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“We like all these songs a lot. Dylan's approach to composing and playing involves hybridizing American Primitive, folk, country, soundtrack and avant influences into a unique & powerful alloy. Spinning the record is nothing short of a goddamn trip. Transportational music of the highest order. Get some today.” --Byron Coley “I made the title track a couple years ago at the beginning of summer,” writes Dylan, “I was thinking about how as you get older you have fewer new experiences. That feeling of excitement for summer fades, after it used to be such a big deal as a kid. Those experiences can only be new and vibrant once. The rest of your life can be spent in nostalgia for them. It's a sad thought and maybe not true for everyone, but I suspect it is for most.” The result, No New Summers, is Aycock’s first full length under his own name for almost a decade; it sees him journey through frayed fields of haunted solo-guitar, waves of prairie ambience and hard-won country stillness

Nothing is lost on Cash Langdon. It’s something you can hear in the observational lyrics of his last record, 2022’s Sinister Feeling; but on its follow-up, Dogs, you can also hear it in the camaraderie he cultivates playing live with his band Meadow Dust, a sonic energy that gives off the heat of his native Birmingham. The trio’s fuzzy take on heavy country rock has a worn-in no-fussiness that recalls Neil Young & Crazy
Horse – nothing overthought, nothing understated. And like Young, Langdon’s voice is simultaneously earnest and world-weary – but there’s a sense of humor, too, and a resignation to keeping on (“Dogs,” “Magic Again”). Recorded at Portside Studios (the former location of the legendary Muscle Shoals Sound) in just two days, engineer Brad Timko (Dan Sartain, St. Paul and The Broken Bones) captured Langdon and Meadow Dust at their fiercest yet. The title track “Dogs” and side B heater “Dead Dogs” both take inspiration from the wild dogs Langdon encountered in his neighborhood at the time of writing the record, where he wondered about the sick twist of fate that renders one dog a pet and another a threat. Across songs, he examines how oppressive cycles overlap, intersecting the personal and the societal at all times. The heavy yet melodic “Lilac Whiskey Noise” is the heartbeat of the record, written following an active shooter event that Langdon witnessed at work in 2016. It’s an indictment – not of the perpetrator – but of the systems of power that enable such an act. It’s a microcosm for all of the themes on the album, too: the ongoing violence of simply being awake to the world around you, and the resolve to stay awake anyway.
On the crunchy album-closer “Nothing’s Good Anymore,” Langdon sings about overhearing someone say just that – and you can tell he’s tempted to agree. He’s going to find what kernel of beauty he can. Dogs is a sonic map for finding that beauty in just about anything.

"Water Season" is a collaborative EP between the lo-fi duo Hooky and shoegaze artist Winter. They first met online as fans of each other's music and soon started corresponding with ideas, the first of which was writing "horseshoe." After relocating from Los Angeles to New York, Winter took a trip over to Philadelphia in the summer of 2024 where they all became good friends and spent the whole day writing songs together. They coalesced in their love for lo-fi, indie, electronica pairing beautiful melodies with experimentation, sampling, and guitar. In their own way they created a sonic snapshot of that intersection of time and feeling- the bittersweet and fleeting sensation of the end of summer fading into fall. Both bands will be playing shows together this year as well as touring to promote the EP.

Here comes a very special production from East Germany of the early 70s!
One of the TOP Soul-Jazz & Beat combos in the country led by bassist and singer HORST KRÜGER,
recorded two previously unreleased, outrageously good titles here in the newly formed septet format.
"Ich will die Zeit nicht bereuen" is probably by far one of the most crispy produced German-language soul beat numbers that existed in the GDR at that time! From the pen of Ralf Petersen, the then head of Berliner Rundfunk personally, no pure high-class hit was recorded here, but hard-hitting, rocking beat.
It was not without reason that the choice of the head of broadcasting fell on the recently formed Horst Krüger Septet, which also gave the contemporary jazzy sound a perfect touch through an intensified brass section from 1970 on.
The title "Sonderbar" is exactly what its title promises, peculiar and extraordinary. A feat that was created as such in 1972. This somewhat sweeter SoulJazz vocal piece had a concrete idea, which composers Dieter Kopf, Horst Krüger and Franz Bartzsch as a musical arranger as well as Jens Gerlach in the musical free spirit of the hippiesque era. A through the stylistic device of Repetito in the text
dominant repetition, which is complicated in the context of the ever-evolving theme about feelings and love Groove of bass, guitar, drums and organ theme is reflected, redefined and constantly found again, simply masterfully. An interlude with a flute solo and a groovy dreamy Hammond organ solo at the end of the title, envelops the verses very contemporary.
Horst Krüger on bass guitar and his wife Gerti Möller with her outstandingly distinctive and powerful voice on the microphone.
A must for every fan of early beat, rock and soul!

Scowl is a band that sounds exactly like their name implies. Venomous, fierce, antagonistic. A sneer not to be crossed. Over the last five years, the Santa Cruz, California, band has firmly planted their flag in the hardcore scene with their vicious sound and ripping live show, sharing stages around the world with Circle Jerks, Touché Amoré, and Limp Bizkit, and filling slots at prominent festivals like Coachella, Sick New World, and Reading and Leeds. But with their new album, Are We All Angels (Dead Oceans), Scowl is aiming to funnel all that aggression through a more expansive version of themselves. Much of Are We All Angels grapples with Scowl’s newfound place in the hardcore scene, a community which has both embraced the band and made them something of a lightning rod over the past few years. Standout single “Not Hell, Not Heaven” outright rejects the narratives cast onto them by outsiders. “It’s about feeling victimized and being a victim, but not wanting to identify with being a victim,” explains vocalist Kat Moss. “It’s trying to find grace in the fact that I have my power. I live in my reality. You have to deal with whatever you're dealing with, and it ain’t working for me.” The band breaks from a sense of disassociation to seek deeper connections on “Fantasy.” “It’s incredibly challenging to try to balance my love for the scene while also feeling, in some spaces, extremely alienated and hated,” Moss says. “‘Fantasy’ is about feeling like I don't know how to connect with these people anymore, because I have shelled myself away so hard.” The album ends in a philosophical place on the closing, titular track, “Are We All Angels,” asking questions like, “Is this all there is?” and ultimately putting it on the listener to decide. “It’s about the personal struggle between good and evil. It doesn’t matter how ‘good’ or ‘bad’ you are, there are systems that will try to rewrite your narrative no matter what you actually do,” explains Moss, noting that punctuation on “Are We All Angels” has been deliberately omitted in an attempt to leave the statement open-ended. Are We All Angels is the highly anticipated follow-up to Scowl’s debut, 2021’s How Flowers Grow, a 16-minute primal scream over punishing riffs. But amidst the pounding chaos, it was the record’s sonic outlier, a cleaner interlude called “Seeds to Sow,” that, true to its name, planted the seed for what was to come for the band. “It kind of laid out this destiny for us, and I feel like now we’re fulfilling that,” says drummer Cole Gilbert. The band continued to expand their sound on 2023’s widely acclaimed Psychic Dance Routine EP, incorporating more pop hooks and favoring gentler singing over heavy screaming, paving the way for what would come next. Scowl’s growth got a huge boost from producer Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight, Code Orange, Balance and Composure), who broadened the band’s scope. “Will would say, ‘Everything you have here is correct, but it’s in the wrong place,’” says Gilbert. Moss adds: “Will really helped restructure a lot of the material. Some songs he tore apart to make more space for the really good hooks and choruses.” But even through this more eclectic approach, Scowl loses none of their edge, and still manages to convey the anger and frustration that lies underneath. They are deeply committed to carrying the ethos of punk and its sense of community. “Hardcore and punk have sculpted how we operate, what we want to do as a band, and how we participate,” says guitarist Malachi Greene. “At our core, we are a punk and a hardcore band, regardless of how the song shifts and changes.

Scowl is a band that sounds exactly like their name implies. Venomous, fierce, antagonistic. A sneer not to be crossed. Over the last five years, the Santa Cruz, California, band has firmly planted their flag in the hardcore scene with their vicious sound and ripping live show, sharing stages around the world with Circle Jerks, Touché Amoré, and Limp Bizkit, and filling slots at prominent festivals like Coachella, Sick New World, and Reading and Leeds. But with their new album, Are We All Angels (Dead Oceans), Scowl is aiming to funnel all that aggression through a more expansive version of themselves. Much of Are We All Angels grapples with Scowl’s newfound place in the hardcore scene, a community which has both embraced the band and made them something of a lightning rod over the past few years. Standout single “Not Hell, Not Heaven” outright rejects the narratives cast onto them by outsiders. “It’s about feeling victimized and being a victim, but not wanting to identify with being a victim,” explains vocalist Kat Moss. “It’s trying to find grace in the fact that I have my power. I live in my reality. You have to deal with whatever you're dealing with, and it ain’t working for me.” The band breaks from a sense of disassociation to seek deeper connections on “Fantasy.” “It’s incredibly challenging to try to balance my love for the scene while also feeling, in some spaces, extremely alienated and hated,” Moss says. “‘Fantasy’ is about feeling like I don't know how to connect with these people anymore, because I have shelled myself away so hard.” The album ends in a philosophical place on the closing, titular track, “Are We All Angels,” asking questions like, “Is this all there is?” and ultimately putting it on the listener to decide. “It’s about the personal struggle between good and evil. It doesn’t matter how ‘good’ or ‘bad’ you are, there are systems that will try to rewrite your narrative no matter what you actually do,” explains Moss, noting that punctuation on “Are We All Angels” has been deliberately omitted in an attempt to leave the statement open-ended. Are We All Angels is the highly anticipated follow-up to Scowl’s debut, 2021’s How Flowers Grow, a 16-minute primal scream over punishing riffs. But amidst the pounding chaos, it was the record’s sonic outlier, a cleaner interlude called “Seeds to Sow,” that, true to its name, planted the seed for what was to come for the band. “It kind of laid out this destiny for us, and I feel like now we’re fulfilling that,” says drummer Cole Gilbert. The band continued to expand their sound on 2023’s widely acclaimed Psychic Dance Routine EP, incorporating more pop hooks and favoring gentler singing over heavy screaming, paving the way for what would come next. Scowl’s growth got a huge boost from producer Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight, Code Orange, Balance and Composure), who broadened the band’s scope. “Will would say, ‘Everything you have here is correct, but it’s in the wrong place,’” says Gilbert. Moss adds: “Will really helped restructure a lot of the material. Some songs he tore apart to make more space for the really good hooks and choruses.” But even through this more eclectic approach, Scowl loses none of their edge, and still manages to convey the anger and frustration that lies underneath. They are deeply committed to carrying the ethos of punk and its sense of community. “Hardcore and punk have sculpted how we operate, what we want to do as a band, and how we participate,” says guitarist Malachi Greene. “At our core, we are a punk and a hardcore band, regardless of how the song shifts and changes.

SYML is the solo venture of artist Brian Fennell. Welsh for “simple”—he makes music that taps into the instincts that drive us to places of sanctuary, whether that be a place or a person. Born and raised in Seattle, Fennell studied piano and became a self-taught producer, programmer, and guitarist. Says Fennell about his album Nobody Lives Here, "We change, the world changes, and there is so much unknown. About a year ago I started writing songs that represent the change that is happening in front of my face, a group that have emerged to become the third SYML album. Many of these songs are about getting older, and the intimate, and sometimes frightening, passing of time. Some are about how getting older revolves around looking forward to things happening, and when they don’t happen, or they feel different than anticipated, we can be left with surprise and sadness. I’m actually reminded of this watching my 2 year old! We learn to live with disappointment. I recorded some of these songs with kids and dogs making noise in the background, and others in silent studios with musicians I’ve listened to and admired for many years. These songs are meant to be pieces of clothing to wear as you need (or I need). Some are bright and bold and others are gentle, but they were all made with a sense of comfort in mind, even when things feel bleak. My wife jokes that when our friends hear some of these songs, they might think we are not “ok”. Thankfully, putting myself inside a sad song is still a good place to feel happy. There's this generally unspoken feeling that musicians don’t listen to their own music. That isn’t true for me. I love living with my songs because their meaning changes as I change. There is as much fear and beauty in the big questions as there is wonder and possibility in the simple, everyday shit we live through.”

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

NOW Music is pleased to announce NOW Presents…Classic Soul, a stunning 5LP boxset of 85 of the greatest 60s & 70s Soul tracks ever... Out September 22nd!



LP1 opens with ‘I Say A Little Prayer’ from the “Queen of Soul”- Aretha Franklin, the peerless ‘Walk On By’ from Dionne Warwick and followed by massive hits from Marvin Gaye with the #1 ‘I Heard It Through The Grapevine’ and Stevie Wonder’s ‘I Was Made To Love Her’, plus classic tracks from The Temptations and Otis Redding. Flip to the other side for legendary groups – The Supremes, The Ronettes, The Marvelettes, The Velvelettes and Martha Reeves & The Vandellas.



LP2 begins with the powerhouse vocals of Tina Turner (with Ike) on ‘River Deep, Mountain High’. Top tracks from the Jackson 5 & the Four Tops give way to a run of Northern Soul classics from Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons with ‘The Night’, ‘Tainted Love’ from Gloria Jones, Frank Wilson’s legendary ‘Do I Love You’, and ‘Green Onions’ from Booker T. & The M.G.'s. Side 2 begins with the superb vocals of Ben E. King with ‘Stand By Me’ and Percy Sledge with ‘When A Man Loves A Woman’. Another Otis Redding classic alongside the genius of both James Brown and Nina Simone brings this LP to a close.



The A-Side of LP3 kicks off with the signature smash from Aretha Franklin ‘Respect’ before the first UK #1 for the Motown label from The Supremes with ‘Baby Love’, and there’s still room for Smokey Robinson & The Miracles, The Drifters, and another #1 from Freda Payne. Side B begins with one of the most iconic and funky baselines ever on ‘Papa Was A Rollin’ Stone’ from The Temptations and the classic grooves ‘Move On Up’ from Curtis Mayfield, Isaac Hayes’ ‘Theme from “Shaft”’, the emphatic ‘War’ from Edwin Starr and the cool sophistication of ‘California Soul’ from Marlena Shaw lead to the closing track ‘Could It Be I’m Falling In Love’ from The Spinners.



LP4 begins with a run of beloved tracks from iconic artists opening with the politically charged masterpiece ‘What’s Going On’ from Marvin Gaye, followed by Al Green, Bill Withers and Billy Paul, plus The Stylistics and The Delfonics to add to the selection of celebrated groups on this release. The second side begins with the exceptional ‘Killing Me Softly With His Song’ from Roberta Flack, before the stunning vocals of Minnie Riperton’s ‘Lovin’ You’ and Deniece Williams, The Three Degrees and Gladys Knight. The Jackson 5 bring this disc to a close with their timeless ballad ‘I’ll Be There’.



LP5 contains a run of 1970s favourites beginning with ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’ from Diana Ross and ‘You're The First, The Last, My Everything’ from Barry White. ‘Fantasy’ from Earth, Wind & Fire, ‘Summer Breeze, Pt. 1’ from The Isley Brothers and ‘Love Train’ from The O’Jays all feature before the Commodores kick off the final side with ‘Three Times A Lady’. Rose Royce, Peaches & Herb and a second selection from Gladys Knight & The Pips feature along with George Benson, before the “Prince of Soul” Marvin Gaye brings this essential collection home with ‘Let’s Get It On’.



85 tracks across 5 stunning LPs, NOW Presents Classic Soul... Out September 22nd!

OHYUNG aka Lia Ouyang Rusli describes their new album as “my trans self and my former self in conversation, from both perspectives.” The record represents their lengthy, complicated, but crucial journey between lives, strewn with both doubt and excitement. It is an ecstatic, pop-oriented shift in direction from an artist primarily known for noise, experimental hip-hop, and ambient music, but carried with sleek confidence, maturity, and a silvery, hallucinogenic shimmer that reveals Rusli’s experimental background. It is, writes Rusli, “sometimes written from a dark place and other times from a place of happiness.” Throughout, darkness and light rise and fall in layers of phased strings, trip-hop drum production, and earworming vocal lines.

Also a film score composer, Rusli’s songwriting craft is meticulous and nuanced. You Are Always On My Mind was, perhaps surprisingly, formed primarily from processed “generic string loops” found in online sample packs - a strange and wilfully jarring reminder that what seems to be is not always what is. Recontextualised, these string loops enshadow the simplicity of their origins and reveal a grace and purposefulness perhaps not even imagined by their authors, subtly drawing out euphoria and tension in equal balance.

Rusli also writes of the influence of rave culture central to their transition, and of the record’s production and theme. “It’s a declaration of love for raves and the dark hazy rooms that helped me to be free and true with myself— seeing other people who are so free and beautiful and thinking that one day that can be me— that’s me in the future.” But there is also a fear and unease present. Key moment “no good” explores “the worst version of myself as a trans person, feeding doubt to my pre-transition self” with its core lyric anyone can see / I’m no good for you, delivered over a relentless beat, swooning strings, and glistening synthesis.

Later, “i swear that i could die rn” renders a Spectreish Motown beat lamenting and lush with breathy synths and knife-edge melodies that eventually yield a hazy, gliding string section, created again from mutated, spliced, and transitioned royalty-free sample packs. The track is about “seeing my beautiful friends at raves and feeling at home appreciating the harsh noises of hardcore techno and acid. Feeling that I could die at this moment and be happy.”

Look At Us Now: the long-awaited debut album from Song Festival sensation Gustaph!

"I wanted to make a record that makes people feel good about themselves."

Good things come to those who wait: after more than 20 years as a musician, Gustaph is releasing his debut album, Look At Us Now. The title is a phrase from the song Because Of You, which won him seventh place at the Eurovision Song Contest in 2023.

"Look At Us Now may be taken literally," Gustaph explains. "Look where we are now after 20 years of hardwork. And look where we are with the queer movement: as a queer artist, I can openly be myself and sing about the things that are important to me."

Gustaph's soulful voice takes us through various themes, from believing in yourself and fickle lovers to chosen family and loss.

Look At Us Now is a pop record infused with nineties house, dance and disco, but we also spot a ballad (Miss You The Most) and two Scandi-pop tracks: Like You, an ode to love and Darker Days, an epic track that will pull you through bleak periods with panache.

"I wanted to make a record that makes people feel good about themselves," Gustaph says. "One that they put on while getting ready to go out or just to start the day. A little pick-me-up that makes them think: Yes, now I can kick ass."

When you play the record for the first time, you'll already be able to sing along to a bunch of tracks: there's Because Of You of course, butalso more recent singles like Already Know, Faith In What You Feel and Calls Your Name.

The record was produced in London with Richard X, known for his work with Róisín Murphy, Alison Goldfrapp and Pet Shop Boys, among others. "That's very close to who I am as an artist, so that collaboration just made sense," Gustaph explains.

Look At Me Now sounds like a party where everyone is welcome. The club tour kicks off at Ancienne Belgique. Come celebrate!

Finger Lickin Good by Dennis Coffey, released 27 September 2024.

Midan’s new album pays homage to the beautiful music of Brasil. The young producer, DJ and digger from Cologne channels his deep love for Bossa Nova, Samba and MPB (Música Popular Brasileira) into a 17 track strong album entitled “Letter To Brasil”. Accompanied by his good friends FloFilz, Saib, Mr.Käfer and Lesky. Artwork by Sao Palo-based illustrator André Cast.
Born and raised in Paris, the half German-half Algerian producer is one the most exciting new jacks on the German beatmaker scene. At the age of 23 Midan has already released a bunch of albums for renowned labels like Casual Low Grind, Mutombo Recods and Beat Jazz International.

2023 Repress

Robag Wruhme, working on the material. On the very same piece. And performing two different movements. First, thinking in category Album: who will hear it where? also: mood, position, length. Second, thinking in category Maxisingle: a spinning-tool for the club – another form of another functionality: accelerating the rhythm, lowering the harmonicmelodious, still preserving the nature of the song. And each version should make you HOT for the other!
Nata Alma, a voice loses itself in the infinite, a car brakes, a horse whinnies, the sun scorches relentless. Further, further on, towards the flickering, stoically. Water, flames on the horizon, Fata Morgana, a mirage. »And you might say, we've got no place to go?« - okay? no notokay at all!: Shuffle!
Nata Alma, melancholic Eight-minute-forty. A love song, a wave good-bye: »And you might say, that you need me no more?« sings Sidsel Endresen alongside Bugge Wesseltoft's swells and ebb-aways – metal never sounded so longing; a buzzing swing, a siren call from afar.
Robag Wruhme takes a seat at the organ and plays minor bass notes. He gets up, leaves the room and lays down a dry rock of funk: wooden kick on wooden snare, tight-cut voices, driving hi-hats and shakers, gated synth danglers and percussion loops. Relentless, stoically. »And you might say, that it's over?« – relentless, maybe, but that's how he creates the Further: keep going! dance it off! a new day rising!
And right here. Flip it and keep on moving: Venq Tolep. A summer meadow, grass-stains, a gentle breeze, an early smell of hay. Venq Tolep. Endorphins tickle under the skin. A
percussive spectacle, dance of the insects. Hopping around in flat shoes, the beat is phat and reverberated by a cluster of trees. Stabs on the e-piano set in, picturing the euphoric moment when Loving-feelings walk hand-in-hand with a Hint of Melancholy.
Robag Wruhme, Nata Alma and Venq Tolep - music for dance floors, inside and outside, music for the summer, day and night, and for convertibles on the way there.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Wellen.Brecher is an electronic band with punk attitude, which has been transcending and subverting electronic music genre boundaries for the past 6 years. After the release of Tierisch Verboten, which can confidently be described as the "soundtrack to inclusion", and a strong second release on our label Killekill, LIEBESERKLARUNG is the band's first full length album. Including a series of first-class remixes.
Refreshingly, the entire release is not based on the corny bad trance traditions loved by contemporary Buffalo shoe wearers. Instead - intentionally or not - it follows a series of almost historical musical quotations from over the last 40 years with each track on the album feeling like a new adventure.
The album opens with TUROFFNER, which has a kind of an Afrika Bambaataa intro, before turning into a wonderfully tresoresque/Detroit techno beast, always commented on or counteracted by the vocals - just like (almost) all the tracks on the album: a new round, a new crazy ride - bumper car lyrics on a powerful stomping reduction of a 90s track.
From here we leap backwards in time into grey West Berlin of the 80s with ROBOT GIRL which shifts and drifts like a bug in buttermilk somewhere between Grauzone and Alan Vega. Next track KAPUTT kicks in with a bang and smashes everything in the best EBM tradition - this could have been played in a techno club in Frankfurt, both in terms of lyrics and sound. Line up for Elektropogo please!
After all the stomping Wellen.Brecher bring in something completely different with VOICE OF A GENERATION: dramatic vocals over delicate breaks which gradually dissolve into arpeggios on a high-quality trance carpet. Challenge complete!
JULIA takes us back to the late eighties in the dark but fun Belgian-Detroit early trance with new beat appeal. TUNNEL TRANCE would have been a good fit for dancing around the Berlin Siegessaule in, let's say, 1998. Relentless 4/4 beats with a hook-line on speed surrounded by acidophilic bows and, on top, the vocal commentary arriving as if from the man behind the glass of the Ferris wheel. In
your mind's eye, you can see fur-shoed gym ravers in bright neon jumping through the Tiergarten like rubber balls. The cover version of the classic TECHNO DJ is an hommage to good old punk - torn apart and reassembled in true Wellen.Brecher style. The closer TIERISCH VERBOTEN brings all the emotion rushing back: fat beats beckon slowly from afar, before the curtain comes up for an epic synth finale.
The harsh, albeit true words really drive you in. It's not necessary, but perhaps it's good to point it out: Inclusion can easily be experienced with music like this. Fuck AfD!

Wellen.Brecher is an electronic band with punk attitude, which has been transcending and subverting electronic music genre boundaries for the past 6 years. After the release of Tierisch Verboten, which can confidently be described as the "soundtrack to inclusion", and a strong second release on our label Killekill, LIEBESERKLARUNG is the band's first full length album. Including a series of first-class remixes.
Refreshingly, the entire release is not based on the corny bad trance traditions loved by contemporary Buffalo shoe wearers. Instead - intentionally or not - it follows a series of almost historical musical quotations from over the last 40 years with each track on the album feeling like a new adventure.
The album opens with TUROFFNER, which has a kind of an Afrika Bambaataa intro, before turning into a wonderfully tresoresque/Detroit techno beast, always commented on or counteracted by the vocals - just like (almost) all the tracks on the album: a new round, a new crazy ride - bumper car lyrics on a powerful stomping reduction of a 90s track.
From here we leap backwards in time into grey West Berlin of the 80s with ROBOT GIRL which shifts and drifts like a bug in buttermilk somewhere between Grauzone and Alan Vega. Next track KAPUTT kicks in with a bang and smashes everything in the best EBM tradition - this could have been played in a techno club in Frankfurt, both in terms of lyrics and sound. Line up for Elektropogo please!
After all the stomping Wellen.Brecher bring in something completely different with VOICE OF A GENERATION: dramatic vocals over delicate breaks which gradually dissolve into arpeggios on a high-quality trance carpet. Challenge complete!
JULIA takes us back to the late eighties in the dark but fun Belgian-Detroit early trance with new beat appeal. TUNNEL TRANCE would have been a good fit for dancing around the Berlin Siegessaule in, let's say, 1998. Relentless 4/4 beats with a hook-line on speed surrounded by acidophilic bows and, on top, the vocal commentary arriving as if from the man behind the glass of the Ferris wheel. In
your mind's eye, you can see fur-shoed gym ravers in bright neon jumping through the Tiergarten like rubber balls. The cover version of the classic TECHNO DJ is an hommage to good old punk - torn apart and reassembled in true Wellen.Brecher style. The closer TIERISCH VERBOTEN brings all the emotion rushing back: fat beats beckon slowly from afar, before the curtain comes up for an epic synth finale.
The harsh, albeit true words really drive you in. It's not necessary, but perhaps it's good to point it out: Inclusion can easily be experienced with music like this. Fuck AfD!

Samuel Locke Ward and Jad Fair are two of the most prolific musicians working today. Fair is a founding member of the band Half Japanese, and has released over 200 albums, including albums with Yo La Tengo, Daniel Johnston, Moe Tucker, Kramer, Teenage Fanclub, The Pastels, R. Stevie Moore, DQE, Tenniscoats, The Tinklers, Naomi Ishimaru, Jason Willett, Mosquito, and Strobe Talbot. Samuel Locke Ward has released over sixty solo albums as well as a myriad of collaborations with Bob Bucko Jr, Miracles Of God, SLW cc Watt (with Mike Watt) and the cult new age noise group Boundless Relaxation (with Joe Jack Talcum and The Bassturd). He is a cartoonist for Little Village magazine and like Jad Fair, his style musically and visually is wholly his own Pure Candy is the pair’s third album together following 2023’s Happy Hearts and Destroy All Monsters, both issued by Kill Rock Stars. Pure Candy is an album of love songs and is the feel good album of the Summer, Winter, Spring and Fall. The music was composed and performed by Ward who’s love of pop music and avant stylings offer seventeen unexpected turns over the course of a three minute song. The vocals and lyrics are by Fair, lyrics overflowing with words of love, joy, happiness, tenderness, hope and inspiration. Uplifting words for a time dearly in need of some upliftings. As with the previous two albums by Fair and Ward, this album was mixed and mastered by Jonathan Hansen and is being co-released on LP by Shrimper Records (who last worked with Fair on his collaborative three cassette box set Wonderful World) and Chicago’s Stationary (Hearts) Recordings.