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2024 OFFICIAL PINK VINYL REISSUE

The Spoiled is an Italian post-punk project led by Giovanni Santolla, blending electronic beats, distorted synths, and reverb-soaked guitars into a dark, romantic, and nostalgic sound.

In 2024, the project self-released the debut EP Time distributed by Manic Depression, followed in 2025 by the full-length Living Ghosts via Swiss Dark Nights—an album that firmly established The Spoiled within the contemporary post-punk scene. Following the album’s release, Giovanni collaborated with international acts including This Eternal Decay, Darkways, Corlyx, Chaos International, and Hinfort, while maintaining a dense touring schedule across Europe and sharing the stage with artists such as Traitrs, Hinfort, Darkways, and Ductape.

The new album When It Rains, set for release on Avant! Records on April 17, 2026, expands The Spoiled’s artistic vision with a focus on intense, romantic soundscapes that delve deeply into human intimacy and interpersonal relationships. Embracing a warmer and more personal sonic direction, the record blends elements of indie rock and electrogaze music that enrich and revitalize the dark, melancholic palette that has defined the project’s earlier works.

Still playing homage to the forefathers of the genre such as Clan of Xymox, The Sound and Pink Turns Blue, When It Rains opens the path of The Spoiled to new soundscapes, exploring broader emotional territories while preserving the atmospheric depth and introspective tone that have become its signature.

FFO: Twin Tribes, Clan of Xymox, She Past Away, Mareux, The Soft Moon, Pink Turns Blue.

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

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

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

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

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

Increasingly essential US artist Ben Hixon drops sublime deep house EP on Kai Alce's faultless NDATL Muzik. The six classy tracks will appeal to those who appreciate the subtleties of the classic Midwestern sound.

Ben is a Texas-born, but Brooklyn-based artist who has become a firm favourite of true deep house heads in the last year or so. He has put out several EPs on Dolfin, all of which find a perfect sweet spot between immersive atmospheres and late-night drive. Dusty analogue textures and frayed edges define his drums, while the subtle details are intelligent and add effortless emotion. He is a perfect fit for NDATL Muzik, the Atlanta label that has long been a flagbearer for well-crafted house grooves like these.

'Taping' kicks off with heavy kicks that swing under gentle chords that are perfect for after dark. There's a persuasive bump in the beats that will get early evening dancers primed and ready for more. Next up we have 'Y Do U Get So Nervous' - a mastery of sampling with nagging vocal hooks, cascading piano keys and wet finger clicks all adding soul to another low-key but all-consuming groove. 'Area Code 336 Phone Rings' is a higgledy-piggledy tapestry of toms and stuttering kicks with vocal fragments to match - the thrill is the looseness of it all. The smouldering and meandering 'December Blackout' is for gazing off it into the distance at the busy yet muted jazz keys that twinkle like faraway stars. 'It's Like A Vision' picks up the pace with more closely stacked kicks but still oodles of cuddly warmth and smudged synth work, before '0823' ends with a decidedly heavy feel - spare, lump drums unfurl beneath forlorn synths that feel utterly bruised and heartbroken.

Ben Hixon's deft artistry makes these quiet, texture tunes irresistibly danceable yet emotionally profound.

Transamericas reissues Atom™’s Kraftwerk-goes-chachachá classic

After 25 years out of print, El Baile Alemán — the cult album by Señor Coconut (one of Atom™’s many aliases) — returns on vinyl via Transamericas. What began as a half-joke (“The only way I’d cover Kraftwerk is as chachachá or death metal…”) became a fever-born epiphany: Kraftwerk’s electronic minimalism recast through a tropical imagination — where chachachá, mambo, and cumbia intertwine with glitch, breakbeats, and distressed samples.

Long before reggaeton and trap filled stadiums and playlists, Señor Coconut was already mapping the fault lines between Latin rhythm and electronic form.
Originally released in Japan in 2000, El Baile Alemán caught the ear of Kraftwerk’s Florian Schneider, who unexpectedly championed the project. This reissue has been cut from Atom™’s 2022 remasters, preserving the album’s detail for a new generation of listeners. In the second half of 2026,

Transamericas will also reissue El Gran Baile (1997), his first outing — a rawer but equally idiosyncratic fusion of what Atom™ was going to frame as electrolatino.

Repress

The Men You'll Never See are back once again! Detroit In Effect's classic Unseen EP updated for 2019. Includes the Detroit Electrotechno anthem "R U Married".

50 years ago, Nancy Spungeon reviewed the Heartbreakers relaunch gig for New York Rocker. They"d hired bassist Billy Rath to replace Richard Hell and written new songs. This was the genesis of the L.A.M.F. story. FOUND IN AN ATTIC - a copy master of the original 1977 Track Records tape, without "mud"! This classic punk album, recorded in London by the band featuring New York Dolls Johnny Thunders and Jerry Nolan, along was universally condemned in the music press for having a "muddy mix" - later found to be a mastering fault. When Track went bust the following year, manager Leee Black Childers burgled the Track Records" Carnaby Street 3rd floor office and liberated the tapes that belonged to him and the band. He found everything - except for the master-tape, which remained undiscovered until last year. Other releases had been from outtakes or remixes. First released for RSD in 2021 with not enough copies, and has been unavailable for three years. Now reissued to satisfy the demand for this latterly discovered, acclaimed recording.

First released in 1976, "Metallic K.O." was the fourth album from IGGY & THE STOOGES, a classic, memorable recording of the Stooges confrontational last gig. The Stooges had not been heard since "73"s "Raw Power", and the sound of kamikaze Iggy in between new songs dodging eggs and glasses thrown by Hell"s Angels gave him a new audience in the embryonic punk crowd. It defined Iggy as a punk originator, sold 100k+ and become the Stooges best-selling album. Previously re-issued as an extended, two-CD set with two complete shows (FREUDCD070), it"s now been condensed down to the exact original album edit that shocked and inspired so many. In the 2007 remastering from the original tapes an original tape-speed fault was found - now for the first time the album can be heard in the correct pitch! As Lester Bangs said: "IT"S THE ONLY ROCK ALBUM I KNOW WHERE YOU CAN ACTUALLY HEAR HURLED BEER BOTTLES BREAKING AGAINST GUITAR STRINGS". Recorded 1973 & 74. Inner bag with historical background.

Mana is the International Anthem debut by trombonist and composer Kalia Vandever.

The collection carries the spirit of their first solo album, We Fell In Turn, while entering a new landscape of spacious songwriting. Mana, which in Hawaiian means “foundational, supernatural, or divine power and strength,” reveals more of their voice and words, drawing from yearning, loss, and bewilderment.

Appropriate for the early riser’s first step into the day or the night owl’s weary and quiet walk home.

Mana is the International Anthem debut by trombonist and composer Kalia Vandever. The collection carries the spirit of their first solo album, We Fell In Turn, while entering a new landscape of spacious songwriting. Mana, which in Hawaiian means "foundational, supernatural, or divine power and strength", reveals more of their voice and words, drawing from yearning, loss, and bewilderment. Vandever"s music has quickly and widely gained traction in the last few years despite the fact that their style has been consistently difficult to pin down, boasting a compositional scope ranging from the palatial modern jazz of their quartet work to the synthetic, gauze-like droning ambience of their solo material. Mana leans into the expansion of the latter: solo trombone filtered through a well-dialed pedalboard, manipulated live; spare piano à la the late-career work of Ryuichi Sakamoto; electroacoustic interplay simultaneously echoing and transforming the long-note melodicism of Vandever"s melancholic brass work; head-on, unambiguous, and deeply personal lyricism - a particularly fresh move for the composer... Appropriate for the early riser"s first step into the day or the night owl"s weary and quiet walk home.

The faultless Is It Balearic? Crew keep summer alive a little longer with a new and blissed out offering from Simon Peter. The title track 'Souvenir ' sets the tone with dreamy electric piano and a Laurel Canyon-style vocal with folky overtones that help evoke hazy sunsets. 'Mystical Delight' drifts deeper into a desert-tinged folk trip, while 'Still Going' adds percussive layers and brings a perfect Balearic balance. On the flip, Peaking Lights rework the title cut into a nostalgic haze, spotlighting the vocals with lullaby warmth. Coyote bring their trademark dub touch to close with a groove that rolls deep into hypnotic territory. This EP feels like a postcard from a distant, golden horizon.

Swimming Paul’s music has always lived in the push-and-pull between euphoria and melancholy; the rare kind of electronic music that can make you cry while your body keeps moving.



On Smiling Through the Pain 2 (out October 24 via Headroom Records), the French-born, London-based producer doubles down on that emotional duality, delivering an album that feels as much like a diary as it does a DJ set.

Over the course of 15 tracks, Paul stitches together late-night catharsis, suburban nostalgia, and the jagged tenderness of early adulthood. The record is sequenced like an unbroken night out: the giddy anticipation, the sudden moments of reflection, the quiet comedown as the sun edges in. It’s an album that refuses to treat joy and sadness as opposites, they coexist here, often in the same chord progression.



“I don’t want to escape the feelings, I want to bring them with me” Paul says. “If you can’t stop thinking about something, you might as well dance with it.”

That philosophy runs through the singles: the emotional release of Holly (with Junior Simba), the aching nostalgia of Different Time, the hypnotic haze of Hard 2 Sleep, and the house-driven Drinking to Get Drunk, a bittersweet ode to nights spent outrunning your own thoughts. Elsewhere, Liza M1 folds heartbreak into an almost triumphant piano hook, while Shine a Light urges listeners to take risks and live without hesitation—as if youth’s boldness could be bottled.



Since debuting in 2023, Swimming Paul has quietly built an empire on emotional resonance: 150 million streams across platforms, 1.9 million monthly listeners on Spotify and more than 50 editorial placements (including Dance Party, Crying on the Dancefloor, Electronic Rising….), 10,000+ radio spins worldwide, and sold-out tours across Europe and North America. His sound has earned co-signs from BBC Radio 1, Triple J, KCRW, Sirius XM and a wave of DJs who value melody as much as momentum.

But Smiling Through the Pain 2 isn’t chasing charts, it’s chasing connections. Paul’s global fanbase, nurtured through a lively Discord community and nights on the road, has become a two-way conversation, with fans’ stories feeding back into the music’s emotional core.
This autumn, Paul takes the album to stages that match its ambition, from London to a string of US club dates, festivals and intimate pop ups designed for shared release.



Smiling Through the Pain 2 is an invitation to feel everything at once. To sweat through the sadness. To let your guard down under strobe lights. To realise that the best nights out don’t make you forget; they help you remember.

For their first album as Gilla Band (formerly Girl Band), the
foursome have redrawn their own paradigm. ‘Most Normal’ is like
little you’ve heard before, a kaleidoscopic spectrum of noise put in
service of broken pop songs, FX-strafed Avant-punk rollercoaster
rides and passages of futurist dancefloor nihilism.
Lockdown robbed Gilla Band of any opportunity to try the new
material out live, but the pandemic also incinerated any idea of a
deadline for the new album. They were free to tinker at leisure, to
rewrite and restructure and reinvent tracks they’d cut, to, as
drummer Adam Faulkner puts it, “pull things apart and be like,
‘Let’s try this. We could try out every wild idea.’”
The group also fell under the spell of modern hip-hop, “where
there’s really heavy-handed production and they’re messing with
the track the whole time,” says Fox. “That felt like a fun route to go
down, it was a definite influence.”
‘Most Normal’ opens with an absolute industrial-noise banger that
sounds like a manic house party throbbing through the walls of the
next room as a downed jetliner brings death from above. What
follows is unpredictable, leading the listener through a sonic house
of mirrors, where the unexpected awaits around every corner.
The common thread holding ‘Most Normal’’s ambitious Avant-pop
shapes together is frontman Dara Kiely. Throughout, he’s an antic,
antagonistic presence, barking wild, hilarious, unsettling spiels,
babbling about smearing fish with lubricant or dressing up in binliners or having to wear hand-me-down bootcut jeans (“It was a
big, shameful thing, growing up, not being able to afford the look I
wanted and having to wear all my brother’s old clothes,” says
Kiely).
‘Most Normal’, then, is a triumph, the bold work of a group who’ve
taken the time to evolve their ideas, to deconstruct and reconstruct
their music and rebuild it into something new, something
challenging and infinitely rewarding. It’s a headphone masterpiece.
It’s a majestic exploration of the infinite possibilities of noise. It’s a
bold riposte to your parochial beliefs on whatever a pop song can
or should be. It’s the best work these musicians have put to
(mangled) tape.

Rick Wade is one of Detroit and house music's most consistent performers. He is a master of crafting tools that never miss on the floor but also have the sort of character that means they endure across the ages and remain impervious to passing trends. Art Is The Place has his latest, and it opens with the angelic vocals of 'Level Up' over a whimsical groove, then 'Big Ha Blues' gets more deep and zoned out with pillowy pads and wet claps. 'Intrusive Emotions' has a more grinding low end but stays slow and is softened by jazz keys, then 'Bitter Sweet brings some dust and grit. Another faultless outing from Wade.

For their first album as Gilla Band (formerly Girl Band), the
foursome have redrawn their own paradigm. ‘Most Normal’ is like
little you’ve heard before, a kaleidoscopic spectrum of noise put in
service of broken pop songs, FX-strafed Avant-punk rollercoaster
rides and passages of futurist dancefloor nihilism.
Lockdown robbed Gilla Band of any opportunity to try the new
material out live, but the pandemic also incinerated any idea of a
deadline for the new album. They were free to tinker at leisure, to
rewrite and restructure and reinvent tracks they’d cut, to, as
drummer Adam Faulkner puts it, “pull things apart and be like,
‘Let’s try this. We could try out every wild idea.’”
The group also fell under the spell of modern hip-hop, “where
there’s really heavy-handed production and they’re messing with
the track the whole time,” says Fox. “That felt like a fun route to go
down, it was a definite influence.”
‘Most Normal’ opens with an absolute industrial-noise banger that
sounds like a manic house party throbbing through the walls of the
next room as a downed jetliner brings death from above. What
follows is unpredictable, leading the listener through a sonic house
of mirrors, where the unexpected awaits around every corner.
The common thread holding ‘Most Normal’’s ambitious Avant-pop
shapes together is frontman Dara Kiely. Throughout, he’s an antic,
antagonistic presence, barking wild, hilarious, unsettling spiels,
babbling about smearing fish with lubricant or dressing up in binliners or having to wear hand-me-down bootcut jeans (“It was a
big, shameful thing, growing up, not being able to afford the look I
wanted and having to wear all my brother’s old clothes,” says
Kiely).
‘Most Normal’, then, is a triumph, the bold work of a group who’ve
taken the time to evolve their ideas, to deconstruct and reconstruct
their music and rebuild it into something new, something
challenging and infinitely rewarding. It’s a headphone masterpiece.
It’s a majestic exploration of the infinite possibilities of noise. It’s a
bold riposte to your parochial beliefs on whatever a pop song can
or should be. It’s the best work these musicians have put to
(mangled) tape.

Australian post-grunge band Silverchair released their debut album Frogstomp when the band members were only 15 years of age. In just 9 days they recorded a fantastic album, in which they show that even young teenagers know how to rock. In the tradition of Pearl Jam and Nirvana they recorded an album sounding like Stone Temple Pilots. Daniel Johns is not only a great vocalist, but also a good guitar player, both playing slow as fast songs. Yes, this is definitely one of the best efforts you can make when you’re still this young. And even now almost 15 years after its release it sounds fantastic.

‘(Listen for) The Rag and Bone Man’ - Reissued and available on vinyl for the first time, was the album that marked the renaissance of the band in 2007, bringing them out of the quietest and most hermetic period of their existence and setting them back on course to establishing themselves as the global, underground phenomenon that they are today.
This new, remastered, edition includes six previously unreleased pieces, written during the same period but not included on the original album.
A work that takes us on a dreamlike journey through dark landscapes coloured by a guitar that brings to mind the trademark sound of their formative years and populated by characters as diverse as the nursery rhyme like ‘A man with a drum’ to William Faulkners ‘Candace’.
The vinyl comes as a gatefold, double album. Also available on CD with booklet including lyrics and photographs. ‘And Also The Trees’ are currently writing their sixteenth studio album and will be performing live in numerous European venues throughout 2025.

Lucy Duncombe and Feronia Wennborg compose a modern symphony for virtual choir on 'Joy, Oh I Missed You', muddling sound poetry with Nuno Canavarro and ‘Systemische'-style machine-damaged surrealism. Like a mashup of Lee Gamble's 'Models', Akira Rabelais' 'Spellewauerynsherde' and Robert Ashley's timeless 'Automatic Writing’ screwed to perfection.

Duncombe and Wennborg have been chewing over ‘Joy, Oh I Missed You’ for four long years, working their process until they were "queasily intimate" with their arsenal of artificial voice tools. Tracing the history of the technology, from voice synthesisers and chatbots to AI voice analysis tools, the duo experiment relentlessly to develop a digital-age response to IRL extended vocal technique - think François Dufrêne, Yoko Ono or Phew. Less interested in replicating human sounds exactly, they instead test how various tools might cough up their own idiosyncratic tics as they stretch and stutter through attempts to mimic their "fleshware" counterparts.

Duncombe's got prior form here, most recently re-synthesising her voice on the brilliantly oily 'Sunset, She Exclaims' 45 for Modern Love, following a stunner for 12th Isle in 2021. Wennborg brings along experience from her tenure as one half of microsound duo soft tissue, whose 2022 LP 'hi leaves' (Students of Decay) was a haptic treasure. These approaches mesh remarkably well on their first collaborative full-length, with Duncombe's eerie bio-electronic incantations providing the ideal foil for Wennborg's carbonated hardware processes. It's not completely clear where the human voice ends and the zeroes and ones begin on 'Your Lips, Covering Your Teeth', as rolling cyborg syllables tumble over OS-startup womps and surprisingly svelte outcroppings of glassy, synthetic glitches. The music is surprisingly mannered, a sonic reflection of the cover, where a mouth is pixellated until only colour swatches remain. Duncombe and Wennborg trace the gradual erosion of their voices, leaning into the chaos as their various tools veer off into unique patterns of failure.

What sounds like a far-off, ghosted folk rendition (we're reminded of the Icelandic laments that Rabelais chewed up on 'Spellewauerynsherde') is offset by gnarled, bitcrushed machine faults and pneumatic lip smacks on the brilliant 'Residue', and on 'Brushed My Hair', the duo massage the voice until it sounds like a flute. Assembling stutters and barks and sighs into a celestial chorus alongside time-stretched moans, they create a levitational atmosphere on 'Smell It', freezing the energy from bizarre pitch steps to configure a zonked vocal ensemble.

'Joy, Oh I Missed You’ is an album that, like its source material, constantly morphs, testing the boundaries of its concept repeatedly without bubbling over into conceptual goo. In fact, it's remarkably euphonious, even at its most theoretically abrasive; Duncombe and Wennborg wring out uniquely angelic formations through a process of trial and error that packs a surprising, hefty emotional punch.

One of the most politically charged terms of the 20th century, the Iron Curtain was a metaphor for political and cultural division. In a post-war telegram Winston Churchill referred to the fault line that ran through Europe between East and West as "an Iron Curtain is drawn down upon their front. We do not know what is going on behind".



In this two-part album, as far as jazz is concerned, we will showcase, describe and celebrate exactly what was 'going on behind'. We see that music is the power supreme, with the ability to transcend all barriers, be they physical, political or metaphorical.



Our liner notes illustrate the complex and contradictory history of Soviet jazz, and the tracks we've chosen cover the key period of the early 1960s to the 1980s. It was during these dark years of the Cold War that the Soviet Union and its satellite states produced a number of outstanding artists playing in a variety of styles. The impact of modernism, from hard bop and Latin to modal and cool jazz, had found its way through cracks in the curtain. The deeply-felt ancestral strains of traditional European folk music were combined with the exciting new and progressive sounds of the West, and a radical, intoxicating brew was created that no amount of guns, tanks or polonium tea could overcome.



We chronicle the triumph of jazz at a time of extreme geopolitical conflict. What went on behind the Iron Curtain in these countries was once mysterious and unknown to the West, but the perseverance of their artists provided sound and light amid the secretive, dark days of the communist-capitalist standoff. There was no end of life-affirming spiritual jazz behind the Iron Curtain.



"Whether it's by improvisation in the African-American jazz tradition, or by a village kobza player standing on top of a damn hill - he feels connected to the stars."