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Emotional Response presents Volume 2 of the LNS-ID series. Atmospheric, infectious, at times nostalgic, warm yet ghosty, the tension of Laura Sparrow’s music is her exploration in electronic music.

An introduction to DJing and music production has been a natural progression, applying skills in new and fresh formats. Built on the heritage of Chicago and Detroit house, alongside old IDM and electro, her first productions might have been raw, but the creativity was lit.

While her recent productions have explored club orientated, loud cut records, in collaborations with DJ Sotofett, that represent the sound found in her residency on the Globus floor at the Tresor club, LNS’s interest in the solo productions of the LNS-ID recordings and more organic-style explored in the recent Misiats EP burns bright.

LNS-ID 1 and LNS ID 2 are her latest offering. Two sets of four tracks based on the acid tradition in the more restless corners of 90s and early 00s Braindance. Acid lines drive the melodies, while drums move between sliced break fragments and the familiar sounds of the Roland TR-606 and TR-808.

Pads drift in with a warm glow or at times, quiet ghostly tension. The results are music that leans towards atmosphere and memory, something almost nostalgic that was built for those of us who still chase the more expressive edges of acid.

Easygoing Acid Express, Alive Acid, Blue Acid and Gentle Acid. Get the message. We call it Acid.

DJ Himitsu is a Tokyo-born, London-based producer and DJ, known for his understated approach and deep knowledge of Japanese vinyl and book culture. Following a debut EP of acid house on Australian imprint Lunatic Music in 2023, 'Exotic Animals' marks a new waypoint in Himitsu's artistic evolution.

On this debut full length, driving 303 basslines and kickdrums are traded in for obscure recordings and convoluted samples, which spiral and fuse to form shuffling, heady new compositions. Like shattered pottery reassembled into top-heavy sculptures with golden glue, 'Exotic Animals' shapes and juxtaposes opposing forms and fragments, with lolloping aplomb.

When not producing, DJ Himistu runs Caravan - a vintage Japanese record, ceramics and bookshop in London. It's with the same warmth, care and curiosity that he arranges his findings in the plunderous grotto of 'Exotic Animals'. In this way, stepping inside this work is like entering a remote trading post of instruments, memoirs and other sonic curios - as Himitsu stands patiently at the counter.

Recommended for fans of Jon Hassell, Giovanni Venosta, Discrepant.

AO (Trascendental Amor Organization) appears with a five-track EP for Modern Obscure Music's Trip-Vapor-Club Focus Series, released as a vinyl-only edition. The record aligns with the series' ongoing interest in club music as an experimental framework, following releases by Pedro Vian and Actress.
Drawing from techno and electro without committing to their functional codes, the EP explores rhythm as texture and acidic repetition as inquiry. Pulses are skeletal, surfaces are unstable, and melodic fragments emerge only to dissolve back into noise and space. The tracks suggest movement without instruction, privileging sensation over utility.
Minimal in format yet dense in implication, the EP positions the dancefloor as a speculative zone-sound designed as much for close listening as for physical immersion.

black.round.twelve returns with Dancing Tiger EP, a new vinyl release from Tagir exploring the deeper edges of Minimal House and Tech House. Rooted in the label’s vinyl-only ethos and focused curation, the record leans into long-form grooves, subtle detail and controlled movement.

The title track “Dancing Tiger” is a slow-burning minimal piece stretching across twelve minutes. Oboe-like tones and modular textures sit alongside processed vocal fragments and acoustic percussion, anchored by a steady low-end that develops with patience.
“Break It Love” moves into a more direct framework, combining vocal loops with an elastic bassline and a steady 4/4 pulse, while modular elements add texture and forward motion.
On “Off Smoke”, the structure becomes more abstract, with a repeated vocal phrase stretched, pitched and fragmented across a pumping groove. Subtle variations and underlying swing create a controlled but fluid sense of movement.

With Dancing Tiger EP, Tagir delivers a groove-led record that aligns closely with black.round.twelve’s approach, balancing functionality with detail and maintaining a clear focus on the dancefloor.

Details marks SCHiLLiNG's return after years of research, above all on himself. It brings together the practices that have become essential to him: composition, sampling, sonic patchworks, and a palette that mirrors the full spectrum of his musical identity, from Rock'n'Roll to Trip-Hop and Ambient. Details is rich in small edits, hidden layers, fragile textures, and fragments that reveal themselves slowly. Yet the word carries a deeper meaning: what truly matters is often the smallest element, what doesn't appear clearly at first glance or on first listen, yet quietly holds the core of everything. The detail as the very pulse of one's inner world. Across 14 tracks, the album unfolds as a diverse journey, carefully shaped yet open enough to allow unexpected elements and subtle imperfections to remain part of its flow. The structure is not binding, you can begin from any track and embark on your own path through it. Each piece contributes to a wider arc without overpowering the others. The album includes collaborations with several artists who lent their talent to the project; their names appear in the credits of the physical release. In many ways, they embody the very idea behind the title: individual presences, each bringing their own nuance, forming a whole together. After all, fragments, in their union, shape the larger totality. Details doesn't ask to be consumed in a specific way, fast or slow, close or distant. It simply is what it is

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

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

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

Al Wahem (“The Illusion”) is the new full-length release by PRAED, the Swiss–Lebanese duo of Raed Yassin and Paed Conca. Recorded between Beirut and Berlin, the album returns to the group’s central aesthetic: a rhythm-driven weave of Egyptian shaabi, electronics, improvisation and the gritty pulse of street-level sound. Nearly twenty years into the project, PRAED have distilled their approach into four pieces that subtly shift the listener’s bearings, reordering grooves and fragments until familiar elements take on new identities.
The twenty-minute title track sets the tone. A tightly interlocking two-drum foundation from Pascal Semerdjian and Ayman Zebdawi shapes a structure that expands steadily: synth figures branch outward, clarinet and bass lines act as internal guideposts, and brief vocal calls from Yassin and guest singer Mayssa Jallad sit inside the texture rather than leading it. PRAED’s shaabi keyboard language is present, but the duo stretch it outward, building tension and movement through patient accumulation.

“Al Hathayan,” at 4:46, tightens the focus. Conca’s clarinet moves between melodic arcs and clipped rhythmic gestures, threading through electronic loops that surface and disappear. Zebdawi’s percussion adds a raw, tactile quality, placing acoustic patterns and electronics in direct conversation. The piece acts as a bridge between the album’s two long-form compositions.
Side B begins with “Al Maraya,” a thirteen-minute piece that relies on electronic, bass and clarinet interplay. The atmosphere nods to the breadth of PRAED Orchestra!, but remains anchored in the duo’s rhythmic foundations. Rather than building mass, the layering creates a sense of depth, as if new spaces were opening inside the groove.
The album closes with “Assarab,” featuring keyboardist Amr Said. Semerdjian and Zebdawi again form a dual percussive axis, while synths hover between melody and pulse, and themes recur in widening circles rather than building vertically. The porous boundary between electronic and acoustic sources — processed clarinet mistaken for a sequencer, rhythmic figures springing from live drums — is where the album’s theme of “illusion” shows itself most clearly.

Al Wahem follows a long arc: early releases on Annihaya, a key appearance on Ruptured Sessions Vol. 5 – Live at Radio Lebanon (2013), later albums on Akuphone, and the large-scale PRAED Orchestra! documented on Morphine Records. This new Ruptured/Annihaya co-release brings the duo back to a concentrated format, reorganizing their familiar materials with renewed clarity and intent.

Peach’s Soak Vol. 1 is a cross-Canadian link-up with Mood Hut that moves through slower, deeper waters.

The mini-LP was written after a tour through Asia that opened up something new in how Peach approaches making music. The turning point, as she tells it, came during a visit to a neighbourhood sento in Tokyo, while surrounded by steam rising in suspended time, something clicked about the relationship between the body and the sounds she wanted to make.

She’d been learning about cycle synching and working out with the phases of her hormonal cycle, respecting energy fluctuations throughout the course of a month, and decided to apply the approach to writing music. She allowed shifts in energy to guide tempo, density, and emotional tone rather than strictly answering to the floor.

Soak came out of this exploration, sketched and layered with field recordings from her trips to Vietnam and the Philippines during a challenging time in her life. Fragments of heat, air, and shoreline are absorbed into the music itself. Vapourous pads, low-end weight, fractured percussion, and melodies hover at the edge of dissolution. Water runs structurally through the record in surges, in tidal pacing, in the slow accumulation of texture.

Wherever this music finds you, please enjoy the Soak.

Art Blakey was the new hero on the Paris jazz scene, thanks to his Olympia concert on November 22nd 1958, and his subsequent appearances at the Club St. Germain. People swore by his 'Blues March' and 'Moanin', so why not get him to do the soundtrack for the film Molinaro just finished? The only problem, albeit a major one, was that time was short, so an original score was out of the question: the Jazz Messengers would have to preach the good word by other means. Fortunately, the band's tenor and arranger, Benny Golson, had become an expeet in the art of making somrthing new out of somrthing old, and he did it with equal talent and intelligence.Except for three originals, the musical sequences of the film are actually fragments from the Messengers' book, but in adapted versions; 'Whisper Not', for example, can be discerned underneath 'Ne Chuchote Pas'. It was an extremely hazardous process...but the result turned out to be remarkable!!!

“One of Berghain’s longest-serving residents, Luke Slater has been defining bleepy, polyrhythmic, industrial-strength techno as Planetary Assault Systems since the mid-nineties. P.A.S albums tend to come together in their own time:

“External signals and signs combine until the recipe feels right, both musically and from being ‘out there’,” Slater adds. “10 years since I released Arc Angel on Ostgut Ton, and it’s a fitting pleasure to combine live show ideas and studio work for the new album, served up with raw energy” That patience runs through his whole Ostgut catalogue; since Temporary Suspension brought its machine-tooled weight and alien feeling to the label in 2009, each P.A.S. release on Ostgut Ton has been its own quest for discovery, from The Messenger’s search for sounds not yet present in club music to Arc Angel’s focus on melody to the deep hypnosis of Plantae.

His new album, Planetary People has the deliberate imagination and depth of a record that took its time, shaped as much by live rooms and crowds as by the studio.

“Into The Night” creates a haunting, dystopic environment of corroded acid saturated in echo, absorbing from the first second. “Labyrinth” breaks into buoyant tribal percussion, modulated chirps trading off over propulsive drums. “Quadrant 10” is clean, delay-drenched techno, buzzing with noise splatters over saturated thuds. “Sermon Of The Light Tides” scrambles metallic bell sequences that distort and evolve throughout, reminiscent of a dial-up modem crossed with a game of Frogger, squelching between percussive bursts and stripped-back kicks. “Brave Cosmo” is tormentingly menacing, eerie synths panning around buried vocal fragments over frantic percussion. “Retina Burn” rolls on fierce, cement-mixer 909 cycles, rave stabs over a ride that locks you in, the whole track stuttering and repeating before stripping back to a bare echoing kick and building itself again. “Thunder Major” barrels on open hats and reverb-drenched claps ricocheting through twisting wreaths of delay, mesmeric and relentless. “Beton Brut” marches juggernaut percussion stamping through hall reverb so vast you can visualise the room, the darkest and most unrelenting track on the record. “No Ninja” crunches in metallic and immediate, a wiry plucked lead threading through glitch with the bass held low and deep, mixed so precisely you can see every layer stacked in your mind’s eye. “Ha Jam” is danceable techno with plenty of funk and a sophisticated looseness, a vocal laugh bouncing off clanging metal blocks and rave stabs. “Lynx” lowpasses its rave stabs and crystalline beeps, chirpy hats ticking, cold metal repeats, old school and mesmeric. “Generation Slip” closes everything out, ominous and churning, skittering percussion and electrical sparks rattling through steel, a freight train barrelling on into oblivion.

Death Is Not The End collaborate with Uzbek label Maqom Soul to deliver an LP counterpart to last year's mixtape of the same title, compiling specially picked & fully licensed individual belters from the ex-soviet studios of Central Asian republics between 1978 and 1989 - incl. Uzbek, Tajik, Kurdish & Uyghur artists pulling traditional folk motifs together with pop & rock and psych elements.

"These recordings do not form a smooth or coherent history. They feel more like a sequence of discoveries made at different moments and in different circumstances. Songs and instrumental pieces that once lived inside specific contexts radio broadcasts, philharmonic programs, touring routes now sit side by side, revealing hidden connections as well as clear fractures between them.

Nasiba Abdullaeva appears here as a voice from the end of an era. Trained within a conservatory system, she worked inside the format of the Soviet pop song while filling it with melodic logic that did not come from Moscow or Leningrad. Her voice is soft and sustained, shaped by Eastern melisma, and it never functions as decoration. Even in tightly structured songs there is a sense of resistance, an effort to preserve a musical language rooted in Uzbek tradition rather than fully adapted to an all Union standard.

The ensemble Sintez, later renamed Navo, represents a different path. Beginning as a student rock group, the band was gradually absorbed into the official VIA system with all its limitations and compromises. Yet it was precisely within those boundaries that Sintez and Navo developed a recognizable sound. Electric guitars and jazz rock harmonies do not overpower the folk material but remain in tension with it. Their recordings feel like negotiations between what the musicians wanted to play and what they were allowed to perform.

The Tajik ensemble Gulshan reflects an institutional approach carried to a high professional level. Formed under television and radio structures, the group treated folk material almost as a written score. Carefully constructed arrangements, close attention to orchestration, and restrained use of pop techniques define their sound. There is less spontaneity here, but a strong sense of discipline and structure, where national melody becomes part of a carefully controlled sonic framework.

Koma Wetan occupies a very different space. Formed in the 1970s, this Kurdish rock group approached poetry and folklore as tools of cultural assertion. Their psychedelic rock never feels like a stylistic borrowing. Instead it functions as a contemporary vessel for language and themes that might otherwise have remained unheard. Even today these recordings sound fragile and stubborn at the same time.

The Uyghur ensemble Yashlik, closely connected to a musical drama theatre, operated somewhere between stage performance and popular music. Their songs are built on folk melodies but shaped for wide audiences. What emerges is a constant attempt to preserve the recognizability of Uyghur musical identity without freezing it in a folkloric frame. Yashlik's music exists in a state of balance between representation and development.

Digging Central Asia does not attempt to establish hierarchies or offer a single wayof listening. Names and dates matter less than the sound itself. Tape noise, abrupt transitions, and unexpected timbres remain part of the material rather than flaws to be corrected. This music existed at the crossroads of multiple routes geographic, cultural, and ideological. Heard today in a new context, it no longer feels peripheral. Instead it stands as a reminder that the history of popular music is far more fragmented, layered, and polyphonic than it is usually allowed to be."

With Zera, Len Faki returns to Figure with a tightly focused EP that moves between raw, driving functionality and more open, atmospheric moments. Across five tracks, he explores variations in groove, tone and energy, balancing direct, floor-ready structures with a more fluid and spacious approach.

Opening cut Maschine Girl locks into a restless, forward-driving groove. Crisp percussion and a tightly coiled low end create immediate momentum, while sharp synth fragments and metallic accents add a nervous edge. The track stays stripped and efficient, letting its steady build and controlled tension carry the energy.
Kobold follows with a darker and more twisted tone. Warped synth figures weave through a heavy rhythmic backbone, giving the track a slightly mischievous character while maintaining a firm, heads-down drive. The interplay between tonal movement and grounded percussion keeps the groove dynamic without breaking its focus.
Closing the A-side, Maschine Girl (Version) revisits the opener from a different angle. Elements are tightened and subtly rebalanced, shifting the emphasis further toward rhythm and direct impact. More reduced and tool-like in nature, it pushes the groove forward with a sharper, club-ready feel.
On the flip, Zera unfolds with a broader sense of space. Hypnotic synth movement and layered atmospheres sit atop a firm low-end framework, gradually building intensity while maintaining a deep, immersive flow. The track thrives on its slow development, drawing the listener further into its evolving structure.
Rounding out the release, Zera (Hardspace Mix) reimagines the original with a heavier, more physical approach. The groove becomes more pronounced and the rhythmic pressure more direct, tightening the structure into a denser, floor-driven tool that emphasises impact and propulsion.
With Zera, Len Faki delivers a cohesive and wide-ranging release that connects raw, driving tools with more expansive, early morning-leaning grooves — further reflecting the breadth and versatility that has defined his output in recent years.

For his new full-length on Second End Records, Lyon-based artist Jonnnah turns deeply inward. Conceived as a form of therapy, as much as a reflection and a testimony, the record retraces a process of introspection and confrontation with one’s own history, looking back at origins, DNA, and the invisible ties that connect us to our ancestors, while opening paths toward new connections.

The double-sided structure of the album makes this journey tangible. The first side lingers in uncertainty : opaque atmospheres, fragmented rhythms, and restless textures mirror the doubts, questions, and fragile states of self-analysis. The second side, in contrast, embraces clarity and resolution, dense yet luminous soundscapes where reconciliation and acceptance take shape, culminating in The Blue Comet, a piece charged with finality and revelation.

Opening with the multipart suite N-zero, symbolizing the beginning of therapy, and closing with O-one, evoking the soul’s original purity, the record traces a complete emotional and spiritual cycle. Between them, the third edition of Insomnia Never Ends once again portrays the struggle between sleep and the irresistible pull of musical distraction, a fragile tension that runs through the album as a whole.

The record condenses Jonnnah’s language into something rawer and more direct. Layers of dub and dub sonic resonate against ethereal ambient passages, while techno impulses maintain tension and forward motion. Each piece feels at once intimate and expansive, designed as much for solitary listening as for collective experience.

A new chapter in Jonnnah’s trajectory, the album is a document of transformation : from shadow to light, from questioning to acceptance.

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

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

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

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

Farron is back on Shaw Cuts with his next EP called ãHuman LanternsÒ - a tale of social jealousy and long-standing rivalry transformed into 4 bass-heavy broken techno tracks.
The two wealthy kung-fu masters Lung and Tan are embroiled in a long lasting game of perpetual one-upmanship. Vowing to show Tan up, Lung enlists the aid of a man he defeated in a duel years ago in fashioning a masterful lantern for the upcoming festival in which both masters will compete. ãWe Are The WaveÒ and its noisy fragments and broken rhythmics led by a hefty stormy bassline, underline the tension and aversion between the two competing masters.
But the eccentric artisan is more interested in seeking revenge for his old defeat, in taking away everything Lung holds dear. The bass-driven ãSwitch OddÒ and its sharp percussions and phat kick underline the ulterior motives of the shady character.
The evil villainÕs plan of revenge contains kidnapping several beloved women of Lung, skinning them alive and using their flaps of skin to create the ordered lantern. ãGX100Ò and its fast-paced drum pattern carried by virulent synth fragments and raucous pads, epitomises the merciless act of violence.
Tan and Lung falsely accuse each other but feel constrained to eventually team up and hunt the criminal together. ãTalking To ThemÒ rings in furiously and chases the enemy with its rolling bass, chopped vocals and stomping drums, but the villain is sneaky and recalcitrant. Silence before the attackÉ

Between flesh and silicon. “Under My Skin” (2026) is the first album by IADI, released by Neo Life. A record like few
others, highly conceptual, cover art included. Its essence lies in the folds of the increasingly ambiguous relationship
between man and machine, where the former designs the latter and, perhaps without fully realizing it, is gradually
destined to adapt and be reprogrammed by it. Each track of “Under My Skin” is, in fact, a sort of interface, connector, or
any other imaginative point of contact between two creative phases, amid emotional impulses and binary calculations.
The sonic architecture oscillates between analog warmth and algorithmic coldness, constructing landscapes in which
pulsating synthesizers and mechanical rhythms seem to question each other. There's no linear narrative, but rather a
progressive immersion in a zone of near-friction, where the comfort of technology coexists with more than a faint
musical uneasiness, like a background noise that never ceases to remind you who's truly in charge. In “Under My Skin”,
the machine is neither an enemy nor a simple instrument: it's a real presence, intimate, even tactile, amplifying desires,
fears, and dreams of dawns beyond the digital realm. Intelligent dance music. Less noise, more sensations. Electronic,
but profoundly human.
The final result, then, is a music project that speaks to the present, yet sounds like an X-ray of the future, capturing that
fragile moment when humanity and technology stop observing each other from afar and begin to merge, track after
track. It's no coincidence that IADI's album opens with “Impulse”, an immediate expression of an electrical impulse, for
both humans and machines, which is also the language of the nervous system, as fast as it is vital—pure energy and
rhythm, a track as intense as it is irregular. And after this introduction, it's the turn of the equally erratic “Axon”, whose
title describes the neuron that transmits the signal over distance, telling the listener to sit back and relax for a new
journey through the notes toward the more melodic “Cortex”. The cerebral cortex, the ultimate seat of thought and
memory, becomes the source from which the musical flow of the first part of the work is drawn.
Then, suddenly, an automatic, or instinctive, response to the constant succession of impulses: “Reflex”, or zerotemperature techno, with a fragmented pace, featuring vocal samples, breaks, and restarts. In the producer's
imagination, the subsequent, and conversely placid, “Neuron” represents the emotional core of the second part of the
work, providing a kind of respite from the seething vibrations. While the neuron is the basic unit of the nervous system,
the synapse is the functional connection point between one neuron and another effector cell, essential for the
transmission of nerve impulses and communication in the nervous system, enabling functions such as learning and
movement. Likewise, a track like “Synapse” once again illuminates the path traced by IADI. The more experimental and
streamlined “Static” instead suggests true ordered chaos. “Dreamstate” is the conclusion suspended in the void, relating
to that dreamlike state between waking and sleeping, where consciousness fades toward infinity and visions begin. Pure
fading into the subconscious. Eternal return to where it all began. Dancing is a form of consciousness. Every beat is a
question. IADI, however, holds all the answers you need.

“Spirit Chaser” by DJ Life. Berlin-based, aus producer slips back onto the label through Jupiter’s Depth, landing his first full solo EP with us — almost 7 years on from his first appearance on Neptune Discs.
After a run of VA appearances here, alongside standout releases on X-Kalay and Craigie Knowes — this lands as the third on the sub. Weighty baselines, fleeting vocal fragments, lush chords from elsewhere. All slightly off-centre, in a good way.
4 pattern-led trax, percussion up front — an undulating gem.

co:clear is blessed to share the latest offering of Leipzig-based artist, tibslc. Like many, we were introduced to her work through those two stunner long-players on Sferic at the turn of the decade. Five years have passed since then and her work continues to mesmerise – a string of accomplished self-releases have nestled themselves amongst contributions to STROOM.tv and SoundSupply_Service, to name but a few.

In the here and now, we are pleased to showcase ‘City of Something’ – 8 fragments of deluxe hi-fi ambient that further dissolves us in digital haze. Traversing through meticulous fragments of sound, tiblsc entices the listener to her synthetic dreamworld with an album of deep, euphonic electronics. Serene moments of singer-songwriting are sprinkled throughout and remind us of the artist’s delicate ability to captivate with her ethereal voice.

Artwork comes courtesy of Berlin-based artist, Margarita Maximova. Strictly limited to 250 copies of 12” wax and via most digital outlets. Out 29th May 2026.

Out on limited edition 12” vinyl & digital, 29th May 2026. Limited to 250 copies.

The Bait label is back with more stylish deep dubstep swagger, this time from various artists who know how to crank up the low end pressure. Eva Loveless opens up with 'Juniper red' which harks back to classic Techtonic sounds where techno and bass come together for front foot forward momentum. Slimy Ape's 'Guro' is a hefty stepper with dubby undertones and plenty of open space for the tape hiss to hiss and the conscious vocals to drift in. Furtive's 'Stormlight' is ice cold and minimal, with skeletal rhythms punctuated with clacking hits and doused in bass. Last of all, Buckley's 'Introspective' is a twitchy broken beat with classic dub techno chords and yelped vocals injecting some fragmented soul.

Key long-term collaborators and Coil's "secret third member" Danny Hyde located the original Hellraiser studio session tapes, and the bonus material recovered from them is presented here as an "expanded ritual" edition.





For fans of pain & pleasure, Throbbing Gristle, lost horror soundtracks & haunted electronics.



Back in 1987, Clive Barker's supernatural body-horror classic Hellraiser hit cinemas worldwide and introduced audiences to the demonic Cenobites. Barker was a devoted COIL fan (Peter Christopherson and John Balance), and he famously said they were the only band he'd ever heard on record whose music he'd had to take off because, in his words, "theymade his bowels churn.". He initially invited them to compose the film's music, and the group began recording cues. But the producers at New World Pictures ultimately rejected the material in favor of a more traditional approach, bringing in Christopher Young, whose final score remains excellent, if less experimental. What remains from Coil is an unfinished soundtrack with surviving fragments and rough ideas, abruptly left behind mid-process, a glimpse into an alternate Hellraiser movie, one we can only fantasize into existence.



Nearly 40 years later, key long-term collaborators and Coil's "secret third member" Danny Hyde located the original Hellraiser studio session tapes, and the bonus material recovered from them is presented here as an "expanded ritual" edition, reassembled into a standalone, possibly definitive and strangely beautiful nightmare suite. Play it in the dark and experience the consequences of raising hell...