Suche:eva luna

Too Pure are excited to get Moonshake’s debut album, ‘Eva Luna’, back in
print, releasing a deluxe edition, re-mastered from analogue 1Ú2” tape, on
blue double vinyl.
 The reissue contains 19 tracks - the album’s original 10, the non-LP threesong single ‘Secondhand Clothes’, the two B-sides from the ‘Beautiful
Pigeon’ single and four tracks from a November 1992 John Peel session.
The release also includes an 8-page full-colour booklet.
 Moonshake were formed in 1991 by David Callahan (vocals, guitars,
samplers), formerly of The Wolfhounds, and New York musician Margaret
Fiedler (vocals, guitars, samplers). Callahan and Fiedler recorded a demo for
Creation Records, and were joined by John Frenett (bass) and Miguel
Morland (‘Mig’, drums) to record and release the ‘First EP’ for Creation in
1991.
 They took their name from a 1973 single by Can. Both Fiedler and Callahan
wrote songs, and they would (generally) sing on the songs that they wrote.
Their output of shared inspiration produced wildly different results - Can, PIL,
Kraftwerk, MBV and Erik B & Rakim were a melting pot that made
Moonshake somewhat uncategorizable, and as Margaret noted in an
interview, “Moonshake was a collision - it was supposed to be a collision.”
 Their debut album, ‘Eva Luna’, took its name from a novel by Chilean author
Isabel Allende, and the tracks on it are split evenly between the two
songwriters. Callahan’s songs are somewhat angry, dissonant, post-punk
affairs, while Fiedler’s are just as angular, but her quieter sometimes near
whispered vocals compliment her writing partner’s equally. Producer /
engineer Guy Fixsen, fresh from his work on My Bloody Valentine’s
‘Loveless’, was instrumental in making the album cohesive.
 This album has been critically revisited often since its original release, with
Tiny Mix Tapes describing their sound as “an updated take on Can and
Public Image Limited’s rhythmic propulsion with noisier guitar work and a
predilection for sampling influenced by The Young Gods.” Last year, in a
wonderfully long piece to celebrate the album’s 30th anniversary, Louder
Than War wrote that they were blown away by the album’s “utterly
spellbinding, dizzyingly genre-defying approach at articulating explicitly the
sound of a city in the throes of urban psychosis and derangement... ‘Eva
Luna’ really is one hell of a ground-breaking record, and it stands resolutely
alone among all of the albums released in 1992 as no other band has
managed to create anything remotely similar before or since. It really is a
unique album with few equals.”
 In 1993, the original incarnation of the band split up, and Margaret Fiedler
and John Frenett went on to form Laika with Guy Fixsen. Callahan and
Morland continued on with guest musicians, with Callahan ultimately
remaining the band’s sole original member. Moonshake ended in 1997 but
their legacy is indisputable.

The return of A Turntable Friend Records starts with an opulent 40 track retrospective compilation of their heydays in the 1909s. Peers of Sarah Records and Slumberland Records but far from copying their style, ATF Records always had their own musical identity allowing for a roster as diverse as Boyracer (with Even As We Speak), Secret Shine, The Claim, The Ropers, the Hellfire Sermons + Lorelei.

This compilation is a feast of highlights from the long-deleted back catalogue plus 8 unreleased tracks from the period. Many of the original 7s & 12s are much sought after collector items and several tracks appear on cd for the first time.
Indie guitar popof the best variety delivered by bands from the UK< USA, Australia + Japan.
The release is luxuriously packaged in a tri-fold sleeve for the triple vinyl, strictly limited to 500 for the world. It includes a 12 x 12 full colour booklet and a download code.
The double cd comes with the same tracks also in a gatefold sleeve with full colour booklet.
This compilation is a fundraiser for the William Wates Memorial Trust in the UK with all profits being donated.

The wild lunar landscape of Lanzarote is the dreamy frame in which Populous paints his new album, “Isla diferente”.

An instrumental trip between cumbia and latin ambient music through the mysterious and magical landscape of Lanzarote, with some gloomy vocal interventions from Fuera (Italy), Javier Arce (Costa Rica), Eva de Marce (Mexico) and Esotérica Tropical (Puerto Rico).

An organic mixture of sweet ethereal melodies and experimental electronic sounds which the artist himself labeled as “latin ambient”.

his ultimate 6LP Boxset presents the works of Pascal Comelade from 1984 to 2024 and his 40 years producing instrumental music. Each vinyl has been thought as an album in itself , with its own identity, that could be listened as it is. According to the artist, "Improperies- compositions et enregistrements magnétiques (1984-2024)" is a music puzzle which doesn't obey to any rule with the exception of Pascal Comelade's creation and art thoughts that kept moving over the years.
Limited numbered to 500 copies - 6 x Black Vinyl in spineless sleeve, heawyweight cardboard slipcase/custod numbered at the back, includes an insert-photo signed by the artist. The boxset artwork is an original creation by Miquel Barceló.

Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur's court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word "Camelot" accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of "utopia." In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson's 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python's 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armored knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys's profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy's White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle's extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle's Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one's own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. "Back in Camelot," she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, "I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry." The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping "in the unfinished basement," an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above "sirens and desert deities." If she questions her own agency_whether she is "wishing stones were standing" or just "pissing in the wind"_it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of "multi-felt dimensions" both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of "Camelot," with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to "Some Friends," an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises_"bright and beaming verses" versus hot curses_which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020's achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory "Earthsong," bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to _ a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?) Those whom "Trust" accuses of treacherous oaths spit through "gilded and golden tooth"_cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry_sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in "Louis": "What's that dance / and can it be done? What's that song / and can it be sung?" Answering affirmatively are "Lucky #8," an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the "tidal pools of pain" and the "theory of collapse," and "Full Moon in Leo," which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and "big hair." But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle's confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on "Lucky #8," special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle's beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia's FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad "Blowing Kisses"_Pallett's crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX's The Bear_Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer_and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: "No words to fumble with / I'm not a beggar to language any longer." Such rare moments of speechlessness_"I'm so fucking honoured," she bluntly proclaims_suggest a state "only a god could come up with." (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world_including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth_but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the "charts and diagrams" of "Lucky #8," a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in "Full Moon in Leo," the bloody invocations of the organ-stained "Mary Miracle," and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with "Fractal Canyon"'s repeated, exalted insistence that she's "not alone here." But where is here? The word "utopia" itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek "eutopia," or "good-place"_the facet most remembered today_and "outopia," or "no-place," a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary. Or as fellow Canadian songwriter Neil Young once sang, "Everyone knows this is nowhere." "Can you see how I'd be tempted," Castle asks out of nowhere, held in the mystery, "to pretend I'm not alone and let the memory bend?"

. For Fans Of: The Weather Station, Weyes Blood, Adrianne Lenker, Phoebe Bridgers, Joan Shelley, Lana Del Rey, Cass McCombs, Angel Olsen & Neil Young. Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur’s court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word “Camelot” accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of “utopia.” In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson’s 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python’s 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armoured knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys’s profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy’s White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle’s extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle’s Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one’s own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. “Back in Camelot,” she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, “I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry.” The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping “in the unfinished basement,” an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above “sirens and desert deities.” If she questions her own agency whether she is “wishing stones were standing” or just “pissing in the wind” it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of “multi-felt dimensions” both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of “Camelot,” with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to “Some Friends,” an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises—“bright and beaming verses” versus hot curses which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020’s achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory “Earthsong,” bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to … a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?). Those whom “Trust” accuses of treacherous oaths spit through “gilded and golden tooth” cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in “Louis”: “What’s that dance / and can it be done? What’s that song / and can it be sung?” Answering affirmatively are “Lucky #8,” an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the “tidal pools of pain” and the “theory of collapse,” and “Full Moon in Leo,” which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and “big hair.” But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle’s confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on “Lucky #8,” special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle’s beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia’s FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad “Blowing Kisses” Pallett’s crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX’s The Bear Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: “No words to fumble with / I’m not a beggar to language any longer.” Such rare moments of speechlessness “I’m so fucking honoured,” she bluntly proclaims suggest a state “only a god could come up with.” (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the “charts and diagrams” of “Lucky #8,” a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in “Full Moon in Leo,” the bloody invocations of the organ-stained “Mary Miracle,” and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with “Fractal Canyon”s repeated, exalted insistence that she’s “not alone here.” But where is here? The word “utopia” itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek “eutopia,” or “good-place” the facet most remembered today and “outopia,” or “no-place,” a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary

Tillla is 19 year old prodigal piano player Mateo Davis, a graduate of Purcell (Tirzah, Mica Levi, Jacob Collier) & a polymath musician, producer & mixer.

Third Person is Tillla's debut EP, a 13 track sprawling opus the then-18-yr-old made alone in his bedroom on a modular synth and dodgy copy of Ableton. The musicianship, depth and technical creativity in this record really is something that should be noted.

Here is the second volume of Serge Gainsbourg's complete vinyl collection which traces the artist's career from 1971 to 1987. In order to provide the best sound quality, the original mixed tapes were entrusted to the sound engineer Miles Showell ( responsible for the reissues of the Rolling Stones, Queen, etc.) who did the mastering at Abbey Road studio with Half Speed ​​Master technology. 180 gram vinyl box.Reviews and Ads –, London Macadam, Mojo, Sunday Times, R2