Suche:forgot me not

2LP in printed inner sleeves + 12 page booklet with detailed info, secrets and unpublished pictures written by Walter Verdin himself. This collection dives deep into Verdin's prolific and experimental music from 1980 to the beginning of this millennium, capturing an era of a DIY punk spirit, improvisation, creative freedom and swimming against the tide.



We are thrilled to announce the upcoming release of 'Pingpong', a 2LP compilation showcasing previously unreleased works by Walter Verdin, the founding member behind Pas De Deux, the Belgian band which delivered 80's cult classics 'Rendez-Vous' & 'Cardiocleptomanie'. This collection dives deep into Verdin's prolific and experimental music from 1980 to the beginning of this millennium, capturing an era of a DIY punk spirit, improvisation, creative freedom and swimming against the tide.

This album is not just a compilation-it's a sonic journey into Verdin's unique approach to music-making, which he nurtured in the AV studio at KU Leuven's Audiovisual Department (AVD). Having begun his civil service there in 1980, Verdin was exposed to a rich array of audio and video tools that would shape his work for years to come. From the outset, Verdin's process was defined by an openness to experimentation, where he would explore sound and music organically rather than following pre-existing concepts.

The songs on Pingpong reflect his fascination with creating spontaneous, layered compositions. These recordings were made using limited tools, such as his duophonic Yamaha CS-40M synthesizer, borrowed drum machines, and tape loops, and were further enriched by techniques such as reverb and vintage sound manipulation. The results are raw, tactile, and full of personality-often more vibrant and personal than the polished, commercial recordings that would follow in professional studios.

Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, Verdin developed his craft, regularly drawing from his diverse interests in film history, soundtracks, video art, and avant-garde music. His innovative use of tape recorders, improvisational techniques, and later, MIDI and digital tools, makes for a fascinating and varied listening experience. This compilation includes everything from proto-techno and abstract new wave to avant-pop songs, sample-driven experiments, and the oddball TV-inspired tunes that have long been a staple of his work.

This selection is a true reflection of Verdin's "keen amateur" approach: a method focused on discovery, happy accidents, and unexpected results. These compositions aren't about achieving technical perfection, but about capturing moments of sonic exploration and transformation. The 21 recordings have been meticulously curated, with some tracks freshly arranged while others remain true to their original, unedited forms.

'Pingpong' finally brings these forgotten gems into the light. The album includes not only unreleased music but also fragments from Verdin's video art and multimedia projects, offering a rare glimpse into his creative evolution over two decades. Stretching up the boundaries between medium and message, aligning his own musical univers.

Take a deep breath and dive into the works of an artist whose explorations pushed his boundaries of sound and technology.

A Belgian sonic cut up, ping ponging in between many worlds.

Fraufraulein, the San Francisco duo of Billy Gomberg and Andy Guthrie, are master world builders. Their work is immersive — it wraps around you like a warm coat, guiding you deep into a trance-like state. Time moves in slow circles, folds in on itself, and unspools like caught fishing line. It’s tempting to say Guthrie and Gomberg construct a new reality with their work, but I think they’re revealing the contours of familiar territory, gluing together a complicated mirror more than constructing a quotidian diorama. Their music reflects a truth that we all share in some way. It’s the pauses between thoughts, the little observations that color a day, the beauty of how others’ lives imbricate for brief moments before pulling apart completely. Fraufraulein’s music feels beamed from inner space, the soft parts of our consciousness that glow like a flashlight beneath fingertips.

It’s also tempting to call Greater Honeyguide, the duo’s new record — and first in four years — a tool for fostering presence. Each composition can serve as a meditative space, and observing the quietly unfurling layers of sound — a footfall and a quiet breath, scraps of overlapping melodies sung like notes to self, synthesizers droning lightly in the distance — can be a very calming, grounding experience. But I also love to let these pieces guide me through the sulci of my brain like a slot canyon, emerging at some long-forgotten memory or idea. Think of it as a passively-active experience, like looking out of a train window, watching the scenery blur together. At the end of the album’s 37 minutes, I feel transformed. Not necessarily different, just in tune with something else. Something beyond. Something within.

'Images And Words Demos (1989-1991)' wurde ursprünglich 2005 auf Ytsejam Records veröffentlicht und dokumentiert eine besondere Zeit für die Band, als sie sich auf die Veröffentlichung ihres bahnbrechenden Albums 'Images and Words' vorbereitete. Diese Sammlung enthält Instrumentalversionen von Dream Theater -Klassikern wie 'Take The Time' und 'Learning to Live'. Außerdem sind seltene frühe Versionen einiger der bekanntesten Songs der Band zu hören, wie z.B. 'Oliver's Twist', der später zum Fan-Favoriten 'Pull Me Under' werden sollte. Außerdem sind die Originalaufnahmen der Probeaufnahmen zu hören, bei denen Dream Theater James LaBrie als ihren neuen Sänger verpflichteten. Remastered und zum ersten Mal auf Vinyl erhältlich, ist dies ein faszinierender Blick auf die ersten gemeinsamen Tage der Band. Diese neueste Ergänzung zu den 'Lost Not Forgotten Archives' ist als 2CD Digipak, Gatefold 180g 3LP+2CD und als Digitales Album erhältlich.

Googling “paradise house”, the first results to pop up are an endless list of European b&b’s with whitewashed lime façades, all of them promising “…an unmatched travel experience a few steps from the sea”. Next, a little further down, are the institutional websites of a few select semi-luxury retirement homes (no photos shown, but lots of stock images of smiling nurses with reassuring looks). To find the “paradise house” we’re after, we have to scroll even further down. Much further down.

It feels like yesterday, and at the same time it seems like a million years ago. The Eighties had just ended, and it was still unclear what to expect from the Nineties. Mobile phones that were not the size of a briefcase and did not cost as much as a car? A frightening economic crisis? The guitar-rock revival?! Certainly, the best place to observe that moment of transition was the dancefloor. Truly epochal transformations were happening there. From America, within a short distance one from the other, two revolutionary new musical styles had arrived: the first one sounded a bit like an “on a budget” version of the best Seventies disco-music – Philly sound made with a set of piano-bar keyboards! – the other was even more sparse, futuristic and extraterrestrial. It was a music with a quite distinct “physical” component, which at the same time, to be fully grasped, seemed to call for the knotty theories of certain French post-modern philosophers: Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, Paul Virilio... Both those genres – we would learn shortly after – were born in the black communities of Chicago and Detroit, although listening to those vinyl 12” (often wrapped in generic white covers, and with little indication in the label) you could not easily guess whether behind them there was a black boy from somewhere in the Usa, or a girl from Berlin, or a pale kid from a Cornish coastal town.

Quickly, similar sounds began to show up from all corners of Europe. A thousand variations of the same intuition: leaner, less lean, happier, slightly less intoxicated, more broken, slower, faster, much faster... Boom! From the dancefloors – the London ones at least, whose chronicles we eagerly read every month in the pages of The Face and i-D – came tales of a new generation of clubbers who had completely stopped “dressing up” to go dancing; of hot tempered hooligans bursting into tears and hugging everyone under the strobe lights as the notes of Strings of Life rose up through the fumes of dry ice (certain “smiling” pills were also involved, sure). At this point, however, we must move on to Switzerland.

In Switzerland, in the quiet and diligent town of Lugano, between the 1980s and 1990s there was a club called “Morandi”. Its hot night was on Wednesdays, when the audience also came from Milan, Como, Varese and Zurich. Legend goes that, one night, none less than Prince and Sheila E were spotted hiding among the sofas, on a day-off of the Italian dates of the Nude Tour… The Wednesday resident and superstar was an Italian dj with an exotic name: Don Carlos. The soundtrack he devised was a mixture of Chicago, Detroit, the most progressive R&B and certain forgotten classics of old disco music: practically, what the Paradise Garage in New York might have sounded like had it not closed in 1987. In between, Don Carlos also managed to squeeze in some tracks he had worked on in his studio on Lago Maggiore. One in particular: a track that was rather slow compared to the BPM in fashion at the time, but which was a perfect bridge between house and R&B. The title was Alone: Don Carlos would explain years later that it had to be intended both in the English meaning of “by itself” and like the Italian word meaning “halo”. That wasn’t the only double entendre about the song, anyway. Its own very deep nature was, indeed, double. On the one hand, Alone was built around an angelic keyboard pattern and a romantic piano riff that took you straight to heaven; on the other, it showcased enough electronic squelches (plus a sax part that sounded like it had been dissolved by acid rain) to pigeonhole the tune into the “junk modernity” section, aka the hallmark of all the most innovative sounds of the time: music that sounded like it was hand-crafted from the scraps of glittering overground pop.

No one knows who was the first to call it “paradise house”, nor when it happened. Alternative definitions on the same topic one happened to hear included “ambient house”, “dream house”, “Mediterranean progressive”… but of course none were as good (and alluring) as “paradise house”. What is certain is that such inclination for sounds that were in equal measure angelic and neurotic, romantic and unaffective, quickly became the trademark of the second generation of Italian house. Music that seemed shyly equidistant from all the rhythmic and electronic revolutions that had happened up to that moment (“Music perfectly adept at going nowhere slowly” as noted by English journalist Craig McLean in a legendary field report for Blah Blah Blah magazine). Music that to a inattentive ear might have sounded as anonymous as a snapshot of a random group of passers-by at 10AM in the centre of any major city, but perfectly described the (slow) awakening in the real world after the universal love binge of the so-called Second Summer of Love.

For a brief but unforgettable season, in Italy “paradise house” was the official soundtrack of interminable weekends spent inside the car, darting from one club to another, cutting the peninsula from North to centre, from East to West coast in pursuit of the latest after-hours disco, trading kilometres per hour with beats per minute: practically, a new New Year’s Eve every Friday and Saturday night. This too was no small transformation, as well as a shock for an adult Italy that was encountering for the first time – thanks to its sons and daughters – the wild side of industrial modernity. The clubbers of the so-called “fuoriorario” scene were the balls gone mad in the pinball machine most feared by newspapers, magazines and TV pundits. What they did each and every weekend, apart from going crazy to the sound of the current white labels, was linking distant geographical points and non-places (thank you Marc Augé!) – old dance halls, farmhouses and business centres – transformed for one night into house music heaven. As Marco D’Eramo wrote in his 1995 essay on Chicago, Il maiale e il grattacielo: “Four-wheeled capitalism distorts our age-old image of the city, it allows the suburbs to be connected to each other, whereas before they were connected only by the centre (…) It makes possible a metropolitan area without a metropolis, without a city centre, without downtown. The periphery is no longer a periphery of any centre, but is self-centred”.

“Paradise house” perfectly understood all of this and turned it into a sort of cyber-blues that didn’t even need words, and unexpectedly brought back a drop of melancholic (post?)-humanity within a world that by then – as we would wholly realise in the decades to come – was fully inhuman and heartless. A world where we were all alone, and surrounded by a sinister yellowish halo, like a neon at the end of its life cycle. But, for one night at least, happy."

Mannequin Records proudly presents the debut release from Children Of The Night, a dynamic duo whose music is rooted in cinematic soundscapes. The project brings together Mexican techno producer Alejandro Barba, also known as Dellarge, and French documentary/film producer Pierre Labret, forging a distinctive creative partnership. Their collaboration masterfully combines dark, atmospheric elements with driving electronic rhythms, drawing heavily from the worlds of classic horror and psychological thrillers. The result is a collection of soundscapes that are as eerie as they are captivating, creating an immersive and haunting listening experience.



This album stands as an unconventional horror soundtrack for a film that never came to be—a tribute to the legendary Spanish filmmaker Jess Franco, known for his prolific work in the exploitation and horror genres. Born out of the quiet chaos of the pandemic, this project was originally intended to accompany a slasher film that was halted due to financial constraints. Despite the film’s cancellation, the duo pressed forward, turning the unfinished narrative into an imaginative auditory experience. The soundtrack will serve not only as a homage to Franco but also as a nod to Juan Mendez, better known by his alias Silent Servant, whose dark, minimalist electronic productions have left a deep mark on the underground music scene.

Dellarge and Labret’s creative process is shaped by an eclectic array of inspirations, pulling from both literature and cinema. They’ve cited films such as Franco’s "Paroxismus," "Gritos," and "Faceless" as vital to their sonic direction, as well as the eerie black-and-white imagery of F.W. Murnau's "Nosferatu." Additionally, the duo draws on the disturbing psychological tension of Stephen King’s "Carrie" and "Misery," and the surreal dystopian world of Stanislaw Lem's "Congreso de Futurología." The giallo horror aesthetics of Dario Argento's "Deep Red" also serve as a significant influence, merging surreal visuals with nerve-racking, visceral soundtracks—elements mirrored in Dellarge and Labret's own compositions.



The LP is not only rich with atmospheric storytelling but also boasts a range of remarkable remixes by prominent artists in the electronic music scene. Contributions from Alessandro Adriani, David Carretta, Legowelt, and Broken English Club inject new life into the original tracks, offering reinterpretations that span from industrial techno to Italo disco, further enhancing the project’s depth and versatility. Each remix complements the overarching horror theme while adding a modern, avant-garde twist to the duo’s work.



This debut album promises to be more than just a musical release—it's a vivid exploration of the horror genre through sound, creating a sensory experience that brings forgotten films, unrealized visions, and nightmarish stories to life through music. As the lines between fiction and reality blur, Dellarge and Labret invite listeners into a world where the echoes of lost films can finally be heard.

f11 FLRNTN, Benjamin Duchenne - "Last Man Standing" (feat Sivan) (1:08)
f12 Nicholas Gunn & Harshil Kamdar - "Here I Am" (feat Alina Renae - Richard Durand remix) (1:08)
f13 DJ TH X TH3 ONE X Sue McLaren - "Everything To Me" (1:08)
f14 Matty Ralph - "Te Adoro" (1:08)
f15 Armin Van Buuren & Vini Vici - "Sarabande" (feat Anna Timofei) (1:08)
f16 Lilly Palmer - "Hare Ram" (1:08)
f17 David Forbes - "Techno Is My Only Drug" (1:08)
f18 Armin Van Buuren - "Blah Blah Blah" (Lilly Palmer remix) (1:08)
f19 Armin Van Buuren - "The Road To Your Destination" (A State Of Trance Year mix 2024 outro) (1:14)

When Apollo Brown and Crimeapple connect, it’s like old film grain under a projector— gritty, timeless. This album isn’t just boom-bap nostalgia; it’s a rebirth of smoke-stained bars, where Crimeapple plays both poet and philosopher, flipping bilingual manteca rhymes with a chef’s precision, stirring up the street grime and serving it with a side of sharp wit. Apollo Brown, as always, builds his beats like ancient architecture—dusty, soulful, and heavy with forgotten stories. These tracks sound like the cracks in the sidewalk talking back, the perfect companion for long nights and even longer thoughts. It’s a sonic novel, a street sermon, and Crimeapple’s wordplay dances through it like grease sizzling in a pan, a reminder that even in decay, there’s beauty. This, Is Not That.

Blue Valentine Vinyl. Sometime in 2005, a lone box of master tapes escaped an estate sale and made its way through a network of collectors, record dealers, and "junkers" into the hands of leading Ohio soul expert Dante Carfagna, who linked them to Columbus, Ohio's mysterious Prix label (See: Eccentric Soul: The Prix Label). A bit of research turned up Prix proprietor George Beter, who identified most of the unlabeled material. All it took was an endless series of phone calls and letters and two fields trips in Columbus. But one complete mystery wended its way onto our final Prix compilation. "You and Me," a simple but irrepressible demo credited only to Penny & the Quarters, was found tacked onto a mixed studio reel. Our survey of every willing lifer left on the Columbus soul scene, including retired DJs, producers, and important local artists, produced not so much as a glimmer of recognition at the name Penny & the Quarters. Though we loved the song from the first play, it may've ended up a bit buried on our original compilation, as #18 of 19 tracks.Four years later, Eccentric Soul: The Prix Label hadn't exactly become a huge seller, although listeners had repeatedly told us that the unfiltered studio demos that fill out the record's back half were true diamonds in the rough. But neither Penny nor her Quarters had appeared to claim credit for their efforts. Then, completely out of left field, we heard from respected screen actor and avowed Numero fan Ryan Gosling that Penny's piercing bit of stripped down doo-wop was being considered for inclusion in Derek Cianfrance's indie-weeper film Blue Valentine. What we didn't know was that "You and Me" had won a major role in what became an indie circuit hit, and that Penny & the Quarters would instantly assume the role of world's most famous unknown doo-wop group.Every week is a slow news week in Columbus, Ohio, and early January 2011 found the city recovering from the thrill of elevating Ted Williams_the formerly homeless guy with the awesome voice for radio_into a national news sensation. But both major daily newspapers in town, as well as the city's alternative weekly, also ran stories about how a lost and unknown Columbus soul group had become the musical centerpiece of a film already garnering Oscar buzz. That mainstream spotlight aimed at Blue Valentine and Penny & the Quarters did the trick: we finally made contact with the widow of Jay Robinson, lead Quarters' singer and songwriter. Robinson, it turned out, had also been the leader of Columbus doo-wop pioneers The Supremes (later known as "The Columbus Supremes," for reasons which should be obvious). Jay Robinson never did give up on the dream of writing a hit record; even so, the posthumous realization of his dream is cold comfort for his widow and daughter. With their blessings, we returned to those estate sale masters and pulled down another neglected track ("You Are Giving Me Some Other Love") from the still-unknown Penny and her now-partly-known Quarters. "You and Me" is a song that could not be suppressed: not when Prix failed to release it; not when Penny & the Quarters were forgotten; not when Numero stuck it at the bitter end of a much overlooked compilation. Its evolution from estate sale trash to silver-screen gold has finally returned it to big-hole 45, where it probably should have lived all along.

The 2003 debut album and a collection of early rarities from the genuine treasure of the UK underground. Remastered and available on vinyl for the first time in over two decades. “Legendary angular rock…Edgar Allen Poe meets The Fall” (The Guardian 2003) “Jarvis Cocker fronting Fugazi” (Melody Maker 1994) Joeyfat, from Tunbridge Wells in Kent, are the daddy of all the Sprechgesang bands out there. We searched on Wikipedia; they're not even mentioned. Maybe not such a bad thing. There are young scamps climbing up festival line-ups all over the world with more than a passing sonic and aesthetic resemblance. Influence can be picked up in diluted ways, maybe the true source of the river has been forgotten. Foals heard the source, they were there. So were Everything Everything. Ask them. Black Midi heard it third hand. Life Without Buildings heard it. So did Yard Act. You can see the pattern. From the early '90s Joeyfat, led by Matt Cole and Jason Dormon, have been perfecting and re-perfecting the sound. They toured with Green Day in 1994. They released music on the Fierce Panda label. They recorded BBC Sessions for John Peel and Marc Riley and released four albums and countless singles. They flirted with being known and they didn't like what they saw so they kept it local, building a community by setting up the Tunbridge Wells Forum, one of the great UK small venues. Debut album The House Of The Fat is a masterpiece, the musical precision recalls The Sound or B52s. The spot-on attack of the vocal and lyrics makes us think of Fugazi or Zounds. The Unwilling Astronaut compiles early singles and compilation tracks. Going all the way back to 1993 it shows how close to a DC-inspired hardcore band they were, it's a thrilling listen. Joeyfat shouldn’t need a re-introduction but they’re going to get one. The source of the river. The top of the family tree. This is where the resemblance comes from

Reissue!

WRWTFWW Records is honored to reissue revered UK electronic duo Ultramarine’s best kept secret from their discography, the superb A User’s Guide album, available as a limited double LP housed in a beautiful heavyweight sleeve with inside out printing.

On the rare occasions that Ultramarine’s story is told, the duo’s fifth album, 1998’s A User’s Guide, tends to get omitted from the narrative. Radically different to anything the duo released before or since, it has remained a slept-on, timeless and inherently futurist classic ever since.

Unavailable on vinyl since the year it was released – in part because the label it originally came out on, New Electronica, folded shortly afterwards – A User’s Guide was the result of a conscious decision by Ultramarine members Paul Hammond and Ian Cooper to change their working methods and the “sound palette” that underpinned their work.

Out went the partially improvised hybrid electronic/acoustic sounds and the collaborations with guest musicians they’d become famous for. They were replaced by painstakingly created electronic sounds and textures, metallic motifs, spaced-out chords, rhythms rooted in contemporary techno and drum & bass culture, and nods aplenty to pioneering music of the period, from the post-rock atmospherics of Tortoise, and the hazy dub techno of Basic Channel, to the tech-jazz of Detroit, the minimalism of Berlin, and the musically expansive warmth of Chicago deep house.

It may have taken a year to create – part of which was spent developing this head-spinning new sound – but the results were undeniably unearthly and effortlessly forward-thinking. Over a quarter of a century may have passed since it first appeared in record stores, but A User’s Guide still sounds fresh and modern – a remarkable achievement given the relatively sparse and basic equipment used in the making of the album.

As this first vinyl reissue conclusively proves, the material showcased on A User’s Guide has lost none of its sparkle in the 26 years that have passed since its release. For proof, check the head-nodding IDM bubbliness of opener ‘All of a Sudden’, the queasy, lopsided tech-jazz of ‘Sucker For You’, the locked-in beats and mind-mangling motifs of ‘Zombie’, the ghostly, out-there electro of ‘Ambush’, the Autechreesque ‘Ghost Routine’ and the triumphant closing cut ‘What Machines Want’, a classic of minimalistic, jazz-flecked techno futurism.

Fully remastered from the original DATs by Jason G at Transition Studios, the 2024 vinyl edition of A User’s Guide thrusts Ultramarine’s most overlooked album back into the spotlight. This WRWTFWW edition also features brand new contextualizing sleeve notes, complete with new quotes on the production process from Ultramarine, by dance music historian Matt Anniss (author of Join The Future: Bleep Techno and the Birth of British Bass Music, and founder of online electronic music platform Jointhefuture).

Points of interests For fans of electronic, leftfield, postrock, tech-jazz, IDM, minimalism, futurist electronica, dub techno, house, experimental, Autechre, Tortoise, Basic Channel, forgotten gems from superb discographies, very good music, and very very very very good music.

Official vinyl reissue of legendary UK electronic’s duo Ultramarine’s timeless and radical album A User’s Guide.

Watch out! You are holding the 125th (one-hundred-and-twenty fifth!) album on Tramp Records in your hands! We are honored to celebrate this impressive anniversary with the tenth volume in the Praise Poems series. This time, too, we go on a journey to discover previously unheard regions of jazz, folk and AOR from the 1970s and 80s.

Praise Poems Vol.10 presents sixteen (almost) forgotten rare groove gems, all released between the years 1970 and 1984. One of the many highlights is the opening track: "Fields of Laughter" by Color Me Blu - originally released on an acetate only of which two copies exist worldwide. But there is much, much more to discover. This brandnew volume features a wide range of genres, from AOR (Whiz Kids, Ross Miller, and another previously unreleased track by Harve & Charee) to Latin-Rock a'la Santana (Color Me Blue, Tribal Sinfonia, and Apple) to Soul-Jazz (Ernie Lewis Trio, Joe Bozzi Quintet or Dutch saxophonist Frits Kaatee). Right at the end, one track in particular stands out: the wonderful "It's Good Not To Forget" by George Melvin and his quintet - a fabulously dreamy, thoughtful instrumental piece in the style of Ramsey Lewis with catchy tune potential.

Not many compilation series make it to a tenth edition. And if they do, then you often notice that the quality of the songs goes in the opposite direction to the increasing number of series: namely decreasing. Not so with Praise Poems Vol. 10, which the creators prove in an impressive new way. They have found tracks that were originally either a) pressed by the musicians themselves in very small editions or b) released by small, regional labels. It is understandable that neither the musicians nor these small labels had the necessary knowledge or budget to market their albums or singles professionally. The majority of the bands therefore did not manage to reach a large audience - although they certainly had the potential for the big stage.

"Praise Poems 10 - A journey into soulful jazz and funk from the 1970s" makes these almost 50-year-old treasures accessible to a new audience. We hope that you enjoy discovering your personal favorite song(s) and we are already looking forward to many more releases!

Volume 1 of this expertly curated project of 90s Italian House - put together by Don Carlos.

If Paradise was half as nice… by Fabio De Luca.

Googling “paradise house”, the first results to pop up are an endless list of European b&b’s with whitewashed lime façades, all of them promising “…an unmatched travel experience a few steps from the sea”. Next, a little further down, are the institutional websites of a few select semi-luxury retirement homes (no photos shown, but lots of stock images of smiling nurses with reassuring looks). To find the “paradise house” we’re after, we have to scroll even further down. Much further down.

It feels like yesterday, and at the same time it seems like a million years ago. The Eighties had just ended, and it was still unclear what to expect from the Nineties. Mobile phones that were not the size of a briefcase and did not cost as much as a car? A frightening economic crisis? The guitar-rock revival?! Certainly, the best place to observe that moment of transition was the dancefloor. Truly epochal transformations were happening there. From America, within a short distance one from the other, two revolutionary new musical styles had arrived: the first one sounded a bit like an “on a budget” version of the best Seventies disco-music – Philly sound made with a set of piano-bar keyboards! – the other was even more sparse, futuristic and extraterrestrial. It was a music with a quite distinct “physical” component, which at the same time, to be fully grasped, seemed to call for the knotty theories of certain French post-modern philosophers: Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, Paul Virilio... Both those genres – we would learn shortly after – were born in the black communities of Chicago and Detroit, although listening to those vinyl 12” (often wrapped in generic white covers, and with little indication in the label) you could not easily guess whether behind them there was a black boy from somewhere in the Usa, or a girl from Berlin, or a pale kid from a Cornish coastal town.

Quickly, similar sounds began to show up from all corners of Europe. A thousand variations of the same intuition: leaner, less lean, happier, slightly less intoxicated, more broken, slower, faster, much faster... Boom! From the dancefloors – the London ones at least, whose chronicles we eagerly read every month in the pages of The Face and i-D – came tales of a new generation of clubbers who had completely stopped “dressing up” to go dancing; of hot tempered hooligans bursting into tears and hugging everyone under the strobe lights as the notes of Strings of Life rose up through the fumes of dry ice (certain “smiling” pills were also involved, sure). At this point, however, we must move on to Switzerland.

In Switzerland, in the quiet and diligent town of Lugano, between the 1980s and 1990s there was a club called “Morandi”. Its hot night was on Wednesdays, when the audience also came from Milan, Como, Varese and Zurich. Legend goes that, one night, none less than Prince and Sheila E were spotted hiding among the sofas, on a day-off of the Italian dates of the Nude Tour… The Wednesday resident and superstar was an Italian dj with an exotic name: Don Carlos. The soundtrack he devised was a mixture of Chicago, Detroit, the most progressive R&B and certain forgotten classics of old disco music: practically, what the Paradise Garage in New York might have sounded like had it not closed in 1987. In between, Don Carlos also managed to squeeze in some tracks he had worked on in his studio on Lago Maggiore. One in particular: a track that was rather slow compared to the BPM in fashion at the time, but which was a perfect bridge between house and R&B. The title was Alone: Don Carlos would explain years later that it had to be intended both in the English meaning of “by itself” and like the Italian word meaning “halo”. That wasn’t the only double entendre about the song, anyway. Its own very deep nature was, indeed, double. On the one hand, Alone was built around an angelic keyboard pattern and a romantic piano riff that took you straight to heaven; on the other, it showcased enough electronic squelches (plus a sax part that sounded like it had been dissolved by acid rain) to pigeonhole the tune into the “junk modernity” section, aka the hallmark of all the most innovative sounds of the time: music that sounded like it was hand-crafted from the scraps of glittering overground pop.

No one knows who was the first to call it “paradise house”, nor when it happened. Alternative definitions on the same topic one happened to hear included “ambient house”, “dream house”, “Mediterranean progressive”… but of course none were as good (and alluring) as “paradise house”. What is certain is that such inclination for sounds that were in equal measure angelic and neurotic, romantic and unaffective, quickly became the trademark of the second generation of Italian house. Music that seemed shyly equidistant from all the rhythmic and electronic revolutions that had happened up to that moment (“Music perfectly adept at going nowhere slowly” as noted by English journalist Craig McLean in a legendary field report for Blah Blah Blah magazine). Music that to a inattentive ear might have sounded as anonymous as a snapshot of a random group of passers-by at 10AM in the centre of any major city, but perfectly described the (slow) awakening in the real world after the universal love binge of the so-called Second Summer of Love.

For a brief but unforgettable season, in Italy “paradise house” was the official soundtrack of interminable weekends spent inside the car, darting from one club to another, cutting the peninsula from North to centre, from East to West coast in pursuit of the latest after-hours disco, trading kilometres per hour with beats per minute: practically, a new New Year’s Eve every Friday and Saturday night. This too was no small transformation, as well as a shock for an adult Italy that was encountering for the first time – thanks to its sons and daughters – the wild side of industrial modernity. The clubbers of the so-called “fuoriorario” scene were the balls gone mad in the pinball machine most feared by newspapers, magazines and TV pundits. What they did each and every weekend, apart from going crazy to the sound of the current white labels, was linking distant geographical points and non-places (thank you Marc Augé!) – old dance halls, farmhouses and business centres – transformed for one night into house music heaven. As Marco D’Eramo wrote in his 1995 essay on Chicago, Il maiale e il grattacielo: “Four-wheeled capitalism distorts our age-old image of the city, it allows the suburbs to be connected to each other, whereas before they were connected only by the centre (…) It makes possible a metropolitan area without a metropolis, without a city centre, without downtown. The periphery is no longer a periphery of any centre, but is self-centred”.

“Paradise house” perfectly understood all of this and turned it into a sort of cyber-blues that didn’t even need words, and unexpectedly brought back a drop of melancholic (post?)-humanity within a world that by then – as we would wholly realise in the decades to come – was fully inhuman and heartless. A world where we were all alone, and surrounded by a sinister yellowish halo, like a neon at the end of its life cycle. But, for one night at least, happy.

Surely one of the end of year 2012 hits and now available on CD, this debut album from Jessica Pratt got some rave blogosphere reviewage, Highly recommended!! "I never wanted to ever start a record label. Ever. But there is something about her voice I couldn't let go of. It's an actual voice. An actual beautiful voice. This ones a classic sounding voice. Not to mention her song writing, recording and guitar playing. JESSICA PRATT's music feels like I have found a lost LP of an old forgotten mystical folk singer, that feeling of discovering a record all by myself: Without the help of friends or the Internet. Like Stevie Nicks singing over David Crosby demos, with the intimacy of a Sibylle Baier. I am in love with it. So much, that I saved up and threw all my money to get it into this world. I actually care about it, no matter which way the winds blow."-Tim Presley, White Fence: FOR FANS OF Marissa Nadler / Linda Perhacs / first vinyl pressing of 500 now sold out? Second pressing now in Stock!! 8/10 in the latest Uncut. dont miss this ..

Rhythm Section International, the impossible-to-define label founded in South East London by Bradley Zero in 2014 has reached the ripe old age of 10 years.Spanning 6 discs and 30 tracks, the compilation begins by taking us on a walk down memory lane and presenting one track from each year of the labels output

Rhythm Section International, the impossible-to-define label founded in South East London by Bradley Zero in 2014 has reached the ripe old age of 10 years. Funny thing is, it feels like it could have been almost double that. It’s hard to imagine the Landscape of the London music scene without this foundational force whose influence is felt more than ever.

With this special anniversary release, the label takes stock at this milestone to present a compilation in 3 parts: PAST, RE-IMAGINED AND FUTURE: honouring the labels tradition of always paying homage to what has come before while setting sights firmly forwards.

With 100-odd releases in their extended back catalogue covering every imaginable style and boasting influence in every inhabited continent on earth, it’s been quite a decade for the independent label, which began on a shoestring budget with funds made via the now legendary Rhythm Section pool hall parties in Peckham.

From humble beginnings to an era defining output - few would have predicted the slow and steady rise of the imprint and the impact it has had on generations of Dj’s, musicians and listeners - at home and abroad.

Spanning 6 discs and 30 tracks, the compilation begins by taking us on a walk down memory lane and presenting one track from each year of the labels output - highlighting some forgotten classics from the archives over the first 2 discs. For discs 3 & 4, the label invited it’s stable of artists to pick a track from the back catalogue to re-imagine in their own style. This process resulted in some incredibly playful contributions from the likes of Ruf Dug, Session Victim and Private Joy - whose playful reinterpretations add new depth to old material.

Finally, the last 2 discs are entirely new material for 2024, carrying the torch of the previous SHOUTS compilations - whose sole aim is to shine light on new music from emerging artists

The Acidboychair music project started in the early noughties as a commentary on what journalist Simon Reynolds would summarise a few years later as Retromania. Initially conceived by Thomas Baldischwyler and Andreas Diefenbach as a performative revival travesty with large-format drum computers and synthesizers reconstructed from cardboard, everything took a surprising turn when DJ Mooner (the man behind the now defunct Munich music label Erkrankung Durch Musique) took an interest in the adventurous audio material produced by Baldischwyler. In 2005, the LP 1987 (EDM1016), produced almost exclusively with long-forgotten software (SoundEdit 16, RB-338, etc.), was released on Mooner's label. As a result of the growing number of bookings, Baldischwyler had to think about improving the performability of his intentionally amateurish productions. Fortunately, the Ableton Live programme became a DAW with a MIDI sequencer and support for VST plug-ins as early as 2004 - and this made it easier for him to execute his intuitive, error-friendly version of acid house. This can be heard on the first two sample-heavy tracks on the A-side of Come Down Easy, which were recorded in 2005 and 2006 respectively at Acidboychair gigs at Hamburg's Golden Pudel Club and Munich's Registratur. The first two tracks on the B-side (produced sometime between 2006 and 2008) were actually supposed to be part of a solo release on the Acido label run by Dynamo Dreesen, but this never materialised. However, the final tracks and the 133.3 BPM lock grooves that follow are the title and central to this catalogue number TBG123: Through ethno-musicologist Arthur Boto Conley, who had already released a one-sided 12 on his label with material from one of Baldischwyler's audio installations, he met Florian Meyer (Don't DJ) and Marc Matter (Spoken Matter), who introduced him to their collaborative project Institut F?r Feinmotorik (IFFM). Baldischwyler's attempt to approach the sound aesthetics of IFFM led to the tape 60 Minutes Of Barely Modified Lock Grooves (TCCC06), recorded in Rome in 2018. A buyer of this tape introduced him to the Detroit collective Pure Rave, which he immediately contacted and introduced to the work of the IFFM. It was important for Baldischwyler to have an analogue update made and so both the Detroiters and IFFM, who now live in Berlin, were given 8 copies of EDM1016's backstock to remix the material in their own way. At their jam in Detroit, Pure Rave opted for the almost identical material that IFFM had also used for a live performance in the Hamburg project space Beek. The dominant jumps in both arrangements come from the track Eightyseven, produced in the early 2000s for the LP 1987, an awkward remix of the Spacemen 3 track Come Down Easy, which is also referred to in the liner notes on the inner sleeve of TBG123. The almost two-decade-old revival idea thus turns into false memory syndrome and runs into a - in keeping with our times - clean-cut (endless) groove. Kassem Mosse (The KM of MM/KM) on Come Down Easy after a first listening session: I think it all works very well as a mix, no matter where you start it carries you further forward back in the loop. if I understand the liner notes correctly, it's about the music's turn from tradition preservation (doing everything right) to ecstatic delusion (not doing everything right when intoxicated). Now that I'm reading again instead of listening, the titles give me a different understanding of the connections; how the skipping belongs together, which playtime is connected. Now I can name my favourites. Thank you for the journey!

"This record explores the relationships between mid century architecture, consumerism and community. The gradual or sometimes brutal removal and change of places in the name of progress. These changes leave traces that people have to deal with on a psychological level but probably never really acknowledge. This record explores loss of community and loss or unsympathetic altering of shopping spaces. When something is unceremoniously knocked down or altered and something else replaces it then the thing before it becomes ghost like and is at risk of being forgotten. Not dissimilar to when the Christian faith built their buildings upon Pagan sites. It has a similar purpose (to pray or to shop in this case) but the older thing becomes dreamlike and is confined to folklore. The community is always fed the propaganda of progress but looking back, I certainly cannot deny the beauty of what has now gone. Maybe there is a sense of dissolution and denial about such matters. The record is also interested in the sense of community of these past spaces and how shopping centres have generally declined mainly due to the rise of neo liberalism and tech giants. When you see old footage of these spaces in their prime, you get a sense of a space age future, everything looks new but paradoxically the people look to be from an older time. Today I can see real poverty and complete disenfranchisement from being in these new spaces. It's not all doom and gloom though as spaces, especially the ones in Plymouth are not that much altered and could be brought back to the architects original dreams."

David A.

WRWTFWW Records is honored to announce the first ever vinyl release for esteemed Japanese producer, composer, and environmental music luminary Yoshio Ojima’s rare forgotten album Club, previously only released as a limited edition of 50 cassettes back in 1983. The electronica/proto-techno/experimental gem is available as an LP reissue supervised by the artist, sourced from the original masters and housed in a heavy 350gsm sleeve. Only 500 copies were made.

A precious and sought-after item among collectors and enthusiasts of early Japanese electronic music, Club is a stunning and timeless collection of avant-garde electronica, proto-techno, mecha-ambient, and ear-pleasing experimentations from Yoshio Ojima, the ambient/environmental master behind the pivotal Music for Spiral albums released in 1988 (aka Une Collection Des Chaînons I and II reissued on WRWTFWW), and producer of Hiroshi Yoshimura’s Pier & Loft, Motohiko Hamase’s #Notes of Forestry, and Satsuki Shibano's iconic Rendez-Vous.

Filled with quirky minimalist acid-synth-and-drum-machine-handiwork, bouncy collages of beautifully childlike techno and pre-IDM, and the irresistible DIY charm of humble beginnings, the 8-track album is a fun, adventurous and risqué-but-catchy-in-the-most-peculiar-way piece of Japanese electronic music history neatly capturing the incredible creative energy boiling through the country’s scene in the 1980s.


Experience the roots of Japanese electronica!

Breve is the new album by Stefan Paul Goetsch aka Hainbach.

"After a ceaseless amount of work and family struggles, 2023 had left me empty and tired. Instead of the many hats I usually wear, I shifted my focus exclusively on my music. For two weeks every day I sat down behind a few modular synths, a toy piano and an Ondioline, recording tape after tape. I did not lock myself in though - my kids were playing around me, commenting, touching knobs, adding oscillations. What in „deadline times“ can be disrupting, became restorative. I was with my family, just drifting on waveforms. I hope some of that atmosphere shines through, and the album can help you to find peace as it did for me.

Thanks to Forgotten Futures for the loan of the Ondioline and technician Daniel Kitzig for the beautiful restoration work." - Hainbach

Based out of Berlin, Germany, electronic music composer and performer Hainbach creates shifting audio landscapes THE WIRE called "One hell of a trip". His music has been released on Opal Tapes, Seil Records, Spring Break Tapes, Limited Interest and Marionette. He has been fascinated with sine tones, noise and FM since he discovered the dial on the radio. Never losing his childhood wonder, he still searches for the sounds in between on modular synths and other devices.

Who is Isabelle Lewis, anyway?

What kind of music does she make? Is she an opera singer? Does she write pop songs? Does she compose ethereal ambient soundscapes? Does she play chamber music on the violin? Is she producing dark, electronic beats?

Well… yes. But Isabelle Lewis is not so much a person as a project. Isabelle’s debut album, Greetings, credits a trio of composer–performers at its heart: producer Valgeir Sigurðsson, vocalist Benjamin Abel Meirhaeghe, and violinist Elisabeth Klinck. The sound of the elusive Isabelle Lewis is heard most clearly in the push and pull between them, the three-way tension that gives the album its musical and emotional drive.

Each of the three brings more to the collaboration than those epithets might imply. Elisabeth’s solo performance practice incorporates composition, improvisation, live electronics, and a close command of bowing and fingering techniques that make her fiddle sing, whisper or whistle as required. Benjamin is a self-taught countertenor - keening, crooning, and swelling to a voluptuous sensuality—but also an interdisciplinary stage director and performer. Well known for his work as a producer and studio collaborator, and as a composer of scores for film and stage, Valgeir’s solo discography interweaves meticulously crafted electronics, drones, noise, and other digital elements with acoustic instruments and vocals recorded with naked, unflinching clarity.

But the extravagant theatricality Benjamin brings to the aptly titled “Drama”—also featuring a heroic violin solo from Elisabeth—grapples against the thudding bass of the implacable digital backdrop. On “Mother, Shelter Me” Valgeir’s austere and detailed production throws the hushed violin and vocals into stark relief. The result is an exquisitely uncanny juxtaposition of past and present, human and mechanical, like a Rococo treasure viewed under cold fluorescent lights, or an 18th-century automaton slowly opening its clockwork eyes.

Even the lyrics seem somehow out of time. On “O Solitude,” Benjamin goes so far as to quote an entire song by the first great English opera composer, Henry Purcell, verbatim. No stranger to Purcell’s music, which has made its way into Benjamin’s theatrical productions as well, here Isabelle Lewis removes Purcell’s melodies and harmonies and sets the text, Katherine Phillips’s 17th century translation of a poem by Antoine Girard de Saint-Amant, to new music whose heightened, archaic character nevertheless seems haunted by Baroque ghosts.

Throughout the album, the outsized emotions and timeless archetypes of Benjamin’s lyrics feel like relics from some half-forgotten past—from the neatly rhymed couplets of “Fisherman,” a seemingly straightforward (but still somewhat askew) character study, to the abstraction of “Moonshell,” whose words seem like the fragments of some ancient, lost lament. It is just another of many ways in which Isabelle Lewis carefully distorts the listener’s notions of time. On a more micro level, time can stop for a moment of weightless, drifting ambience, and then plunge forward as the cloud of harmonies suddenly lock into tempo with the drop of the bass or the change of a chord. Or else that weightless moment is allowed to be, as in the aptly named prologue and epilogue to these Greetings (“Voicemail”/“…and farewell”), or in the interstitial tracks that bind the album together, connecting its dramatic peaks with expanses of meditative stasis.

The album as a whole is elegantly shaped, swelling from an intimate, interpersonal statement into something deeper and more spacious. The first half of the album leans slightly towards self-contained pop songcraft and ticking beats, while side B jumps off from “O Solitude” into the almost symphonic grandeur of songs like “Moonshell” or the instrumental “Not the water, air, or the dirt.”

But as it progresses, the contrasts only grow more sublime: antique and postmodern, human and machinelike. The ominous weight of the droning sub-bass and trombone (guest player Helgi Hrafn Jónsson) only makes the interplay between vocals and violins (guest player Daniel Pioro joining Elisabeth) seem more delicate and vulnerable. The ethereal string tremolos of “Moonshell” seem to pull against the heavy, shuddering electronics and layers of crooning vocals.

And that, in short, is where you will find Isabelle Lewis. Like an ancient stone archway, or a delicate house of cards, the architecture of Greetings is held together by the tension between opposing forces. Not just in Elisabeth’s playing, Benjamin’s singing, or Valgeir’s arrangements and production but in the conflict and contrast that generates the synergy between them.

Oh—Isabelle says hi, by the way. She’s looking forward to meeting you.

Sugar Pie DeSanto, a R&B icon, rose to fame with her 1961 LP, known for dynamic performances and chart-topping hits.