano, Bass
Produced by Mr. Käfer & Phlocalyst.
Mixed by Mr. Käfer.
Artwork by Giza One.Tracklist

London based imprint High Praise are proud to announce the last addition to their roster. Having released a slew of heralded 12”s on Capitol K’s Faith And Industry Records, Darker Than Wax & XVI Records, London based producer & sound designer Dampé prepares to release his expansive and head-spinning new 12” ‘Glow’. With previous support coming from the likes of Tom Ravenscroft, Dummy, Bandcamp, Boiler Room, Mixmag, DJ Mag and Keep Hush, Dampé showcases why he’s making a name for himself as one to watch in the UK’s vibrant Electronic music scene.

Opening with the hypnotic arpeggio of title track ‘Glow’, the EP launches headfirst into a spinning world of driving rhythms and grainy synth textures. ‘Ravey Emo Tool (Like Me)’ provides a welcome moment of cloud parting serenity. ‘Twenty Two Savanna’ utilizes twisting, contorted breakbeats colliding against trance-like euphoria inducing synth patterns and shuttered vocals. On the flip, second single ‘Clay’ brings a dose of 2-step bounce to the proceedings, with an off-kilter but rock-steady groove. Atmosphere builds steadily as the gated notes and industrial effects of ‘Through The C10’ spill out of the speakers, before ‘King Tide’ brings the 12” to a powerful close with its rippling keys and avalanching waves of low end pressure. A truly impressive offering with incredible attention to detail.

'Mighty Joe Moon' the 1994 sophomore effort by Grant Lee Buffalo found the band hitting their artistic stride with their distinctive Americana/Alternative rock fusion and the evocative, wide screen song writing of singer and guitarist Grant Lee Phillips. The beautiful alternative rock hit 'Mockingbirds' brought the band, and this album, their biggest exposure and success. From all out rock assaults like 'Lone Star Song' to somber and highly personal numbers such as 'Happiness' and 'Honey Don't Think' the album is a highlight of the era and the best record the band ever made. Reissued on 180 gram vinyl from Plain Recordings.

Milan based label Positive Not Happy collect its first various artists release called “Quadrifonia”, exploring a wide range of styles connected by a common sound aesthetic. The four tracks leads you into a realm of profound and psychedelic grooves with accurate sound design and effective rhythms, music for the body and the mind, from the soul. The selection of artists includes true gems from Dawl, Modex, TC80 and The Lumens, representing today’s underground club scene in its pure beauty.

SP-1200 beats made using postal service. Fredfades and Sraw collaborate through post, exchanging dusty beats for an experimental Hip Hop record. The process of sending floppy discs back and forth, where each producer added element over element on their own SP-1200, has been on-going for almost 10 years, slowly building a collaborative body of work.
The result is Double Density, an LP that oozes with the character of that infamous instrument which laid much of the foundation for the earliest Hip Hop artists and still manages to evoke those raw and visceral sounds of that era. Reinforcing those sounds are the voices of Planet Asia, Pink Siifu and Blue November, who deliver lyrics from US coasts to Scandanavia’s fjords.
The duos collaborative effort swims in a sea of eclectic influences where Jazz, Soul and Hip-Hop thrive in the construct of this unique instrument. The drum machine pops, crackles and hisses on a bed of big bass lines through 12 tracks that go from short instrumentals to fully arranged songs.
Taking Hip-Hop back to its origins, everything is stripped bare to its essentials and for every vocal track, there’s its antithesis in the form of an instrumental break. It’s a record that plays with the archetypes of Hip Hop and Rap as something that we’ve lost over the years that begs for revocation. Double Density sounds exotic in the world of today’s gleaming beats.

Extra Muros is an annual itinerant artistic residency initiated in 2017. The third edition was co-organised during the winter 2021-2022 by the FLEE art collective in collaboration with the Music Department of the Museum of Ethnography, Geneva (MEG). Five artists participated in this residency including: Prins Emanuel, Nabihah Iqbal, Jaakko Eino Kalevi, Cosmic Neman, and Maria Spivak.The residency was held at the MEG in two phases. The first part of the residency and encounter represented an opportunity for the artists to explore the museum’s archives, collections, and exhibition spaces. The second phase was dedicated to the composition and production of original musical content in an ephemeral studio set up in the auditorium of the Genevan institution.

In this context, the pieces presented in this album were all conceived during this residency. Having never worked together, the five artists and musicians, each with their own distinct musical path, discovered a variety of sound resources at the Museum. These included eleven traditional instruments from the African continent, Asia and Oceania from the MEG collections, as well as synthetisers, audio effects units, amplifiers and several other vintage emblematic analog electronic devices from the collection of the Swiss Museum and Center for Electronic Music Instruments (SMEM) in Fribourg. In addition, recordings of traditional music from the five continents belonging to the museum’s International Archive of Folk Music (IAFM) were also made available to the artists.

In pairs, the residency’s participants were able to combine their respective creative worlds with the museum’s historical instruments as well as sound archives. This compilation is the result of this rich dialogue.

marbled vinyl in 3 different colours

Four years on from the release of Astral Projection, ASC's last LP for Horo, a re-listen reveals a body of work that still sounds prescient and current, mapping out a simmering landscape that stood proudly on it's own in the crowded world of electronica.

Hiding in Plain Sight takes the musical baton left by Astral Projection and expands the environment. The two opening tracks (No Mask, A Whisper In Your Ghost) are sumptuous palette cleansers that paint the walls with bliss. As we continue on, mesmerising waves of melancholy wash over Grey Area themed constructions, sometimes jagged (No Mask, Dying Star, Centrifuge, Galaxies), other times propulsive (Dreadnought, Surface Encounters). Pensive, frozen constructions that come off as soundtracks to movies only James has seen pepper the LP (Overscan, Dying Star, Mirrored Sequence) while the centrepiece of the LP soars unbound over stuttered, sculpted breaks (Orbiting Neptune).

ASC's great gift is his ability to create worlds of music that are densely layered and complex and yet project a sense of perfect effortlessness while they assimilate into your psyche.

Hiding In Plain Sight is not so much a journey, as a destination. A rich, full bodied alien planet intricately designed to envelop your senses.

blueblue is the latest full-length from multi-instrumentalist and all-around vibe wizard, Sam Gendel. The record, out via Leaving Records, is a concise, tightly wound song suite whose 14 tracks each correspond to a pattern within sashiko, a traditional style of Japanese embroidery. This conceit remains playfully ambiguous — to what extent, if at all, is Kagome (woven bamboo) meant to evoke the pattern of the same name, for example? But there is an intuitive sense, throughout blueblue, that Gendel has, in this instance, narrowed his focus. To say that blueblue feels richly textural might be a little on-the-nose, thematically, but alas…it does. There is an intimacy, a humility, and a strength at play here that typifies the work of a master craftsman. Only an artist could make it sound so effortless.

A Los Angeleno by way of Central CA, Gendel is by now an institution. Across a dizzying slate of solo releases and collaborations, he has amassed a reputation for not only virtuosic musicianship (primarily as a saxophonist, though the songs that would become blueblue were all initially composed on guitar), but also for his mercurial and prolific output — a corpus of work, which, while obviously indebted to jazz and hip hop (and the farther flung, experimental corners of both) is, in a word, unpindownable.

The bulk of blueblue was recorded in isolation in a makeshift studio built in a cabin floating atop a tributary of Oregon’s Columbia River. Having sketched out a set of guitar melodies, Gendel recorded the album in five-or-so weeks, during which time he became well-acquainted with the river’s tidal rise and fall. This organic rhythm, which daily lifted the house to meet the horizon, later setting it down gently upon the riverbed, permeates t