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This VA release brings together four producers who share a common language: hypnosis, movement, and an obsessive attention to sound design. Across two sides of vinyl, the record moves through different shades of deep and mental techno, held together by a sense of restraint and clarity rather than force.

Na Nich opens the A-side with a mental yet groove-driven piece, where impeccable sound quality meets a clean, deliberate design. LFO-driven elements float underneath the surface, almost speaking, giving the track a voice of its own without ever breaking its hypnotic hold.

Forest On Stasys follows with a tribal and deep approach that still hits with weight. Shakers and layered percussion drive the movement forward, building a rhythmic body that feels both organic and controlled.
On the B-side, Translate stays true to a purely mental identity: repeating LFOs and speaking tones that fold in on themselves, always kept clean and precise, letting the repetition do the work.

Save Your Atoll & Gabriele Santucci close the record with a deep, tribal-leaning cut full of groove and motion. Bongos, shakers, and background percussion build a danceable hypnosis, where every element serves the movement.

Four tracks, four voices, one shared sense of direction — a record built for the floor, but never at the expense of detail.

With Where We’re At, Tonique & Man deliver a warm and vibrant second album blending indie pop, soul and soft disco. Staying true to the groove that has become the duo’s signature, the record reveals a more mature and personal side of Jean Tonique and Mi Man.


Both recently becoming fathers, the two musicians are entering a new chapter in their lives, one that naturally shapes the album’s songwriting: a more intimate reflection on how far they’ve come, what they’ve built, and what continues to drive them to create.


Recorded at the legendary Studio Ferber in Paris, Where We’re At also features collaborations with Girl Ultra and Rejjie Snow, bringing new textures to the duo’s sound. An elegant and generous album where pop immediacy meets more intimate songwriting, opening a new chapter for Tonique & Man.

The unconscious element to the conscious process.

The practice of dub techno and its tendrils is a fundamental for me, both aesthetically and from an engineering perspective.

I start every recording session with a dub inspired jam, the first piece I ever recorded in 1996 was an effort to recreate Phylyps Trak with only a Korg X3 and an Ibanez PUE5 (borrowed from Gary Howell). It was an awesome introduction to jamming, and the footing stones of noise, delay and saturation were explored with my foot hard on the enthusiasm pedal.

These practice jams are in some sense cathartic, the first step taken again & again, which helps me move forwards each session and additionally helps to 'warm the circuits' both of myself and the machines.

After realising the genius of Basic Channel is akin to the genius of peasant food, using every ingredient with nothing left to waste, (up to and including the oft maligned working noise of the machines themselves), this was a watershed moment for my own subjective progression. No longer tied to just emulation of something inspiring, but taking these learned tools into other areas of music helped to break free from a strong current of influence and also to progress into other areas with the new toolbox.

Dub:

The importance of the dub pioneers should never be understated, in modern music and my own practice. Yet with my initial inspiration being two german dudes issuing extreme techno variants with obscured label designs, who then signposted their listeners to their own inspirations (via their Wackies re-issues or nodded to on their Rhythm & Sound/Burial Mix sub-labels), meant that I started late and travelled backwards.

Learning to notice the live mixing of Mikey Dread or Lee Perry when the faders are bleeding through even when turned down, (echoed in BC's Quadrant Dub), or the brash send effects literally thrown into the mix also taught me that 'rough' mixing can inject a recording with life, uniqueness and the most right wrongness. Looking back Basic Channels very few elements helped me realise that the rules to be understood, are also the best ones to be broken.

Push the mixer into the red.

Amp that noise up from the tape delay cos it sounds sick.

Pseudo side-chain effects cos the kicks are way too loud and the mixer can't sum it nicely.

Spam the send knob into the delay units now, now and now.

Carelessness.

Noise:

Once I wrapped my head around the intrinsic 'noise' element that set those records apart, this became a torchlight into the alt noise movements which I was tentatively exploring at the time, and also is evidently a connection or thread into them.

Whether the Industrial/Post Punk UK scene (This Heat, TG, A Tent, F.E.) or the prolific output of the US Noise scene (Wolf Eyes, Live & Shave in LA, and subsequently following the lineage all the way back to Chrome's Alien Soundtracks), I had finally discovered a connection from techno to this 'free for all' corner of music.

This input from the Noise arena of sound is, in my experience, an all important step for a sonic artist, taking it's roots and extending out from Stockhausen/Pierre Henry and utilised/warped/mangled by thousands of adventurous pioneers ever since, I now see the line separating the high brow and the low brow is actually an artery carrying information from the head to the heart.

Vault is a selection of these jams that precede each of my solo recording sessions, for 30 years I've recorded hundreds of these 'workouts'. They are never intended as serious statements, just moments of naive enjoyment, yet most importantly they are time & space captured as practice.

The objective is always a warm up exercise, but sometimes those exercises turn a different corner, with a certain focus or direction dependent on what random samples are left in my machines from the previous session, instead of conscious choices, these unconscious elements can facilitate those 'positive mistakes' that make a piece of sound retain a different feel or colour and thus become special, or at least special to the creator.

I am quite conscious that the 'record everything' aspect of my ethos has been invaluable in cataloguing and saving these jams, while the attitude of carelessness during this process (after all, it's only a warm up jam) invites more enjoyment than seriousness ever could. Even if you don't feel the piece at the time, record it, because some years later it may well fit, or become relevant in a way you never intended.

-Miles

Leo Gibbon returns to Mudline with barbed, a six-track suite of dust-worn, sample-driven constructions pieced together from a balcony while travelling. Built from fragments that retain the emotional weight of their origins, the EP finds Gibbon paring his sound back to its essentials, letting cracked loops, negative space and tactile percussion carry a quiet sense of intimacy. There's a subtle tension throughout, music suspended between memory and movement, where worn textures and carefully preserved imperfections become part of the composition itself.

James Massiah appears on the record with a characteristically measured performance, his delivery drawing on the cadence and phrasing of archived poet freestyles, less spoken word than an act of excavation, recalling a lineage of recorded voices whose authority comes from rhythm, restraint and lived experience. His presence folds seamlessly into the EP's weathered textures, becoming another fragment in Gibbon's collage rather than a conventional guest appearance.

The first half drifts through reflective, inward-looking terrain before the second side gradually opens towards the dancefloor, never abandoning the emotional pull that defines the record. Even at its most club-focused, barbed favours understated pressure over obvious peaks, allowing atmosphere and texture to carry as much weight as rhythm. Mastered by Miles Whittaker, every grain, scrape and imperfection is left intact, balancing grit with clarity and reinforcing Mudline's instinct for raw, emotionally resonant club music that feels as honest as it does functional.

PRAANA unveil their highly anticipated album Insight Out on Colorize, a deeply immersive body of work that explores reflection, connection and emotional growth through the duo’s signature cinematic lens.

Built around themes of reflection, presence and human connection, Insight Out creates a rich sonic landscape where atmospheric textures, subtle rhythms and emotive songwriting coexist with effortless grace. Featuring collaborations with Susie Ledge, Tina Parol, Freddie Elmberg and Courtney Storm, the album showcases PRAANA’s ability to create music that feels both intimate and expansive. An alias of Tritonal, PRAANA have amassed over 30 million streams, earned sustained support on SiriusXM Chill and recently completed U.S. tour dates in Chicago, Denver and a sold-out Elsewhere Rooftop show in Brooklyn.

Insight Out stands as a fully realised artistic statement, offering a space for stillness, reflection and meaningful escape through sound.

»Pipe Dreams II & III« presents two new, side-long organ works by Mary Jane Leach, extending the sonic investigations of her 1989 landmark »Pipe Dreams«. Recorded in Ghent and Cologne, the two side-long pieces use shifting stops, resonance and beating tones to turn the pipe organ into a vivid, physical field of sound.

When »Pipe Dreams« was issued on vinyl for the first time by Blume in 2017, it was effectively the first time many of us encountered Mary Jane Leach’s music, finally placing her work in its proper historical context amid the searching Downtown milieu of Julius Eastman, Arthur Russell, Arnold Dreyblatt, Ellen Fullman, Philip Corner, Daniel Goode, and Peter Zummo. Leach collaborated with most of these artists at one point or another, either in Downtown Ensemble or as a guest on their records.

Now »Pipe Dreams II« and »Pipe Dreams III« arrive, recorded in 2023 and 2024 at Miry Concertzaal in Ghent, Belgium, and Kunst-Station Sankt Peter in Cologne, respectively.

»When I was a young child, my family lived next door to a church, where my mother was the organist. I spent many hours lying on the floor of the sanctuary listening to the music, letting the sound of the organ envelop me. I also liked to play the piano loudly with the pedal down, producing clouds of sound, much to my family’s annoyance. These two organ pieces explore some of my earliest musical interests and aesthetics.

In 1989, I lived in a tower attached to St Peter’s Church in Cologne, where I had access to its organ. It had two sets of pipes, front and back, which could create antiphonal effects. I spent countless hours exploring the possibilities of all the permutations of notes, space, and the resulting sound phenomena. I wrote »Pipe Dreams« for that organ. Fast forward to 2023, when I was asked to create a piece for organ for a concert at the Miry Concertzaal in Ghent, Belgium: »Pipe Dreams II«. I had a few days to familiarise myself with the organ, its available stops, and the layout of the console. I choreographed stop changes for a volunteer, as I couldn’t reach them myself. Some amazing sounds began to happen, and at one point the sound was so visceral that I felt as though I were taming a wild beast.

»Pipe Dreams III« was performed in 2024 on the organ that I had spent so much time playing in 1989–90. One big difference, though, was that the console was totally new and computerised. Having access to the organ for only a few hours before the concert, I decided that I did not have enough time to feel comfortable with the console and should not attempt to recreate the piece I had written in 1989. I would instead use the same sequence of stops and perform an improvised piece. I loved the sounds that were being created, and I was having so much fun that at one point I even started to laugh quietly. I began to visualise the beating notes as if they were atoms, opening them up to expose their innards, with the beating, higher-pitched notes — neutrons and protons — shimmering at the top, and the lower notes — the electrons — throbbing away at the bottom. I was playing notes not so much for their pitch value, but for how they affected the notes and sound phenomena already being played. Instead of a time signature, I timed the entries by listening to the beating patterns, waiting for the right moment to enter. And no, I wasn’t hallucinating.«

Mary Jane Leach, 2026

The Yummy Fur’s first album of new material in over 25 years is seductive and ambiguous; a fast-paced flip through scenes from art, myth, life and fantasy; a witty whole made from glittering scraps. The band’s original incarnation – fronted by singer, songwriter and guitarist John McKeown from 1992 to 1999 – morphed from making quick-hit cartoon-art songs to Eno and Cale-influenced creepers, populated by characters from McKeown’s life in Glasgow and the films, books and poetry that he lived a parallel life through. Everybody Talks About The Weather delights in using every past iteration of the band as potent collage material: a melee of sounds and ideas existing at once, revealing themselves then dipping back into hiding.
Recorded by the original core trio of McKeown, Brian MacDougall (guitar) and Paul Thomson (drums), Everybody Talks About The Weather comes 17 years after the band reformed for sporadic live shows, and seven years after the release of their sorta-greatest hits compilation Piggy Wings (Rock Action). Ten tracks long with nothing to spare, it is as condensed and vital as their best songs, with a new clarity of sound that allows their ambiguities to come into the light.
The album begins with “Cogs”, a taunting inquisition from within. As McKeown stages a fight between his id and ego, the tension heats up between conversational guitar lines and minimalist repetition; threatening sing-song melody and real, palpable menace. The band members are forced in tandem only to break apart, sustaining a genuine sense of just-hidden danger throughout the whole record – except, arguably, “Headphones”, a looser moment which sees McKeown make an existential something out of nothing while waiting for someone in the car (“I should have brought a book.../My ears are bleeding from the compression on your album”)
The songs are riots of reference: “Unity Over Europe” is a slyly complex two act play about the Mitford sisters – Diana, Unity, and Nancy, in a wink to the YF canon – smashing tragic biographical detail together with allusions to Thomas Pynchon and Francis Bacon. Pynchon is also lifted to serve “Blue Sunshine”, a collision of school shooters, serial killers and fictional fuck-ups (“Fast forward to Compton/Fast forward to Pynchon/Fast forward to Columbine'”) whose buzzy guitar lines are taunting and confrontational like a smarmy teenager. The innocuous title of “My Lasagne” belies a song that exists in several time periods at once: a visit to see Guernica, 50 people with their backs to the portrait of Dora Maar; the time that Picasso painted from; the Reina Sofia and the dirty streets of the Malasaña; myth-making musicians and the myths they’re riffing off overlapping and leering at each other.
All this could be laboured in lesser hands, but cultural verbosity is second nature to The Yummy Fur, who transform all this source material into songs that are weird, sexy, funny and absurd. Meaning is not happily understood or flattened. Susan Sontag's essay Against Interpretation accompanied McKeown as he wrote this album, and she’s paraphrased in “Semolina Ballerina”, the album’s justification of artistic ambiguity. Thomson’s motorik beat leads a gathering of back-and-forth instrumental phrases – including a wiry contribution on saxophone – embodying the futility of trying to parse something definitive from repeated action. “Listen to the very first thing that’s in your head,” Sontag-via-McKeown commands directly, then slinks sideways: “Interpretation is a conversation in an unmade bed”
The album features two more focused portraits, or at least The Yummy Fur’s version of such a thing. “Wanda” merges the life of filmmaker Barbara Loden and the title character of her semi-autobiographical 1970 feature film, with Loden’s then-husband Elia Kazan joining the fray of no-good men in her film. It’s a mix of adaptation and avant-criticism, with McKeown’s wordplay and mannered pronunciation mirroring the way that non-fiction and fiction twist around each other in the song. The title track is a series of vignettes and impressions from the lives of the band’s ‘90s inner circle, positing painter Mac McNaughton as a kind of Falstaffian ringleader. As with Piggy Wings and the recent single “New T-Shirt”, McNaughton painted the cover of Everybody Talks About The Weather – like the album’s music, the image of a coy girl in a white dress is an uncanny amalgamation of styles, suggestions and references just out of reach, as though seen in an art museum in a dream.
The album ends with two reads of the same frustration. “King of Nothing” is the closest The Yummy Fur will ever get to sludge-rock: the band melts together into a dusty, dreary haze as McKeown drowns in a drudgery of personal struggle (“Two jumpers on in Babylon/And only cats to talk to”) and the rhythmic toppling of heroes (Rowlands, Duvall, Munro). The majority of visible dirt is cleaned off for “Say Hello”, an uncharacteristic depiction of throwing the windows open after a dark night of the soul. Here, the situation is still cold and hard (“When the sun burns gold, but the heat never reaches your fingertips”) but it feels surmountable. Everybody Talks About The Weather is an unpredictable album from an unpredictable group, but ending on a moment of almost uncomplicated light is maybe its biggest surprise. - Claire Biddles (2026)

The Yummy Fur’s first album of new material in over 25 years is seductive and ambiguous; a fast-paced flip through scenes from art, myth, life and fantasy; a witty whole made from glittering scraps. The band’s original incarnation – fronted by singer, songwriter and guitarist John McKeown from 1992 to 1999 – morphed from making quick-hit cartoon-art songs to Eno and Cale-influenced creepers, populated by characters from McKeown’s life in Glasgow and the films, books and poetry that he lived a parallel life through. Everybody Talks About The Weather delights in using every past iteration of the band as potent collage material: a melee of sounds and ideas existing at once, revealing themselves then dipping back into hiding.
Recorded by the original core trio of McKeown, Brian MacDougall (guitar) and Paul Thomson (drums), Everybody Talks About The Weather comes 17 years after the band reformed for sporadic live shows, and seven years after the release of their sorta-greatest hits compilation Piggy Wings (Rock Action). Ten tracks long with nothing to spare, it is as condensed and vital as their best songs, with a new clarity of sound that allows their ambiguities to come into the light.
The album begins with “Cogs”, a taunting inquisition from within. As McKeown stages a fight between his id and ego, the tension heats up between conversational guitar lines and minimalist repetition; threatening sing-song melody and real, palpable menace. The band members are forced in tandem only to break apart, sustaining a genuine sense of just-hidden danger throughout the whole record – except, arguably, “Headphones”, a looser moment which sees McKeown make an existential something out of nothing while waiting for someone in the car (“I should have brought a book.../My ears are bleeding from the compression on your album”)
The songs are riots of reference: “Unity Over Europe” is a slyly complex two act play about the Mitford sisters – Diana, Unity, and Nancy, in a wink to the YF canon – smashing tragic biographical detail together with allusions to Thomas Pynchon and Francis Bacon. Pynchon is also lifted to serve “Blue Sunshine”, a collision of school shooters, serial killers and fictional fuck-ups (“Fast forward to Compton/Fast forward to Pynchon/Fast forward to Columbine'”) whose buzzy guitar lines are taunting and confrontational like a smarmy teenager. The innocuous title of “My Lasagne” belies a song that exists in several time periods at once: a visit to see Guernica, 50 people with their backs to the portrait of Dora Maar; the time that Picasso painted from; the Reina Sofia and the dirty streets of the Malasaña; myth-making musicians and the myths they’re riffing off overlapping and leering at each other.
All this could be laboured in lesser hands, but cultural verbosity is second nature to The Yummy Fur, who transform all this source material into songs that are weird, sexy, funny and absurd. Meaning is not happily understood or flattened. Susan Sontag's essay Against Interpretation accompanied McKeown as he wrote this album, and she’s paraphrased in “Semolina Ballerina”, the album’s justification of artistic ambiguity. Thomson’s motorik beat leads a gathering of back-and-forth instrumental phrases – including a wiry contribution on saxophone – embodying the futility of trying to parse something definitive from repeated action. “Listen to the very first thing that’s in your head,” Sontag-via-McKeown commands directly, then slinks sideways: “Interpretation is a conversation in an unmade bed”
The album features two more focused portraits, or at least The Yummy Fur’s version of such a thing. “Wanda” merges the life of filmmaker Barbara Loden and the title character of her semi-autobiographical 1970 feature film, with Loden’s then-husband Elia Kazan joining the fray of no-good men in her film. It’s a mix of adaptation and avant-criticism, with McKeown’s wordplay and mannered pronunciation mirroring the way that non-fiction and fiction twist around each other in the song. The title track is a series of vignettes and impressions from the lives of the band’s ‘90s inner circle, positing painter Mac McNaughton as a kind of Falstaffian ringleader. As with Piggy Wings and the recent single “New T-Shirt”, McNaughton painted the cover of Everybody Talks About The Weather – like the album’s music, the image of a coy girl in a white dress is an uncanny amalgamation of styles, suggestions and references just out of reach, as though seen in an art museum in a dream.
The album ends with two reads of the same frustration. “King of Nothing” is the closest The Yummy Fur will ever get to sludge-rock: the band melts together into a dusty, dreary haze as McKeown drowns in a drudgery of personal struggle (“Two jumpers on in Babylon/And only cats to talk to”) and the rhythmic toppling of heroes (Rowlands, Duvall, Munro). The majority of visible dirt is cleaned off for “Say Hello”, an uncharacteristic depiction of throwing the windows open after a dark night of the soul. Here, the situation is still cold and hard (“When the sun burns gold, but the heat never reaches your fingertips”) but it feels surmountable. Everybody Talks About The Weather is an unpredictable album from an unpredictable group, but ending on a moment of almost uncomplicated light is maybe its biggest surprise. - Claire Biddles (2026)

The method is instability.

— Violeta Garcia & Hora Lunga

Violeta García & Hora Lunga return with 4ever, their second album and the follow-up to I’ll Wait For You In The Car Park. Released in 2025 on -ous, their debut received airplay on BBC and NTS and was selected for Bandcamp’s Best Experimental Music year-end list. 4ever picks up where that record left off: in ordinary moments, small scenes and the strange emotional weight of being somewhere between places. But here, these moments are stretched across a much larger, darker screen. A night flight, a terminal, a bad connection. When too many feelings are carried from one place to another, everyday situations begin to feel epic, empty, or apocalyptic.

Built from García’s cello and Hora Lunga’s synths, samples and field recordings, the album pushes further into emotion, letting fragile melodies, orchestral cello gestures, heavy low-end and compressed noise melt into something both dystopian and strangely familiar. Its warmth is not meant to be an escape from this world, but something that appears within it. Acoustically, the album lives through the closeness of the materials, the way sounds stay with each other, and in the feeling that even the most unstable moments are being carried together. The album presents itself in scenes that fade into each other: quiet melodic fragments that are interrupted and restarted, unpredictable changes of direction, held together by an inevitable melody, a bright synth harmony unfolding into an almost orchestral cello arrangement. Later, a broken organ-like sample turning in circles, cello melodies appearing as if they were trying to remember a song that never belonged to one voice alone. An endless loop that is placed under changing lights, briefly opening into emotional chords, then slipping back into emptiness.

It is this instability that Violeta García and Hora Lunga place at the center of their collaboration. They do not decorate the cello with production, or place electronics around an acoustic centre. They explain: “On 4ever, we become part of the same unstable surface. What holds the record together is not resolution, but the trust in staying together as things distort, overload, disappear and return.”

Violeta García, an Argentinian cellist known for her solo work and for her role in the punk band Blanco Teta, brings the instrument close to the body, as melody, pressure, texture, noise and sudden emotional weight. García has brought her distinct musical voice to KEXP, Rewire, Le Guess Who?, Bad Bonn Kilbi, Silent Green, TransMusicales, Roskilde and more.

Hora Lunga, a Zurich-based producer and composer working across unstable song forms, treats electronics less as a frame than as a weather system: something that can hold a scene together, distort it or make it disappear. In recent years, his compositions have ranged from experimental song forms, sound performances, ensemble compositions and film music. His ensemble WIRREN consists of up to fifteen performers.

Pressure is the medium of wind players. Wind instruments all sound thanks to pressure differentials, whether that’s the rush of wind over a lip plate or a steady, buzzing exhalation through pursed lips. Ka Baird and Chris Ryan Williams (HxH) are wind players well- schooled in the power of using pressure and movement to amplify the mystery of an invisible force animating a metal tube. They augment their instruments, flute and trumpet respectively, with electronics, sometimes obscuring the acoustic sound source, sometimes making it hyperreal. Flutters of lip and tongue slither over the listener’s ear, and sustained tones become a dense fog, pushing on other kinds of visceral, emotional pressure points.

On Enthalpy, Baird and Williams’ first album as a duo, the energy they conjure feels barely contained, the pressure built up to a breaking point before spilling out in multiple directions at various speeds. They borrow the title from thermodynamics, referring to the total energy of a system based on its pressure and volume. The music flies out in bursts; it seeps and oozes, flows with intention. It is an incredibly rhythmic work without any hint of meter, full of sounds that punctuate with the thud of a dart hitting a bullseye. Williams’ capability to conjure swirling atmospherics, as well as his remarkable ability to pull fragments of melody from the haze, fit puzzle-like into Baird’s exclamations and the eruption of electronics that often dovetail them. The duo draws on tones from nearly the entire range of human hearing, from nimble but bulbous throbs of sub-bass to pinprick flickers of ultra-high end.

The sessions that produced Enthalpy were completely improvised, showcasing a degree of mind-meld that belies each participant’s thrill at approaching the unknown. This isn’t a casual conversation, but an omnidirectional tangle that ties and reties itself into new knots as the album progresses. Williams and Baird have both become ubiquitous presences throughout the New York City experimental music communities, collaborating with innumerable others and learning how their unique approaches work in tandem with similarly expansive thinkers and players. Even in the album’s most spacious moments, there’s a tension between the feeling of being unmoored and yet completely locked in, like the abyss is just one more river to cross. They ford it together before moving on to the next idea in lock step.

For the listener, Enthalpy is often felt in the body as much as it reverberates within the ears. We’re tossed from side to side, made to shoulder the impact of detonating electronics, absorbing these sounds with the feet, gut, and crown. Baird reaches into the back of their throat for guttural growls, and we can almost feel the scratch. As we tread the border of the synthesthetic, it's a reminder of the physical nature of sound, that the space between our ears and the speakers is its own enthalpic system of energy conduction. Move with it, let it move you, and see how it feels.

The debut album from Glasgow's Homework is fuzzy, sentimental indie rock for fans of Teenage Fanclub, Pavement, and The Vaselines. Bang Here if Stuck was recorded live at Chime Studios and arrives on vinyl September 25 vía Meritorio Records. Homework is a quintessential Glasgow band - overstimulated and a little rough round the edges, but with a pretty streak and a big, sentimental heart. They make fuzzy 90s-indebted indie rock that's bursting with ideas and sounds like home. Twin songwriters Michael Newton and Santiago Taberna trade off driving lopsided anthems and fuzzy baroque pop experiments, their voices and guitars tangled together in a way that feel less like a band and more like a shared language. Rhythm section Lizzie Quirke and Andrew Gordon provide a loping centre of gravity - steady enough to hold everything together, loose enough to let it breathe. Bang Here if Stuck, their debut album, delivers a kind of enthusiastic chaos where everything fits exactly where it should. Recorded at Chime Studios in Glasgow with Melissa Brisbane, the band tracked the core of the album live to best capture the playful spontaneity of their gigs. Drawing from the likes of Pavement, Teenage Fanclub, The Vaselines and Urusei Yatsura, it offers a familiar sound that's easy to love, punctuated by oddball diversions that lead somewhere unpredictable and unique. For fans of Teenage Fanclub, Pavement, Guided By Voices, Dinosaur Jr, Sebadoh, The Vaselines, Urusei Yatsura.

A side is "Drumfetish" a ZMK 01 hit combo... The music is exactly at the inbetween Hardtek and Hardcore... And also it's a super cut-off/bring-it-in crossfader tune for actives deejays ! Eenjoy the different ways to spin it... Or with Drum & Bass or with Hardcore !

The flip is "Refuse To Believe", it brings a very mystical or nostalgic, or new wave feeling, using flangers and Transcore tricks... I always felt it was an node to the IST productions.

At a time Stefan ZMK was making lots of music for our scene, and ZMK was one of my favorite crew on vinyl. I am really proud he accepted to make a vinyl with us. Nowadays he is one of my favorite mastering studio...
So I asked him if he could re-master his own music ?

Here's the result : one track per side, playing 45 RPM (wich is cool because at 33 it's a bloody weapon too).

We all definitely hope you'll enjoy this new mastering & cut as we do !

Mastering : Stefan ZMK
Cut by : Simon Davey
Visuel : Vstee FDB
Pressing : Record Industry
Distro : Toolbox Records

Meg Lui is a Northern California-born singer-songwriter, based in the Hudson Valley since 2015. In her songs, vivid lyrics and poignant melodies intertwine with a voice that feels both intimate and lasting. Through reflections on love, resilience, and the human experience, she offers listeners a window into her world.


A Californian by birth, Boston-educated at Berklee College of Music, musically raised in Brooklyn, and now settled in the Catskills, Meg has released music under the names M. Lui, Grover, and as part of the trio Ember Isles.
Her influences-ranging from Freddie Mercury, The
Cranberries, No Doubt, Sheryl Crow, and Bonnie Raitt-reflect her love for artists whose fearless individuality continues to shape her dynamic songwriting and performance.


Over the past two years, Meg has lent her voice to records including Sufjan Stevens' Javelin (2023), Sam Evian's Plunge, Denison Witmer's Anything At All, John Legend's My Favorite Dream, Keenan O'Meara's forthcoming record Bathe In The Everlasting Light, and Liam Kazar's Pilot Light. She performs regularly with Keenan O'Meara and Hannah Cohen and occasionally when the stars align, with the Hudson Valley country band Critter Bonus.

Colorize presents 22, the debut album from California-based producer, DJ and yoga teacher mölly, a deeply personal body of work shaped by connection, surrender and healing.

Elderberry Jak was and is arguably the finest rock band to come out
West Virginia. It is certainly an arguable case if its single album is an accurate indicator, as the recording reveals a quartet as strong as any number of its more well-known, more commercially successful hard
rock contemporaries--bands such as Free, the James Gang, the
Guess Who, and Three Dog Night--all with which Elderberry Jak shared a variety of sonic attributes. The band came together in the fall of 1969, with bass player Dave Coombs and lead vocalist Joe Cerisano (Silver Condor, Trans-Siberian Orchestra) as its co-founders. The two had previously played together in Coombs' outfit J.B. and the Bonnevilles
. The Bonnevilles formed in 1965 and developed over the next few years into the most outstanding and popular group in the entire state of West Virginia. Upon the demise of J.B. and the Bonnevilles in 1969,
the duo formed a new unit called Kaboose, which lasted seven months. Then, with the addition of Tom Nicholas on guitar and Joe Hartman behind the drum kit, they became Elderberry Jak, named after the elderberry wine made by an uncle of Coombs. The quartet had soon become a powerful unit, mixing hard-driving rock with invigoratingly tight funk. The band traveled throughout their home states, Ohio and Pennsylvania, for performances, eventually earning a record deal with
Kenny's brother Leland Rogers in Memphis. The result was the first-
rate Long Overdue, released in 1970

Some recordings herald the future in ways that are impossible to see in real time. Teodros Makonnen With His Organ (ቴዎድሮስ መኮንን ከኦርጋኑ ጋር), by the artist Teodros Makonnen, also known as Teddy Mak, is one of those. Today, electronic sounds, synthesizers, and digital production are taken for granted in Ethiopian music, but in the early 1980s, they were novelties that polarized opinion. Even to this day, the story of Teodros Makonnen’s legacy has never been properly told. He played a decisive role in defining the sound of the digital era of Ethiopian music that emerged in the 1980s and beyond, both as a keyboard player and as a producer, songwriter, performer, and sound designer.

Ethiopian music was at a crossroads in the early 1980s. Much like music in the rest of the world, technology and automation heralded either a quantum leap in musical development or the annihilation of musicianship, depending on who you’d ask. The changes were incremental nonetheless, but with the benefit of hindsight one can clearly see that the changes meant different things in different contexts. Drum machines and electric organs came to replace many hotel bands because, all of a sudden, one musician could control drums, melody, and accompaniment. Teodros was one of the first musicians in Ethiopia to explore the possibilities this opened up.

Teodros’ father, Captain Makonnen Beri, was a chief pilot at Ethiopian Airlines and a music enthusiast at that. This would prove important to his development, as Makonnen brought back a piano from Germany, which would lead to the first steps in Teodros’ long musical career. Captain Makonnen’s work as Head of Flight Operations and as a pilot exposed him to the wider world that was far from commonplace for most Ethiopians. In a house where music captivated the whole family, the piano gave Teodros’ talent an outlet. Not only was a piano at home rare in Ethiopian households, his father also brought an Indian teacher to their home to teach Teodros and his brother, Captain Samuel Makonnen, music theory (solfeggio or ear training) and piano. Teodros and his youngest brother, the late great Dereje, a member of both the legendary Ibex Band and the Ethiopian reggae group Dallol, took up music from that point onward, with Teodros beginning to develop his proficiency at the age of eight. His father encouraged him to practice tirelessly at home, and Teodros later received musical schooling at the German School in Addis Ababa.

His obvious talent led to studies and formal education at the Yared School of Music, followed by continued studies in American jazz at Northern Virginia Community College in Virginia. Teodros cut his teeth professionally in his mid-teens, not only as a keyboardist, but also as an arranger for the Wabi Shebelle and Dahlak bands in the 1970s. He mastered electronic sequencing early, rising to prominence through the midnight recording sessions held during the military curfew. The pressures imposed by the curfew required precise and disciplined recordings, and Teodros delivered just that. This, in turn, led to collaborations with iconic artists such as Mulatu Astatke, Aster Aweke, Menelik Wossenachew, Tilahun Gessesse, Mahmoud Ahmed, and Alemayehu Eshete.

In those days, he sat in as a keyboardist with the Dahlak Band when Dawit Yifru took a hiatus to study in Russia, and also with the Ethiostar Band. He secured a residency at the Wabi Shebelle Hotel with the Shebele Band, together with Zelalem Tadese (drums), later succeeded by Elias Bekele, Mulugeta Hailu (bass), Teferi ‘Bibisha’ Mengesha (guitar), Kumelachew G/Selassie (trumpet), and Teshome Deneke (saxophone). A friendly competition developed between the bands associated with the Ras Hotel (the Ibex Band), Ghion Hotel (the Dahlak Band), and Wabi Shebelle Hotel (the Shebele Band). The music scene at Wabi Shebelle saw teenagers commanding the spotlight in an industry otherwise dominated by musicians of an older generation.

At the Wabi Shebelle Hotel, Teodros met a diplomat from Saudi Arabia and later visited him at his home in Addis Ababa, a meeting that had unexpected musical consequences. The man owned a Yamaha double-deck keyboard. That evening, they recorded Teodros Makonnen With His Organ (ቴዎድሮስ መኮንን ከኦርጋኑ ጋር) in one take. This recording, a cornerstone in the early digital sound of Ethiopian music, came about almost by chance, simply because Teodros got the opportunity. Traditional Ethiopian songs were cast in a wholly electronic style.

Once freed from backing duties, Teodros’ keyboards could explore dreamlike soundscapes that took Ethiopian music in new directions. Even though the cassette contained well-known Ethiopian songs, they were given highly original arrangements, performed on an electric organ with drum machine backing and rhythm patterns that left the listener with suggestive, lingering sounds. “Libesh Kabashen” (also known as “Anchi Bale Game”) and “Odu Gol Golesa” wrap you in the very stuff that dreams are made of.

Originally released on cassette only, this recording exudes a mystique that surpasses even some of the most obscure Ethiopian recordings of the day. It remained more or less unknown outside of Ethiopia until now. Some of the tracks, like “Addis Fikir,” are permeated with an almost naive buoyancy, free-floating sounds that lost contact with the ground the moment they were conceived. Others, like “Meche New Hageren Yemayew” and “Lelitu Alnega Alegn,” carry a moodier, quirkier timbre, with pulsating rhythms in the background. Yet even the darker pieces contain an unmistakable wave, something essentially Ethiopian. If most recordings of Teodros’s contemporaries at the time were teeming with atmosphere, his songs seem instead at home in the stratosphere, almost ethereal. Some of the music here could be filed under “lullabies,” were it not for the recurring, almost brooding feeling that engulfs the listener on the aforementioned tracks. You could easily be forgiven for drifting into a blissful haze as the music washes over you.

Up to the advent of electronic music production, Ethiopia was totally dominated by big bands on the one hand, and small groups on the other. The former were tied to large institutions such as the military, the latter emerged from the entertainment industry, in hotel bars and nightclubs. These groups were commercially driven, and bands ultimately had to foster a mercenary approach to employment, albeit not to the passion for music. In the light of this, Teodros’ musical legacy can be seen in two ways. On the one hand, he is a key player in Ethiopian music from the 1970s onwards, leaving an indelible mark through hundreds of compositions and arrangements, including soundtracks for numerous documentary films and advertisements for different companies. On the other hand, the way he and others employed electronics brought Ethiopian music onto a fork in the road.

The replacement of traditional instruments with electronic equipment was seen as impending doom by some. Others, like Teodros, saw new avenues for performance, production, and creativity. Just as later producers like Abegasu Shiota of Admas, Teodros was a trailblazer who opened paths that it took Ethiopian music as a whole more than a decade to rush into. The hotel scene had already been pushed toward electronic music by financial necessity and cost-cutting. Today’s revived global interest in Ethiopian music from the seventies and eighties, alongside a broader resurgence, has changed the reasons for using digital means of music production. They have become tools for musical dreaming. This is where the dreaming began.

Introducing the second release from Principauté de Bowl-Air — PBAVINYL002

Principauté de Bowl-Air is a label founded by DJ Bowlcut, a key figure in supporting Seoul’s underground scene through Seoul Community Radio. The project presents his vision of deep, glitchy minimal house music, woven with the story of a secret micronation hidden in the heart of Seoul.

Following the debut vinyl release, PBAVINYL002 features an original track by DJ Bowlcut alongside reinterpretations by his friends Slowmouth and Furz.

The cover artwork references one of the first K-pop acts to introduce rave sounds to Korean audiences — Seo Taiji and Boys. Their first techno album featured an image of the top of an aluminum can, and PBAVINYL002 draws from the same visual reference. The track “Dig This” also reworks elements from their song “You in Illusions (Techno Taiji Mix).”

The A-side opens with “Falling”, a hypnotic-groove track built around deep synths and designed for afterhours. It works as a perfect DJ tool for gently guiding the crowd into a subtle trance state, further enhanced by the vocal sample “Everybody Falling, Anybody Feel that Falling?”, which pulls listeners into a slow, spiraling moment.

The second A-side track, “Dig This”, takes direct inspiration from one of the earliest K-pop tracks to feature rave stabs, TB-303, and classic rave elements — “You in Illusions (Techno Taiji Mix)”. DJ Bowlcut reuses many of the same samples that Seo Taiji originally layered, reconstructing them into a deep minimal cut with a distinctive Mentasm stab woven into the minimal house framework.

The B-side features remixes by Slowmouth and Furz.

Slowmouth transforms “Falling” into a brighter, more festive exploration that reveals the hidden layers of the original hypnotic groove.
Furz, meanwhile, turns “Dig This” into a funky, dancefloor-ready banger aimed at a wider crowd.

Curses' dark, romantic take on electronic music is often linked to EBM, new beat, synth-pop, and the offshoots in between - but, as the artist states, it's feelings, not genres, that motivate his music. Especially the underground and its niche sounds, brimming with collective energy, drive and passion, make for a major impetus. It's no coincidence that he's drawn to the era when man turned to the machine, as a collaborative force, and a new kind of liveliness, timelessness, emerged. In Curses' practice, this synergy translates into an enticing mix of synthesisers and voices, electronic drums and guitars. Nostalgia operates as an influence rather than a motive, though: despite its affinities with the past, his music is stridently contemporary and idiosyncratic. On the "Perfect High" EP, this approach is rendered in a resolutely dancefloor-oriented selection. It's rich in detail and constantly evolving; each time a new element appears, it's treated with such delight and care that you could imagine the track to flit off and turn it into the main theme. This doesn't happen, however, as the sense of cohesion and momentum is paramount: there's a relentless forward drive that keeps engagement tight from start to finish. The detuned, chorus-heavy leads of title track "Perfect High" and the clockwork-tinged percussion of "Weapon Of Time" jell with lustrous hooks. The ominous choirs on "Dare To Dream" and the proto rolling-and-scratching squelches of "Killer Instinct" similarly fall into place. Bravado never stands in the way of flow. Everything is kept in check by gated R-50 rhythms, and in the vocal department, Curses finds the sweet spot between his own voice and a slew of off-kilter samples. On closer "Blasted" NYC royalty Andi joins for a slab of synth-driven groove. It's shiny and sensuous, like patent leather - a perfect distillation of club music channeled through pop aesthetics, and thus a right coda for ALT028.

Children of Zeus return with their third studio album ‘As The World Burns…’

Five years on from their highly-acclaimed sophomore album ‘Balance’, Manchester’s kings of hip hop soul, Tyler Daley and Konny Kon, bring us a brand new 16-track opus.

Sonically the duo continue their story where they left off; crafting an amalgamation of street soul, alternative r&b and boom bap hip hop, with a sprinkle of flavours taken from their original multi-genre pirate radio influences, and a dash of forward-thinking new sounds, ensuring all tracks are destined to become future classics.

The features are sparing but powerful, enlisting the talents of revered UK rapper Knucks (‘Before We Drown’), Colorado-native Young Old Soul (‘Dopamine’), MCR family K S R (‘Do You Want To Get High’, & Australian/Mauritian up & comer Anieszka (‘Water & Vibes’).

As with previous projects, this album is largely produced by the duo themselves, though there are guest productions from previous collaborators too, including Grammy Award-winner Beat Butcha, Grammy-nominated Teo, and broken beat pioneer K15, along with an assortment of new players making moves in the underground neo-soul & beats circuit.

Conceptually, this project continues on with the story to date. An eternal search for sunsets and soulfood, as a respite to the anxieties of the modern world; personally, professionally and globally. Assertive swagger is matched with brutal but sincere candidity. As ever, it encapsulates the rough with the smooth, with reflections on where they’ve been, where they’re at and where they’re headed. There’s no preaching to be found here; just an acceptance of things as they are, an embrace of the environment and people they were nurtured by, and a celebration of some of the finer things in life; slow jams, weed & rum, water & vibes. Raps for listeners, blunt heads, fly ladies and prisoners. All packaged together as another perfect sonic love letter to sound system culture. 50 minutes of big people music.

Since the release of their anthemic debut single ‘Still Standing’ a decade ago, to the subsequent EP ‘The Story So Far’, and their critically-lauded debut album ‘Travel Light’, the duo have received numerous accolades, including nominations for AIM Awards & Worldwide Awards both, along with tons of ‘Album of the Year’ nods care of Clash Magazine, Bandcamp, Complex, Wordplay and many more. This along with huge swathes of support from DJs, radio stations, press outlets, tastemakers, luminaries & fellow artists across the globe.

Children of Zeus have performed sessions for COLORS, Soulection (Apple Music), DJ AG, Boiler Room, BBC 6 Music and at the infamous Maida Vale studios for BBC 1Xtra as well as touring across Europe, Australia and South Africa. This is in addition to collaborating & touring with Mercury Award Winner’s Ezra Collective, including a Wembley Arena show. Other collaborations over the years have included Shy FX, Juls, Goldie, Black Milk, Kofi Stone and the late great Lenzman.

From the Broke ’n’ English / Hoodman-era, to the present day, Children of Zeus have been omnipresent in the fabric of British black music. Proud ambassadors of Manchester music, and of UK soul, it really is “Zeus to the world”.

Children of Zeus have been adorned with plenty of flowers over their career. The unbridled quality and poignance of the music and the message on display throughout this project will see the algorithmic needle move some more. It’s undoubtedly set to be a Zeus Summer. As the world burns…

Available on all digital platforms and physical formats, Friday September 4th 2026.







t 07: Do You Want To Get High? (feat. K S R ) - Children of Zeus03:26







t 07: Do You Want To Get High? (feat. [ K S R ]) - Children of Zeus03:26







[t] 07: Do You Want To Get High? (feat. [ K S R ]) - Children of Zeus03:26







[g] B3 | Do You Want To Get High? (feat [ K S R ]) - Children of Zeus03:26

Japanese acid pop outfit Cho Co Pa Co Cho Co Quin Quin channel the globe-trotting spirit of Haruomi Hosono’s 1970s tropical boogie on their debut album, Tradition.

Named after one of the basic rhythms of Cuban folk music and drawing on influences from across the globe, Cho Co Pa Co Cho Co Quin Quin are quite simply a world unto itself.

Comprised of three childhood friends, Daido, Yuta and So, who reconnected during the coronavirus pandemic, Cho Co Pa initially emerged as a playful way for the three 23-year-olds to pass the time. Tapping into their youthful connection, they created a sound that exudes confidence and curiosity, a homage to the masterful world of YMO’s and Happy End’s Haruomi Hosono, rooted in the trio’s own idiosyncratic experience of the present.

Recorded at home and promoted on hugely popular DIY TikTok videos, their debut album Tradition is a technicolour exercise in armchair travelling – a kind of lockdown exotica for the housebound whose nostalgic flights of fancy are laced with a sense of whimsical melancholy for the lost freedoms of youth.

Referencing everything from Afro-Cuban percussion to lo-fi beats, Buddhist spirituality to trap, each member of the band brings different musical inspirations to the table. Latin American and Middle Eastern styles sit adjacent to a fascination for the electronic music of Aphex Twin, Dorian Concept, Underworld and Daft Punk. At times, the music verges on acid pop bliss, at others, it grooves with the instrumental funk sensibility of BADBADNOTGOOD.

“In the first place, when I create a song, my goal is to transport the listener to a mysterious place,” vocalist Daido explained in a recent magazine interview. Using lyrics as another sonic texture in the composition of ideas, Cho Co Pa paint beguiling sonic postcards of far-flung moods across 12 highly original tracks.

Marrying the organic and the electronic on rhythmically sophisticated compositions like ‘Chichibu’ and ‘Watatsumi’, it is on the album’s standout track ‘Gandhara’ that the experimental sound of Cho Co Pa comes to the fore. Referencing the ancient city of Gandhara through which Buddhism made its way from India to China, the track is a vocoder-trap-inspired, Udu drum-driven pop jam that lilts with unmistakable Balearic flair. If that’s difficult to imagine, then know simply that ‘Gandhara’ sounds like nothing else on this side of Saturn. Even Daido seemed surprised by the outcome: “I feel like we were able to create something that exceeded our abilities. That was huge!”

Hugely popular in Japan, with festival appearances lined up alongside BADBADNOTGOOD at Asagiri Jam in October, it's safe to say the success of Tradition has taken Cho Co Pa by surprise. You won’t have heard anything like it."

Forest Swords' debut album 'Engravings' is back in print on vinyl and CD for the first time in years, newly remastered by Rashad Becker with previously unheard bonus tracks exclusive to this edition.

Created by electronic producer and composer Matthew Barnes, and originally released via Tri Angle Records, 'Engravings' received instant acclaim from the likes of Resident Advisor, Pitchfork, The Guardian and saw Barnes take his hypnotic live show across festivals like Sonar, Glastonbury, Unsound and Le Guess Who.

While much of British electronica is defined by its inner cities, 'Engravings' was recorded in Barnes' hometown on the banks of an ancient river in Merseyside, the album's earthy, organic soundscape reflected the landscape and climate: all silt and sandstone, woodlands and wind, with the ghosts of Liverpool's pop music and clubbing history echoing in the near distance.

The album was a prototype for a sonic vocabulary Barnes has expanded on over the next few years: in critically acclaimed studio albums ('Compassion' and 'Bolted' via Ninja Tune), collaborations with Massive Attack and Neneh Cherry, remixes for the likes of Bjork, as well as commissions for video games, ballet and film scores - of which he has carved a career as an in-demand composer and sound designer.

'Engravings' is a snapshot of an artist confidently defining their own language: a piece of work that distills influences like dub, ambient, rave, post-rock and psychedelia into an ancient-futurist musical vision that feels timeless and vital.

A long-lost Japanese acid folk gem, Niningashi’s 1974 private press debut Heavy Way shimmers with originality, deft song writing and a dream-like groove.

Although he was training as a pharmacist, Kazuhisa Okubo was much more interested in prescribing musical medicine.
A coming-of-age album, Heavy Way captured a turning point in Okubo’s life, and Japanese society more widely as a nostalgia for the pastoral calm of the traditional life, met the cosmopolitan thrill of coffee, sex and cigarettes in the big city.
Intoxicated by Tokyo, driven by a passion for music and surrounded by a thriving acid folk scene, the young student filtered his experiences through a psychedelic cocktail of soulful influences from the US and Japan.
Niningashi was his first band, and Heavy Way was their only album. It was honest and raw, deep and strangely funky, in an off-beat kind of way. Across nine tracks, Okubo and the 6-piece band put their own spin on the new folk sound of Japan, combining witty lyrics with electric guitar-driven solos and crisp, understated grooves.

Melancholy and profound, opening track ‘Ameagari’ feels like a synthesis of Harvest-era Neil Young and Haruomi Hosono’s Happy End. Then there’s the whimsical washboard country sound of ‘Semai Boku No Heyade’; the moody, low-lit charm of ‘Restaurant’; and ‘Hitoribotchi’, a sensitive portrayal of childhood, steeped in memories of rainfall that will resonate with fans of Woo and Mac Demarco.
While Okubo would go on to taste success with psychedelic folk bands Neko and Kaze, the latter of which scored three #1 albums, little is known about his mysterious debut with Niningashi.
Self-released by Okubo in 1974, and featuring album artwork by his brother, it has slowly generated a cult following online, intrigued by its soft and enchanting sound. So few records were ultimately pressed that those remaining have fetched up to £1,500 online.

Featured on Time Capsule’s era-spanning collection Nippon Acid Folk, Niningashi’s Heavy Way is a deep-cut grail of a vibrant time in Japan’s musical history, where even the pharmacists were making jams.

Tucked in the heart of Koreatown, Los Angeles, lies The Libra Hotel—the titular architecture of Nick Malkin's new album and site of his musical and psychogeographic exploration. Unlike most musical "site-specific" studies, Malkin remains wholly ambivalent to the documentarian approach, instead sharpening an auteur-like focus on the site as a conceptual and highly expressive backdrop. The Libra is musically explored as a space that houses a noir fragmentation of identity—the exhausted trope of a complicated protagonist walking through rain-soaked street corners and fumy neon lights—where an inner monologue is rendered in both miniature and at a cosmic scale. Casting aside stifling tropes around field recording, ambient, and improvised music, Malkin's work finds its own unique fidelity and emotional core through the assembly and reassembly of memory. Nearly every sound on the album—from frayed saxophones, lambent pianos, and dissected jazz drum kits—are multiplied, shattered, and reconstituted into shapes that adorn The Libra in a motion-blurred fog. The narrative of the Hotel suddenly appears as if out of the mist, with intersecting characters interacting within its walls by happenstance. Adminst the languid set pieces, wraith-like sonic grains gravitate around wide subbass beams that give structural form to The Libra, a narrative tension like when a scene is shot from hundreds of different perspectives: an image both luminous and veiled.

Much like Frank Sinatra's own spatial residency immortalized on "Live at The Sands," "At The Libra Hotel" showcases an exuberant view of entertainment, hospitality, and a form of masculinity, one that can quickly detourn into darkness. Knowing this, Malkin extracts a melancholic core out of The Libra locale. The flickering shadows of American decadence are shown in their ephemeral honesty, lines that trace how even in everyday life virtue is tested, sanity is tested, even reality is tested within the confines of desire, within the night. The album is draped in fleeting textures, carefully arranged with a trance-like microtonality, the faint inflections and articulations of a jazz band cascading into dissipated stillness. Voicemails about changed locations and covert eavesdropping on guests' whispered conversations provide an atmosphere of missed connection and voyeurism—a purloined letter of desire receding into a vanishing point. Like the music itself, The Hotel, a chapel perilous at the intersection of desolation row, the center of it all, yet simultaneously at the edge of town, becomes a structure between libidinous virtuality and actuality—our inevitable half-light.

Ultimately, the pensive atmosphere of "At The Libra Hotel," powerfully asserts a plea for the kinds of intimacy only possible in transient spaces. Here, memory cascades into a force that feels like something supernatural, perhaps even religious, yet always subject to the infidelity of our imagination. Here, the album opens into its primary psychodrama, the transient nature of subjectivity itself and how this becomes fractured in the tumult between our commitments and desires. Within this nocturnal space, to quote Louise Bourgeois, "you pile up associations the way you pile up bricks. Memory itself is a form of architecture."

Continuing in its series of Yoko Ono reissues, Secretly Canadian has announced that Ono’s seminal 1982 album It’s Alright (I See Rainbows) will be released August 28, 2026, in expanded CD and digital versions, and on vinyl for the first time in more than forty years, with expanded and enhanced artwork. Influenced equally by 1960s girl group vocals and 1980s synthesizer experimentation, It's Alright (I See Rainbows) is an album of “adventurous… lush… committed and convincing avant-gardism” (Rolling Stone). As Ono said in her 1992 Onobox liner notes, “It was ’82 and it seemed as though I was finally in sync with the world.” Vacillating from a widow’s never-truly-over grief, to the necessary uplift for an artist and mother to continue her life’s missions, tracks like “Loneliness” and “Spec of Dust” make way for poptimism via “Let the Tears Dry,” and title track “It’s Alright.” As Ono said of the album in 1983, “It’s like my diary that I went through… and I’m just saying, hey, I’ve got the same kind of emotions that you’ve probably got too, and here I am saying hello… Around December 8th or whatever, I was feeling really heavy and feeling sort of down, you know… and then, side two, it’s all right… It was Sean Lennon who says, ‘Wake up, wake up, mommy.’ Like an angel that came and said, ‘Wake up!’… Wake up and dream love, and let the tears dry and I see rainbows. And sort of I’m saying all that. In result of Sean waking me up, see?” Lennon, speaking of his mother in a more recent interview with NPR in 2025, “She would say that energy is just energy, so you can turn it into anything you like. And she always said that she would take that negative energy and turn it into something productive and creative… It never stopped her from creating and putting herself out there, and I really think that it paid off… You never know how long it'll take for people to appreciate you if you just kind of hang on and don't give up.”

Geoff Kirkwood (Man Power)

I’dgained some notoriety as a music producer and DJ but I hit a horrible case of writers block around 2018.

The problem I was finding was that I was trying to shoe horn every smart arsed clever dick musical reference I had into the music I was making, but the function of dance music is to make people dance, not to show people who broad your musical references are, so I was making pretty shitty music that landed in the middle and didn’t achieve either aim.

To tackle this I ended up committing to just trying to make the most expressive and wanky experimental stuff I could. I was immersed in club culture at the time so the whole enterprise started as a joke, hence the name “Bed Wetter”. However when I fully submitted to just naked exploration the really unexpected thing that happened was that I found myself unavoidably having to deal with a lot of my own bullshit. That bullshit turned into the “Billy Mill is Dead” album, which was essentially the sound of me excavating my own life and looking at how I felt about where I was from, where I was headed, my family, my history, my region and all of the things i have conflicting feelings about.

It was partially catharsis and also a bit of deprogramming around being able to call myself an artist after being raised to believe that wasn’t an option for me.

I self released Billy Mill is Dead in the months before the pandemic and it found it’s fair share of love in the places I hoped would connect with it, and just the right amount of being ignored by people who I’m pleased didn’t feel it. This all lead to me being emboldened enough to apply for an artist in residence position at a big regional opera house months later in the middle of lockdown.

My feeling was that if my DJ career was potentially over for the remainder of my lifetime then there was no harm in exploring this alternative method of expression to see where it could take me.

I submitted a ridiculously ambitious plan for what I would like to do as a project, and to my absolute shock I was selected for the position.

I was 40 years old and from a scarcity background so I had a potentially unique response to that kind of validation for the first time and what followed next was a process of me just coming back with bigger and more ridiculous ideas just to find out at whatstage they’d tell me to stop.

The thing is, nobody did. I got as far as suggesting writing a full symphony to be performed by an orchestra before my own nerve gave out and I decided that was probably as far as I should push things.

The problem with people giving you permission to do things is that you then need to go out and figure out how to do those things.

The biggest issue for me, beyond raising the money to pay for everything, was how does a person actually write a symphony?

I was introduced to Fiona Brice, a multi instrumentalist and orchestral arranger. She’s also a recording artist who releases on Bella Union. On top of that she’s a violinist who used to be part of the band Placebo and who used to appear regularly playing for other bands on things like Top of the Pops.

Not only was Fiona uniquely placed to not look down on the strange provenance of someone from an Acid House background wanting to write a symphony, but more to the point we really hit it off from day one.

Fiona coached me in the essentials of writing for an Orchestra, and then I went off and wrote the 8 movements.

I’d love to say I laboured for years over this bit, but it took about 2 weeks in total. I’d also love to say what I wrote was a complete symphony, but the version of this which is solely me feels like looking at something without your glasses on. The shape,feel and borders were all there, but the definition was absent. Fiona taught me the broad language of a symphony, but without her it would have lacked all intonation, nuance and detail. Where I had shaped ideas with a hammer, she brought out my meaning with precision using a scalpel.

I think the prodigiously quick turnaround for the music is as much proof of how conceptually and musically aligned Fiona and I are. I know we’re both incredibly proud of what we’ve created.

It took nearly 2 more years to stage the debut performance in what was potentially the most traumatic period of my life which saw me embroiled in an international crisis with my own family and the death of my father, all with the backdrop of COVID.

The work itself is inspired by the working class experience, but it’s also a comment on how we get to decide what we are and how we’re defined, and we get to choose what we do to prove these things.

The original recording was contractually impossible to ever share again, so we re-recorded it in a working men’s club with jobbing (albeit world class) players. In many ways it’s a record that feels like it shouldn’t exist, which is why we’re all so happy that it does.

Shaped in the shadows and sounds of the legendary Topanga Canyon, California. The debut album from Biita Houdei is buoyed by a magic that feels wildly and beautifully untamed; wild-hearted sentiments that are shaped by the world around it, fascinated by the enchantment of it all, and delivered via a collective (harmony layered) voice that understands the complex nature of what it means to be alive in the here and now.

Produced by Haley Heynderickx, 'This Bed Was Made For Me' is a striking collection of stirring, signature folk songs animated by subtle instrumentation and orchestral flourishes. It feels lived in: vocals weave together in a beautiful harmonic dance, seasons shift, sunshine appears and bold psychedelic colours warm the horizon.

In the early stages of making her debut album, Biita Houdei knew two things: that she wanted the recordings to feel distinctly and palpably warm, and that she would sew a unique patch for every song on the album. The first of those things is subjective, though brightness pours in from all corners of This Bed Was Made For Me. The second became a laborious task she undertook throughout the process, the completion of which is testament to the slow process of it all, to the physical commitment and patience required to make a full work of art.

The patches she crafted during the making of This Bed Was Made For Me became a full quilt, one that now adorns the album’s front cover. Beneath it sits a striking collection of Houdei’s stirring, signature folk songs, brought into fruition with the help of fellow songwriter Haley Heynderickx, in her first lead production role, and the album’s producer/engineer Sahil Ansari. It’s also the first release Biita (pronounced “bee-tah”) is releasing under her newly-taken name, one that was gifted to her by her auntie and means "unique" in the Farsi language. “I proudly take this name,” Biita says of the change. “It makes me feel that much closer to my Persian heritage.”

Recorded across ten back-to-back and full days, the album touches on themes of love and heritage, of taking chances, the preciousness of time and the impact we all have on the world around us. A number of the songs were written in Topanga, California, while Biita settled into a new home as wild fires raged, and as she adjusted to a life which no longer held distinct seasonal changes, far from the Ozark Mountain home she felt so attached to. Such themes reveal themselves in a variety of ways across the album’s fourteen songs, that key sense of warmth retained in the bones of the album whether they are stepping into darkness or seeking out light.

The album feels lived in and alive; dust swirls, seasons shift, sunshine appears and is held. Biita calls it ‘psychedelic’ and there is indeed a sense of that in the world building, in the way the bold colours are always shifting. Formed of fourteen songs, and filling nearly forty-five minutes, This Bed Was Made For Me not only builds a whole world for listeners to inhabit but also implores you to stay a while. This was deliberate, indeed it’s Biita’s wish that listeners give the album dedicated time; to learn its shape, to explore it fully, away from the instant grab of playlists and skewed algorithms.

“Many of my favourite albums didn’t reveal themselves instantly to me,” Biita, now based in the Catskill Mountains of New York, explains. “Some did, of course, but I had to work to understand the full scope of the piece as a whole. I encourage people to dive deeper into everything that they choose to consume. It is not my intention to sound pretentious, but instead, I am trying harder to explain the gratitude I have for being able to craft every part of this album— using my hands, my brain, my voice, my visions. To me, it is an all encompassing work of art,” she continues. “Making the quilt was laborious. Taking the cover photo was laborious. No shortcuts, but rather a manual and tangible approach. I am thankful for the time it took.”

Dublin-born, thirty years an immigrant. That's the spine of henryohenry's debut, Apocrypha, not as a concept but as a condition. He's spent three decades in the United States working in the trades, absorbing the country's mythologies and building what he calls "an idiosyncratic American language" out of them, something closer to Whitman's vision than what he found. He is, by his own account, "formally and informally not a musician" — all but two of the songs were written on a $6 charity-shop guitar with a repaired headstock and strings that distorted unpredictably. It doesn't appear on the record. Produced by filmmaker Rick Alverson, the album is anchored by guitarist Eamon O'Leary and his son Ned Steves, recording together for the first time, without rehearsal. Erik Hall mixed and contributed overdubs; Emilie Rex of Lean Year lends harmonies to three songs; poet Callie Garnett appears on another. Album standout "There" captures something harder to name: how powerful feelings drive you to the page, and how the thing you make can outlast the feelings that made it. "It feels like a triumph over something," he says, "even if you're a bit embarrassed by some of the sentiment."


Apocrypha arrives as a debut but carries the patience of a life lived in full. For fans of John Cale, Nick Drake, Leonard Cohen.

The follow up to her UK number 1 album This Is How Tomorrow Moves, the stark and striking fourth album by beabadoobee is named for the electricity towers that dot every major artery in the world—the strong, spindly structures that reminded Beatrice Laus of her connection to friends and family at home while she was staring down extreme disconnection and isolation on tour over the past few years.

The title can also be read as an allusion to Laus’ spiky, forceful new sound—the waves of distortion that crash and shatter across this record’s 14 songs mirroring the intense crackle you hear when walking under power lines. The pylon is also a fitting symbol for an album that reckons with the repetitive anxieties of your mid-twenties: What if I’m always going to be this way? What if life is just pylon after pylon on the road?

The album’s first single is available to stream and buy from today: “Sun Has Set” introduces Pylon as, in essence, a set of songs that began as diary entries, words that Laus thought she’d never be able to say out loud. “A lot of the songs on this record are things I wish I could have said to someone,” she says. “This song has this petty tunnel vision—it’s like, I hate you. You’re gonna stay here and listen to how much I hate you. Because I never got to say that.” The single comes accompanied by a striking first person video directed by Bea’s partner and longtime visual collaborator Jake Erland.


Ever a devotee of pure rock music—both as something to be cherished and something to be played with—Laus casts these feelings in songs that touch on classic grunge, midwest emo and ‘90s radio rock, zeroing in on a sound that is both harsher and more direct than any of her previous records. She says the music she’s loved has “always been an influence” on her music, and so for B4 she went straight to the source. A fair few of Beabadoobee’s composite influences contributed to Pylon, a fact that speaks to the goodwill and respect Laus has amassed over the course of her relatively brief career.

Hayley Williams sings on “Nothing to Prove,” a deeply anthemic indie-rock song about getting your power back from fairweather friends who just want a bit of your success. The moody “Powerlines” features a verse from Turnstile singer Brendan Yates, a master of matching vocal force with emotional nuance. Elsewhere, you’ll find contributions from Pinegrove’s Evan Stephens Hall, Deftones’ Chino Moreno, and Title Fight’s Shane Moran, as well as, on “Write Me A Letter”, production work from Laus’ longtime friends and collaborators Matty Healy and George Daniel of The 1975.

Beabadoobee will debut songs from the record on the Powerlines Tour, her first ever arena shows and biggest tour to date, taking in shows across North America, the UK and Europe this autumn-winter. The Powerlines Tour kicks off 1 October and includes stops at Madison Square Garden, The Kia Forum, The O2 and more (full routing below). Support comes from Wisp in the US, Canada and UK and Violet Grohl in France, The Netherlands, Belgium and Germany.





Born in the Philippines and raised in London, Beatrice Laus emerged as a British alternative music icon across three acclaimed albums and five EPs. She has garnered multiple BRIT Award and BBC Sound Of nominations, and won NME’s Radar award, whilst amassing over 10 billion streams worldwide and more than 12 million followers across her social channels.

This Is How Tomorrow Moves became her first record to reach number 1 on the UK Official Album Chart in 2024, following her Top 10 albums Fake It Flowers (which reached number 8) in 2020 and 2022’s Beatopia (#4). Earlier this year, beabadoobee released the one-off single ‘‘All I Did Was Dream Of You,” teaming up with Grammy-nominated best New Artist The Marías, the result of a longtime mutual creative admiration between María Zardoya and Bea.

“An amazing new project…” Tony Minvielle, Jazz FM

“A lush, heatwave-friendly piece of dancefloor innovation…” Clash Magazine


First Word Records is delighted to bring you the debut EP from Ships of the Pharaohs.


Ships of the Pharaohs are a London-based collective led by producer Last Nubian, who’s had releases in his own right on labels like CoOp Presents, Eglo Records & Touching Bass. Blending jazz, soul, bossa nova, d&b and house-influenced grooves, the band also consists of vocalist Achanté, keys player Goldbar & bassist, Dougan.

The 7-track EP kicks off with the high-energy, vitamin D-saturated lead single ‘Sun is Rising’, featuring the guest vocals of brilliant Berlin-based singer Red Bird, who appears on three tracks on this project (‘For You’ and ‘Seasons’). ‘Can’t Quit’ follows on a smooth soulful house/bruk tempo, and invites in the thought-provoking spoken word prose of AKEEM. ‘Seasons’, ‘For You’ and recent single ‘Joys’ add another element to the band’s eclectic take on fusion, leaning heavily into the bossa side of the quartet’s influences. The latter track sees Achanté’s soulful harmonies gracefully float across a warm bed of keys, percussion, guitar picks & synth strings. We take a short jazzy breather on the ‘Interlude’ cut, featuring the resplendent sax of multi-talented Norwegian artist, Bror Havnes, who also features on the outro cut ‘One’ - this one seeing the crew ride out with a sonic salute to jungle/d&b, closing this first opus from the group with the energy levels remaining high.

Tre Wright (aka Last Nubian) explains “Our debut EP is a reflection of who we are, both individually and as a collective. Drawing inspiration from jazz, jungle, bossa nova, house, r&b and the music that's shaped us, we've explored our own interpretation of these sounds and how they come together in a way that feels true to us. It gave us the space to experiment without boundaries, trust our instincts, and create something that genuinely reflects where we are creatively right now.”


Originally conceived to perform Last Nubian material live for a Touching Bass showcase at We Out Here festival in 2023, the project soon took on a life of its own, as the group effort unleashed a unique chemistry & sound of its own merit. Thereafter followed numerous sessions in a studio-converted bedroom of a Brixton flat, developing this new sound. The finishing touches were taken care of at the infamous Total Refreshment Centre in North London, resulting in the formation of captivating new original material, which appears across this first extended release.

Ships of the Pharaohs have additionally performed live across London at Brick Lane Jazz Festival, House of KOKO, Jazz on Wick Festival, Peckham Levels, 91 Living Room & GROW in Hackney. Developing their powerful stage presence has gone hand in hand with the creation of their own material.

The initial singles from this project received praise & support from a variety of DJs, press outlets & tastemakers from the worlds of jazz, soul and clubland, including Shy One (NTS), Tony Minvielle (Jazz FM), Rohan Rakhit (Worldwide FM), Somewhere Soul & Clash Magazine to name a few.


With sonics somewhat reminiscent of Acid Jazz legends Incognito, merged with the class of Nuyorican Soul, and the dynamic fluidity of 4Hero, the 4-piece have cooked up a set of style & flavours uniquely their own, fresh for modern dances, incorporating organic improvisation with more contemporary club sounds.

The Ships of the Pharaohs are about to set sail for what is sure to be an exciting journey ahead.

‘Part 1’ will be released on 12” vinyl & all digital platforms on September 18th 2026.

Moving between lo-fi experimental songwriting, sparse post-punk textures and intimate recordings; Ukrainian artist Regina Collage’s new album ‘Horizont’ is a personal and honest document of rebuilding a life and creative voice in Bristol. The record holds space for themes of burnout, quiet shame, tenderness and the courage of staying emotionally open when the world feels unstable. Sung entirely in Ukrainian, ‘Horizont’ does not ask the listener to understand every word. Feeling carries the songs forward. Across bedroom recordings and borrowed studios, Regina moves between cloudy dissonance and stark minimal arrangements built around bass, fragments of guitar, and an exposed voice. The recordings hold onto their rough edges. Mistakes remain and imperfection becomes part of the story. “Music for me is about not being scared to be vulnerable,” Regina says. “Almost every song I have is about what it means to be open and emotional. I really do not think it is a weakness. I hope people can listen and feel welcome to take a break and just let their emotions exist.” The album takes its name from the Ukrainian word for “horizon,” that unreachable line where sky meets earth. For Regina, the horizon became a quiet metaphor for living with distance and uncertainty. Inspired by one of her collage artworks showing a figure lying in grass and staring toward that far line, the title track reflects a feeling of moving toward something that never quite comes closer. Even without understanding the lyrics, the song carries a slow sense of longing and suspended arrival. m‘Vpiznavaty’, by contrast, initially feels almost light. Beneath that surface is a candid portrait of burnout and depressive exhaustion. The song looks at those moments when even greeting friends feels overwhelming. It captures the quiet embarrassment of withdrawing from people you care about, and the slow recognition that sometimes stepping away is simply how you survive. Other songs reveal different sides of the same emotional landscape. ‘Weak’ strips everything back to bass, a hint of guitar, and a bare vocal. Written and recorded in a single instinctive session, the track circles around the idea that softness might be its own kind of strength. Repetitive and intentionally unpolished, it quietly sets the tone for the whole record. Running through ‘Horizont’ is the reality of Regina’s life between Ukraine and the UK. Her hometown Kharkiv continues to face attacks, and many of her friends remain on the front line.

Whirr and Luster have been orbiting each other for years, bound by a shared language of glide guitar, buried vocals, and volume as emotion. A through line that’s only deepened by Nick Bassett’s hand in producing and mixing the majority of Luster’s previously recorded output. The Whirr & Luster Split pairs one of American shoegaze's most storied bands with one of its most vital new voices across four new songs. Out on 12" EP, CD EP, and digital via Freewhirl Records. Splits are sacred territory for Whirr. More than a decade after the band helped define the modern heavy-shoegaze landscape, the Bay Area five-piece returns with its first new material in years. “Spiral Again” opens the record in classic Whirr fashion: an avalanche of guitar wrapped around a lyric about losing yourself in someone else’s gravity — spiraling, intertwining, coming down together. “Wish I Could Give You The World” follows, one of the most openly romantic songs the band has ever recorded, all wildfire imagery and dizzy devotion, desire rendered at full volume. Produced by Whirr and Zac Montez, both tracks find the band in signature form: enormous yet tender. On the flip side, Los Angeles' Luster continue their run as the standouts of the new shoegaze generation. Formed with the intent of pushing the genre forward rather than reenacting it, Luster fold electronic pulse and '90s texture into walls of glider guitar, and the two contributions here find the band in peak form. "Against the World" is a love song as a locked door — it's you and me, us against the world — claustrophobic and comforting in the same breath. "Forever" closes the record in a haze of doomed-romance repetition, a mantra of do you feel it now dissolving into the knowledge that nothing lasts. Also produced with Zac Montez, the songs make the case plainly: Luster aren't students of the form. They're peers. Taken together, the four songs read like a conversation. About distance, obsession, and the ache of never being able to give someone enough — carried across two coasts and two generations of a genre that refuses to fade. Loud, longing, and gone too soon: the Whirr & Luster Split, out September 18th. Whirr and Luster celebrate the release and cement the collaboration with two shows — the only U.S. Whirr performances of 2026, with no shows planned beyond them. Each night features a unique set built from rarities and live debuts, alongside exclusive vinyl variants and merchandise available only in that room, on that night: 9/18 — Los Angeles, CA @ The Wiltern 9/20 — New York, NY @ Brooklyn Paramount Two nights, two coasts, and no telling if there’s a next time — for the songs, the pairing, or the band itself.

You have to wonder why Railcard took so long to be born: their debut album feels like it should have been in your collection for years.


But it wasn’t until 2025 that Rachel Love (Dolly Mixture), Ian Button and Peter Momtchiloff (both Heavenly) met at a gig, realised that they were exactly the same age, and decided that this was an excellent reason to form a new band. The shared history, the same pop references, the parallel lives… Railcard had to happen, and there was no time to lose. Two Steps At A Time - the album title and theme song - express exactly how quickly Railcard have worked since then - jumping over pavement cracks and whistling past graveyards to get these songs written, recorded and released while they are still sweet and fresh.


The band released three digital EPs in early 2026, which were then gathered onto a CD and released by Skep Wax and Slumberland. They sold out very quickly. The critical response to a mail-order-only CD was far greater than anyone expected.


Railcard made their live debut in December 2025 and had by then recruited their fourth member: Allison Thomson (Trash Can Sinatras, The Love Band), whose flawless trumpet and swirly keyboard-playing complete the Railcard sound, allowing the band to fulfil the significant ambition and range of the songs, which are mostly co-written and often co-sung by Love and Button. “Flannelette” and “Sunday Sun”, delicate and swoony, could almost be Slapp Happy at their most Bacharach. “Foxy”, mysterious and charming, has more than a hint of Kate Bush December magic. The raucous duet “I’m A Disaster” is The Kinks meets deadpan Shangri-Las. The title track could have been an alternative theme tune for Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads. “Runaround” is like a school choir doing The Raincoats. “Unstable Neighbour” is mesmerising and insistent: it might make you think of Stereolab; we might imagine an indiepop Hawkwind. Peter Momtchiloff also contributes two wonderful songs on the album: the fragile and hallucinatory “Paper Thin” and the Love-meets-Undertones rush of “Hillman Minx”.


As with the first EPs, Railcard enlisted the sonic services of Medway psych expert Allan Crockford (of The Prisoners, James Taylor Quartet and many more) who has delivered mixes that pump with vintage valve energy and reverby depth.


Railcard have a string of UK dates through the summer and Autumn.

Bachar Mar-Khalifé Plays Christophe

The album title, Bachar Mar-Khalifé Plays Christophe, inevitably comes as a surprise: the Lebanese composer, singer, and multi-instrumentalist ventures into the world of the pop dandy who escaped the yé-yé era… From the very first notes, one thing becomes clear: splendor flows effortlessly from melodies restored to their fragility and simplicity. Bachar Mar-Khalifé explores the hypnotic melancholy of a world that is both sophisticated and crystal clear. A fascinating plunge “into this collapsing luxury,” as the lyrics of Paradise Lost say. Seven tracks with his collaborators Dogan Poyraz on drums and Aleksander Angelov on bass, seven narratives unfolding the musical richness of Christophe’s songs as much as that of Bachar Mar-Khalifé’s playing and singing. A captivating journey, both on record and on stage. It all started there, in fact. In April 2025, BMK dared to pay tribute to Christophe at the Fragile Festival, at the Cirque Zingaro, five years after his death. At first glance, it wasn't his familiar world. "I haven't idolized him my whole life," he explains. "I really knew Christophe personally before I knew his work in detail." During his childhood in Lebanon, and then after arriving in France in 1989 at the age of six, the music played at home left little room for Christophe's pop. "We listened more to Brassens, Brel, Ferré, Barbara. I hardly knew anything more than 'Les Mots bleus.' Then we met. Christophe loved the night, young musicians, exploring together..." In 2018, Bachar and Christophe recorded a Unik session for FIP, which involved recording a 45 rpm single live, followed by a concert at the Maison de la Radio. The younger brother has the opportunity to discover a legend, but also how it works: “His melodies allow you to go very far—even him, who seems to be searching for a new version with each interpretation, as if he wanted to return to the organic aspect of the song. A researcher who, out of a need for freedom, wants to escape the image people have of him.” So there was no question of overproducing these covers as one might do with the stage fright of tackling an intimidating work. “I tried to go very fast to deliver each song, as if I had composed it myself.” Working instinctively, very spontaneously, the bulk of the album comes from the trio's rehearsals and the concerts that followed. “I chose songs that moved me. Very beautiful melodies and very beautiful lyrics.” Whether the lyrics are by Jean-Michel Jarre or Alain Kan, “they often speak of love in danger.” “I like to hear this quote from Paradise Lost: ‘Dandy, a little cursed, a little aged / In this crumbling luxury.’ Here and there, he pruned the lyrics, as if to make them more audible, in Les Mots bleus, ‘The winter wind blows in April / I love the still silence’ – an evocation of the month of Christophe’s death. And he chose a little-known song from the yé-yé era, Les Amoureux qui passent, in which we hear the young trumpeter Siméon Petrov, who further expands the play on the archetypes of vintage romantic song. Between accepted fragility and the vertigo of feeling, between virtuosity of lightness and unfathomable depths, Bachar Mar-Khalifé unfolds an unexpected kinship with Christophe.” A kinship of silences and sonic surprises (a synthesized zurna sound in "Emporte-moi," for example) that will continue on tour. He is also preparing an album of original songs, his first since 2020, after many compositions for film and collaborations with other artists. He writes songs of love and dance, at a time when Lebanon and the world are experiencing such dark times. Perhaps this is yet another lesson from Christophe: to love and sing "in this crumbling luxury."

Remastered limited edition double vinyl with double-sided screenprinted poster-cover (sleeve folds out to be one huge poster). A real collectors item!

When Off Off came out around June 1984, one couldn’t speak of an independent music scene in Portugal. Warm Records’ vague existence didn’t have any impact and Dansa do Som’s inaugural release appeared only in December. 10 years after the revolution, after two IMF interventions, a lot of political instability (not to say turmoil, in the first couple of years) and the natural excesses of a sudden burst of freedom, the Portuguese consumer had more choices but a generally poor standard of living. There was no entrepreneurial culture and serious second thoughts about investing private money in risky ventures.

After many complaints about the whole music scene (institutions, critics and record label executives, popular and classical music alike), something that would continue well beyond the end of the decade, Telectu decided to finance, record, produce, release and sell an album with complete independence from outside structures. Their karmic reward was profit. According to Vítor Rua, Off Off was the only album fully payed by the duo and the only one that really payed off. Not an easy accomplishment for a double LP housed in a large (also double-sided) screenprint with complicated cuts and folds. The artwork was conceived by António Palolo, a friend and multidisciplinary artist. It was based on a collage of heavily saturated and xeroxed polaroids framed in shocking pink and green. Palolo was considered the third member of Telectu, regularly producing slides, video and other visual support for their shows. The inspiration for the type of cover came from GRM’s Gramme series.

Off Off is divided in four distinct sides, each one corresponding to a “theme” or “function” related to Telectu’s manifold artistic interests and interactions. The titles are also gateways to influences and a small portion of Portuguese cultural life:

- Side 1 / “Diagonale” is dedicated to Egídio Álvaro, art critic and gallery director (he opened Diagonale in Paris). Performance art was arguably his main artistic concern over the years, so the music on this side is suggested for use by one or more performers in live or playback situations. The three tracks segue into each other, linked by a synth arpeggio much in the same way as Telectu’s previous “Belzebu” álbum (1983);

- Side 2 / “Anarké” is dedicated to the composer Filipe Pires, one of Jorge Lima Barreto’s recurring invocations when asked about worthwhile contemporary music in Portugal. It is subtitled “concert music”, proposing «a new form of listening». Three tracks also, and these are separated by “clap interludes”, which basically consisted in the following: JLB and VR each had a pair of headphones on, and they clapped their hands according to the rhythm of the music each one was listening. Both musicians were interacting with a different Steve Reich piece: Vítor with “Music for Mallet Instruments”, Jorge with “Six Pianos”. The result is disjointed clapping, an awkwardly deliberate celebration of their own music. Telectu applauded themselves.

- Side 3 / “Cornucópia” is subtitled “music for theatre” and dedicated to Luís Miguel Cintra and Luís Lima Barreto (JLB’s brother), both connected to the Cornucópia theatre company. The side consists of several short pieces previously used as interludes in the Cornucópia staging of “Mariana Espera Casamento” (1983). Field recordings, mood pieces, ambience and a numeric poem (“Soneto Soma 14x”, by E.M. de Melo e Castro) read by João Perry, a quite well-known stage actor. His voice is treated with a flanger effect;

- Side 4 / “Palolo” is “video music”. It’s a one-take mix recorded from cassette sources (Telectu studio experiences) and done live while watching António Palolo’s Om film (1978) projected on the living room wall. It’s a deep, immersive, quasi-mystical 20-minute piece perfectly suiting the meditative, abstract, fluid images created by Palolo by mixing paint and water inside a bathtub. One imagines the Cosmos, hardly suspecting the technique. The film is 90 minutes long, so the music on the LP is of course edited.

The six titles on sides 1 and 2 evoke demons, all of them with conflicting symbolism, since it varies from culture to culture, religion to religion. No explanation is given and Vítor Rua has no idea where this imagery comes from. During virtually the whole stretch of the 1980s, Jorge was the one in charge of titles and concepts, and Vítor didn’t bother too much even reading the liner notes :) In any case, when you synchronize the listening experience with the imagery, a powerful impression emerges, a feeling of being in the presence of these entities while placing yourself inside the sonic narrative.

Off Off is undoubtedly a seminal album in the history of electronic music, as much Heldon as Fripp & Eno, jazz and American minimalism, cosmic out-thereness, mantric miniatures. Telectu at the height of their powers, still very early on, delivering an album-manifesto advocating intermedia art and the fierce independence of Portuguese musicians «from the scum of capitalist music industry monopolies. It’s a path to follow, albeit one that requires enduring hardships and retaliation from music industry gangsters.» Despite a few journalists deemed «capable of being free», the media are «enslaved by the dominant and fascist imbecility of the speculators of light music.» Off Off is addressed to those journalists «and to an audience angry at the cultural misery imposed upon us ..., certain that this music will open new horizons of musical pleasure in the conception of Portuguese avant-garde music, and in the open consciousness of us all. OFF OFF repeats Freedom.»

Those two words are a direct lift from Alberto Arbasino’s 1968 book Off Off, the basis of which is a critical analysis of Theodor Adorno’s and Dwight MacDonald’s ideas concerning the stratification of culture in different levels (high, mid and low) and the pervasiveness of mass culture in the form of a culture industry. In very simplistic terms, and that is precisely the point that inspired Jorge, Arbasino argued that it was possible and desirable to effect a revolution from below, cultivating alternative circuits completely cut-off from what he termed the in-in reality. Telectu’s record was a deliberate demonstration that it could be done, displaying Freedom in the face of all the gatekeepers and other human obstacles.

The studio at 122 West Loveland Avenue was not an unfamiliar space for Steve Okonski, the leader of his eponymous trio Okonski. Ever since the Colemine label set up shop in Loveland, Ohio it has been a host to a number of groups passing through town, including Durand Jones and the Indications who all of this trio's members have connections to. After setting aside some time in winter of 2020, Okonski, trained initially as a classical pianist, invited Michael Isvara "Ish" Montgomery and Aaron Frazer to work on an album that was initially planned to be beat driven and fully composed trio instrumentals.

After finishing this first session with some improvisations, a second week was booked in the summer of 2021 to try and capture some more of that spontaneous energy. During this session, the tracks were all improvised and recorded live to a Tascam 388 during several late nights at the Colemine HQ. They were structured to allow the group's collective intuition to fully shape the melodies and arcs of the music.

The album opens with Runner Up, where a triumphant yet melancholic melody in the piano leads to a more reserved B-section driven by the drums and bass of Frazer and Montgomery. As you journey through the remainder of the album you are met with a plethora of evoked and explored emotions. The calmness one has walking down a moonlit street after midnight, the connection one has for a person who comes into their world for just a moment or a lifetime, and the nerves and catharsis one feels when starting upon a new, unknown journey.
Magnolia closes with Sunday, a track that was recorded late into the night at the close of their first recording session. Without the spontaneity of Sunday, the remainder of Magnolia would likely have never come to fruition.
Magnolia was composed from the heart and from the spirit of those in the studio those late nights in Loveland. It is the culmination of an emotional and artistic release that was not afforded or recognized before the band sat at their instruments, and because of that it is introspective, meditative, spiritual, and new.

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When we go searching for a Black avant-garde, we have to be prepared to look in unexpected places. The route to a Black avant-garde involves walking down – what some might consider – peculiar highways. Where they see strangeness, a road leading them nowhere, we see nothing but beauty. The paths Darren Cunningham went down, the highways he took to make Actress, are a chapter in the story of the Black avant-garde. Cunningham the footballer. Cunningham the Wulfrunian. Cunningham the ex-footballer. Cunningham the DJ. Cunningham the Londoner. Cunningham the producer. Cunningham the painter. Cunningham the writer. Cunningham the composer. This is where the Black avant-garde in Britain is made. This is where you have to go to find it.

Across an expansive discography of more than ten LPs, Actress has created his own arcane language of hermetic references and inter-dimensional electronic composition.

Radical Frame arrives 18 years since debut album Hazyville, and it feels like an apotheosis. The image realised. We get the full gamut of Actress signatures. Short bursts of broken down music. Tiny sketches of zoomed-in sound. Refracted dance floor heat. And we get more.

Perhaps Radical Frame is a container for everything that Cunningham has built so far. A frame he is handing over to the next in line. The next artist to make their own way in the Black British avant-garde.



Wenn wir nach einer schwarzen Avantgarde suchen, müssen wir bereit sein, an unerwarteten Orten zu suchen. Der Weg zu einer schwarzen Avantgarde führt - wie manche finden mögen - über ungewöhnliche Pfade: wo sie Fremdheit sehen, einem Weg, der nirgendwohin führt, sehen wir nichts als Schönheit. Die Wege, die Darren Cunningham beschritt, die Highways, die er befuhr, um Actress zu erschaffen, sind ein Kapitel in der Geschichte der schwarzen Avantgarde. Cunningham, der Fußballer. Cunningham, der Wulfrunianer (Anm.: Einwohner von Wolverhampton). Cunningham, der Ex-Fußballer. Cunningham, der DJ. Cunningham, der Londoner. Cunningham, der Produzent. Cunningham, der Maler. Cunningham, der Schriftsteller. Cunningham, der Komponist. Hier entsteht die schwarze Avantgarde in Großbritannien. Hier muss man hingehen, um sie zu finden.

In einer umfangreichen Diskografie von mehr als zehn Alben hat Actress seine eigene, geheimnisvolle Sprache aus hermetischen Referenzen und interdimensionalen elektronischen Kompositionen geschaffen.

„Radical Frame” erscheint 18 Jahre nach seinem Debütalbum, „Hazyville”, und fühlt sich wie eine Apotheose an: das Bild ist vollendet. Wir bekommen die ganze Bandbreite von Actress' Markenzeichen zu hören: Kurze Ausbrüche reduzierter Musik, winzige Skizzen von vergrößertem Klang.

Vielleicht ist „Radical Frame“ ein Gefäß für all das, was Cunningham bisher geschaffen hat. Ein Rahmen, den er an den Nächsten weitergibt. An die nächsten Künstler:innen, die seinen eigenen Weg in der britischen Avantgarde der Schwarz.

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When we go searching for a Black avant-garde, we have to be prepared to look in unexpected places. The route to a Black avant-garde involves walking down – what some might consider – peculiar highways. Where they see strangeness, a road leading them nowhere, we see nothing but beauty. The paths Darren Cunningham went down, the highways he took to make Actress, are a chapter in the story of the Black avant-garde. Cunningham the footballer. Cunningham the Wulfrunian. Cunningham the ex-footballer. Cunningham the DJ. Cunningham the Londoner. Cunningham the producer. Cunningham the painter. Cunningham the writer. Cunningham the composer. This is where the Black avant-garde in Britain is made. This is where you have to go to find it.

Across an expansive discography of more than ten LPs, Actress has created his own arcane language of hermetic references and inter-dimensional electronic composition.

Radical Frame arrives 18 years since debut album Hazyville, and it feels like an apotheosis. The image realised. We get the full gamut of Actress signatures. Short bursts of broken down music. Tiny sketches of zoomed-in sound. Refracted dance floor heat. And we get more.

Perhaps Radical Frame is a container for everything that Cunningham has built so far. A frame he is handing over to the next in line. The next artist to make their own way in the Black British avant-garde.



Wenn wir nach einer schwarzen Avantgarde suchen, müssen wir bereit sein, an unerwarteten Orten zu suchen. Der Weg zu einer schwarzen Avantgarde führt - wie manche finden mögen - über ungewöhnliche Pfade: wo sie Fremdheit sehen, einem Weg, der nirgendwohin führt, sehen wir nichts als Schönheit. Die Wege, die Darren Cunningham beschritt, die Highways, die er befuhr, um Actress zu erschaffen, sind ein Kapitel in der Geschichte der schwarzen Avantgarde. Cunningham, der Fußballer. Cunningham, der Wulfrunianer (Anm.: Einwohner von Wolverhampton). Cunningham, der Ex-Fußballer. Cunningham, der DJ. Cunningham, der Londoner. Cunningham, der Produzent. Cunningham, der Maler. Cunningham, der Schriftsteller. Cunningham, der Komponist. Hier entsteht die schwarze Avantgarde in Großbritannien. Hier muss man hingehen, um sie zu finden.

In einer umfangreichen Diskografie von mehr als zehn Alben hat Actress seine eigene, geheimnisvolle Sprache aus hermetischen Referenzen und interdimensionalen elektronischen Kompositionen geschaffen.

„Radical Frame” erscheint 18 Jahre nach seinem Debütalbum, „Hazyville”, und fühlt sich wie eine Apotheose an: das Bild ist vollendet. Wir bekommen die ganze Bandbreite von Actress' Markenzeichen zu hören: Kurze Ausbrüche reduzierter Musik, winzige Skizzen von vergrößertem Klang.

Vielleicht ist „Radical Frame“ ein Gefäß für all das, was Cunningham bisher geschaffen hat. Ein Rahmen, den er an den Nächsten weitergibt. An die nächsten Künstler:innen, die seinen eigenen Weg in der britischen Avantgarde der Schwarz.

Chelsea Wolfe enters a new era with The Dark, forged in newfound sobriety and deep self-reckoning. Lead single "Cold" is the album's emotional doorway: the ache of being in relationship yet feeling utterly alone, of loving someone and still knowing they are toxic for you. It's about letting go of the person, the path, and the version of yourself that kept returning to the same wound — not dramatic escape, but the quiet terror of finally saying it plainly: "I'm letting you go."