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As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

=

Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

"They push everything right to the brink and then pull back at precisely the right moment" - Pitchfork

"'Growing Up Pains (Unni's Song) gives a tantalising glimpse of where their future could lie. Matching lucid pop elements to daring innovation, ALASKALASKA allow the song to become a portal to their own potential." - Clash

"It’s impossible to walk away without the repeated promise 'I won’t let you down' in 'Growing Up Pains' stuck in your head – and it’s a mantra we should all be following as we as a species continue to fight for our future." - Beats Per Minute

ALASKALASKA announce their superb new album, Still Life, arriving October 14th on Marathon Artists (Lava La Rue, Courtney Barnett, Pond).

'Still Life' finds writers and producers Lucinda Duarte-Holman and Fraser Rieley embrace a more free-form electronica, giving a taste of what's to come with this fantastic new record produced by Jas Shaw (of Simian Mobile Disco)–full of digital sounds, drum machine and synth melodies cunningly sat beside rich, organic, acoustic instrumentation, it's a looping tug of war between existential dread and everyday simple pleasures.

Listen to / watch the video for 'Still Life' (shot by Jacek Zmarz) here: https://youtu.be/TL7s6QJ3ANc

Four seasons of dawn chorus, panoramically framed by fruit trees and more analog synths than can comfortably fit in a cow shed-come-recording studio...the scene is set for the recording of ALASKALASKA’s second album Still Life. Ordinarily located in South East London, writers and producers Fraser Rieley and Lucinda Duarte-Holman were eager to get out of the city. Taking advantage of this rustic countryside scene, they were able to capture something uniquely their own.

Following their debut album in 2019, they resurface into a new era embracing all the things that first put the band on the map, attracting the likes of Tame Impala, Hot Chip, Porches and Nilüfer Yanya for tour support slots. For Rieley and Duarte-Holman, writing began in 2019, pre-lockdown-era, although the subsequent alone together/together alone time added a new spin on ALASKALASKA's process of experimentation and fine-tuning. The band now push their foundational ideas further and explore the freedom of playing with new sounds. Duarte-Holman explains, “...with everything going on at the time, the restrictions led us to try working in a new way. The limitations were different, but meant we were able to adventure into a more electronic soundscape that we're really looking forward to expressing live."

The ‘Still Life’ LP has been pressed on recycled black vinyl to reduce the carbon intensity of the finished product.

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

=

Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

Swoontide is being released on 12” Limited Edition x 500 sea green 180GSM colour vinyl this September. Cormorant Tree Oh announces the release of folk horror masterpiece, via Trapped Animal! “Marrying skeletal balalaika and disembodied samples with low-lying synth organ lines and a focal point here – Keane’s arresting vocals, it doubles as one of our favourite Irish tracks of the year thus far.” The Thin Air // Trapped Animal is very excited to announce we will be working with new visual and aural talent, Mary Keane aka Cormorant Tree Oh on her folk horror masterpiece that is Swoontide. The Cave, the first single from Swoontide dropped in June on digitals. Mary says on the track: “This song is a celebration of the form and symbolism of caves. They are portals to another realm, the site of our earliest artistic expression, places of transcendence, the hermit’s refuge. They are colossal gees in the landscape. They are where picnicking lovers go to make mischief on a summer’s day. The cave in question is located in Portrane Co.Dublin.” Swoontide is the distillation of several years of Mary Keane’s life, recorded on her laptop as and when a new song or idea would come along. Mary talks about her process: “I love to stitch in samples from nature as so many of my songs are inspired in some way by the natural world. I’m also drawn to more domestic sounds like my mother’s washing machine or water coming to the boil. I play some unusual instruments throughout the album including balalaika, theremin, psaltery and lots of improvised percussion including bread bins, biscuit tins, stones, and a spiral staircase.” Try taking a walk in the dark with this album, we dare you. Track Listing: 1 Thirty Deer Heads 2 Zip Issues 3 Sphere Of The Sensory 4 Pareidolia 5 Holiday Rigor Mortis 6 Pissing Stones 7 All Of It 8 The Cave 9 We Are Fruiting Bodies

Alex the Fairy is an artist based in Berlin producing music with an emphasis on electronic and concrete methods. Alex the Fairy is also part of the 3Ddancer trio, a live act focusing on improvisation and expression using electronics.

Alex The Fairy writes: "I had sent The Tapeworm tracks before, but I was being difficult so was asked to send a new bunch, with a deadline. I sent the new bunch, a fairly odd collection expecting perhaps some of them to be combined with the older stuff but not seeing any coherence in them. I figured The Tapeworm would find at least something. To my surprise the suggestion that came back was exclusively the tracks I had sent the second time, and, re-listening through the tracks in this new order after returning from a Christmas dinner lying on the floor of my nephews bedroom gave them a completely new context. Despite them being quite varied in terms of age (one had been flung together a few days earlier on the train while another was approaching Schulreife) they seemed to meld together in such a way that I hardly recognised them…

Last year my grandmother died. My last grandparent. I had put off seeing her during corona, as I thought it best not to put her at risk and had almost left to visit her days before her death but had delayed my departure because of a medical appointment. My failure to her weighs heavy on my mind - fates grimacing grin: too little, too late. The approaching march of death, one generation closer was a confrontation I wasn't prepared for.

While clearing out her flat in the following weeks I had kept some of my grandfathers cassettes, live recordings of jazz greats, Pink Floyd, Sade and some classical among them, none originals, several presumably from the radio e.g. a church organ rendition of Bach. At the time I wasn't sure why I was hanging on to them, other than the urge to hoard, and that it felt wrong not at least to keep some. Half a year later, half way through mixing this cassette, suffering from my first bout of COVID, I had the insatiable urge to hook up the cassette player I had received from my grandfather after his death around nineteen years earlier and had been dragging along with me since. I stuck a cassette in only to immediately return to the safety of my covers. I began to work my way into what I had saved, hearing the fruits of my grandfathers labour decades before. It felt like quite an intimate interaction with someone I had long lost contact to/was long gone. Quite a wonderful thing, these time traveling cassettes.

I returned to the tracks to mix them shortly before my corona/cassette experience, with a new mixing console at hand. I had been looking for one for several years, but nothing had ever clicked, until I found this old broadcast desk 30 minutes from my place (it also coincided with a payment from a job the sum of which matched the price identically… fates return). Installing became a massive hassle and I doubted my decision continuously, but the further it was implemented the more it made sense. The first track I recorded with the mixer is on this cassette. Shortly before the mixing I was introduced to an Effektgerät by a friend, Rapha. Another good friend Art lent me their one, and I ended up using copious amounts of it throughout mixing, alongside my usual space creators. All the tracks on this release were mixed again on this mixer and are in a sense all a bit of a dub of the originals. I wouldn't have worked this way without the mixer, and the effect gave me a dimension I hadn't had before, so, from a technical perspective, the mixer and this effect define this release, giving it a coherence, at least for me. Emotionally of course the chaos and turbulence of the preceding year and my newfound appreciation for the medium give it a meaning I will struggle to formulate." – Alex The Fairy, Berlin, 9 May 2022

In 1997 and 1998, the late great Japanese composer, producer, and DJ Susumu Yokota released two of the most eclectic albums of his decades-long career, Fruits of The Room and Greenpeace. Recorded under his Stevia alias for Tokyo Techno pioneer DJ Miku’s Newstage Records/NS-COM, they were Yokota-san’s homage to the foundational days of club music in Japan.

This year, Glossy Mistakes are proud to present the first official vinyl editions of Fruits of The Room and Greenpeace, originally released on CD during the golden days of the format. Packaged in reimagined cover artwork created by the celebrated Japanese visual artist Masaho Anotani, these two albums perfectly capture the diversity at the heart of Yokota-san’s oeuvre. Across Greenpeace sees Yokota-san conjuring up a heady concoction of dusty loops, sampledelic breaks, kraut-rock and psychedelic downbeat. A remarkable listening experience based on the inspired era of a genius.

When Yokota-san wrote and produced the music on Fruits of The Room and Greenpeace in 1997, he was reflecting on the broader culture that surrounded dance music in Japan in the early to mid-nineties. It was an era when the psychedelic culture of late sixties America, the afterglow of UK acid house/rave, the new age movement and cyberpunk dovetailed together. Within DJ Miku and Yokota-san’s social circles, the thinking of Timothy Leary, Ram Dass, Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac and William S. Burroughs electrified the air.

By 1996, the moment, brilliant and blinding as it was, was over. “We all felt that the rave scene fizzled out,” DJ Miku says. As he puts it, there was a collective feeling around him that it had all become too much. From the calm that followed, DJ Miku, Yokota-san and their open-eared peers made the decision to switch tracks and start from scratch. DJ Miku believes that with his Stevia releases, Fruits of The Room and Greenpeace, Yokota-san wanted to express the sweet and sour nature of the passing of those wild early days and his wish for true peace. “At the time, we saw eye-to-eye, with an implicit understanding of each other,” he explains. “Even now, twenty-five years later, I am confident it was like that.”

Limited edition 180g bronze coloured vinyl, includes a unique sticker
"These are top- notch performances at the very peak of Holiday's power as an
artist." (Thom Jurek)
Billie Holiday was probably the most lyrical and expressive female vocalist in jazz
history. This set compiles her complete sessions for the legendary Commodore
label. Made between Billie's contracts for Columbia / Okeh and Decca, these
recordings present her in top form, backed by excellent small groups featuring
such names as Frankie Newton, Freddie Webster, Tab Smith, Vic Dickenson, Eddie
Heywood, and Sidney Catlett.
Among the highlights of the set are Billie's first version of the shocking "Strange
Fruit", which she used to conclude her stage performances, as well as readings of
famous standards she would never record again, such as "As Time Goes By" and
"I'll Be Seeing You".
Tracks: Side A: 1 Strange Fruit / Yesterdays / Fine And Mellow / I Gotta Right To
Sing The Blues / How Am I To Know? / My Old Flame / I’ll Get By / I Cover The
Waterfront / I'll Be Seeing You / I’m Yours / Embraceable You / As Time Goes By /
He’s Funny That Way / Lover Come Back To Me / I Love My Man (Aka Billie’s
Blues) / On The Sunny Side Of The Street

Featuring Squirrel Flower and Liam O’Neill (SUUNS). Recommended If You Like: Mount Eerie, Low, Richard Swift, the Weather Station, Lomelda, Fleet Foxes, Squirrel Flower, L’Rain. Cedric Noel is a songwriter, bassist, collaborator and producer currently based in Montréal, Québec. The newest longplayer from Tio'tiá:ke/Montreal staple Cedric Noel lands with a stunning sense of surety and self. Hang Time stands as a high water mark for a songwriter who's spent the past decade quietly expanding the borders of his music. Longtime fans will recognize the fluid elements of the album’s open-ended rock formations: reflective strumming, soaring choruses, searing guitar lines, subtle bass grooves; all occasionally dissolving into pools of pure ambience. New listeners will find surprises throughout: threads of folk pop, ambient and sound collage fasten the foundations of this expressive whole. However, what’s most striking on Hang Time is Noel’s newfound sense of voice, both literal and metaphorical. Written primarily in 2017-18 during an intense period of self-reflection, this collection of songs finds Noel wrestling profoundly with his sense of identity, self and place. The album’s material was captured faithfully at The Pines, a beloved downtown Montreal studio whose doors shuttered shortly after amidst the strain of the pandemic. Noel worked closely and patiently with friend and engineer Steve Newton, ensuring the songs had the time and space needed to come fully to fruition. Hang Time features subtle rhythm work from drummer Liam O’Neill (SUUNS) and guest spots from Brigitte Naggar (Common Holly) and Tim Crabtree (Paper Beat Scissors) among others. The album opens in mid-air with ‘Comuu’, a song that implores a becoming-more while hovering triumphantly. Then follows a suite of songs (‘Headspace’, ‘Keep’, ‘Stilling’) that recall the heart-rending power of y2k-era Low, albeit with a more vigorous beat. On ‘Bass Song’, an intimate duet with musician Ella Williams (Squirrel Flower) that explores the depths of interpersonal constriction. At the crux of the album sits ‘Born’, a deceptively pleasant-sounding song that explores the confounding emotionality of adoption before fading into a distended soundfield. Throughout the back half of the album, Noel double’s down on this commitment to his genuine, proud, Black self. The most confrontational track, ‘Allies’ finds him refraining “Are you on my side?” as a trailing guitar solo interweaves a Malcolm X soundbite, eventually engulfing the composition. Glorious lead single ‘Nighttime (Skin)’ traces the artist’s sense of ancestral dissociation through to a triumphant moment of pride in self-acceptance. Throughout Hang Time, Noel finds a way to ask hard questions (both of the listener and himself) in ways that are compassionate, open and honest. The ebb and flow of tension and tenderness that moves within these tracks helps to grow the heart and redefine what Black music can be in 2021.

I’m gonna love you from the soft spot
Where the fruit begins to rot

“This area of the throat,” says Chelsea Jade, resting three fingers roughly where her neck meets her chest. “It’s particularly soft, and it's connected ... it's halfway between the heart and the mouth. And that's an interesting place of vulnerability.”

Soft Spot, the Los Angeles-based New Zealand artist’s second album, dwells somewhere between feeling and expression, certainty and doubt. It ventures beyond the exploration of delusions of grandeur that formed the focus of the critically acclaimed Personal Best (2018), and simultaneously promotes and undermines romance, specifically, in a more solemn way.

“Less glib,” offers Jade, who has opened for Lorde and Cat Power among others. Still deliciously glib in places: “Give your worst my best,” she sings on the wryly antagonizing, bass-heavy “Tantrum in Duet.” Soft Spot’s big pop tracks go hard on the interpersonal, physical and amorous, inviting the listener to entertain flirtation, lust, sex, even the experience, rare during its recording in 2020, of being in a room with more than three other people.

With the reinforcement of composition and arrangement by Leroy James Clampitt (Justin Bieber) and production by Brad Hale (Now, Now), Jade conjures up atmospheres conducive to feelings of place and potential. Created during a once-in-a-century pandemic, the album is an evocative assembly of found parts: recordings of sentences and asides delivered by friends, the sound of rain in LA, or the distant voice of bureaucracy against a backdrop of hold music. Seeming choruses were produced to give that impression, layered submission by individual vocal submission. On “Best Behavior,” the record’s danciest track, this illusory energy reaches its euphoric height.

The record transports the listener from speaker-side at a club, to wandering a party, to sitting at an open window with a pianist nearby. It shifts effortlessly from expansive sold-out-show sound to ethereal, twinkling detail. The writing on Soft Spot outwits even its clever, resourceful production, the lyrics a testament to the multi award-winning songwriter’s belief in the pop format as a venue for prose.

As we emerge into the Now with a fresh perspective and renewed vigour, Red Laser Records usher in a novel epoch of Manctalo movements for our post-COVID enjoyment.

Entrusting piloting duties to four well decorated RL commandos, the EP serves to remind us all that despite everything that's happened, we can still find solace in red lasers, smoke machines and high-powered strobe lights.

Splitting open the collective dancefloor inertia is Kid Machine's 'Only Machines Allowed'.

A cybernetic b-boy jam straight outta the planet MEGOH circa 4044. Guided by electrified vocoder lines and a plutonium-grade, armoured groove this impenetrable battle rocket should issue the much needed power boost to get your body kinetics firing again when they release the e-barriers to hedonism.

Returning star fleet lieutenant Count Van Delicious has been collecting entities from the outer galaxies since his appearance on RL EP 9 ('Dark Fruit' w/ Senor Chugger).
Here he announces his return with an end-credits epic, an #inabiteveryoneelse theme from this young vet on a pants-off permo-buzz, up-scrolling through technicolored c64 visuals and deploying his now trademark zoopa-arps, euphoric synth stabs and thunderous low end shudder to deadly effect.

Meanwhile, Ste Spandex continues his cybernetic realignment surgery, dissecting a well circulated disco meme and adding voluptuous gender-neutral enhancements that'll be getting the next generation of androids frisky, despite their lack of reproductive organs. Fizzling synths, spherical repetition and a multi-dimensional mix of high voltage rhythms leaving that vocal line permanently downloaded in your memory cloud. No sharing necessary.

Scottish deep space observer Ernesto Harmon provides some cosmic ruggedness to close off our mission. Reinforced & galvanised low-end rhymix coalescing with humanoid synth expression and an infinite, carbon-free energy source keeping momentum plateaued through the morning after the night before. There's no off switch baby!

For astral travellers seeking solace in the new Now, EP12 kindly acts as an upgrade to your possibly dormant dancing system as you stumble out into the new nocturnal environment. Hopefully reminding us that the simple act of moving alongside one another in a pitch black, laser-guided club space hasn't changed that much...

Limited press, with artwork which could be the next top selling NFT, we urge our RL family to bag this collectable chronicle from the Red Laser Corp.

A musical journey with Emile Parisien is an adventure, something way out of the
ordinary. The soprano saxophonist’s sound is instantly recognisable - as is the way
with the greats - and you know that you are in the best possible company to set off
for a destination shrouded in uncertainty.
 For the past twenty years, the one-time child prodigy of Marciac has found ways to
astonish, to shake up and to enchant listeners with colourful and productive
experiments. His driving force is a passion which seems physically to take hold of
him as he plays.
 Anyone who has seen his development as a performer knows what he’s about; there
is an element of the dance but also the tension of a coiled spring. And among the
musicians who seek him out are not only the very best of his own generation but also
the jazz masters, such is his reputation both as a leader and as an inspirational
partner.
 As a musician he is one of a kind, with a power to be evocative and to bring
convincing shape to the unpredictable. His musical language can express sudden
frenzy, keeping the listener completely on tenterhooks, but there are also outbursts of
tenderness and a palpable emotional honesty.
 ‘Louise’ takes its title from Louise Bourgeois and more specifically her sculpture of a
spider, ‘Maman’. Her monumental work has motherhood as its theme, also conveyed
through the metaphor of weaving, an underlying thread that runs through Emile
Parisien’s creation.
 He has assembled a group of musicians who bridge the two sides of the Atlantic. The
saxophonist has set out to combine the essence of jazz with his own purposes; so,
what shines through here are both his kaleidoscopic imagination and his appetite for
breaking down barriers. Three American musicians are in the group, all of them
friends whom he has got to know over time.
 Their eagerness to engage in fruitful conversations with a trio consisting of Parisien
himself and two of his closest colleagues from France is miraculous. All kinds of
nuances and a confluence of influences are to be heard here. We find variations of
pace from skittering syncopations to the softly majestic.
 Textures are meticulously calibrated, with a broad palette of instrumental colours
both in the original compositions and in a burning cover of Joe Zawinul’s
‘Madagascar’. This collective endeavour leaves plenty of room for individual
inventiveness, yet there is a happy balance between the different personalities as
well. Emile Parisien, always hyperalert, knows when to step back and to leave the
initiative to his partners, but will then re-enter authoritatively and be the catalyst who
completely re-energise them.
 ‘Louise’ is just magnificent in its twists and turns, and in the way it celebrates the
sheer joy of the groove. ACT have taken a path towards intoxicating freedom with a
team of artists in complete balance both individually and collectively. Through its
subtle amalgamation of diffidence and affirmation, this pellucid music tells us the
truth about life.

“I’m reeling, I’m restless,” sing Deep Throat Choir from the heart of their second album. That restlessness manifests in a set of tremendously abundant, original songs from the east London female and non-binary vocal collective, founded by Landshapes member Luisa Gerstein.

 Released via Bella Union, ‘In Order to Know You’ is a multi-layered assertion of freshly expansive range, driven by two core virtues: a sense of strength in unity and an open embrace of its singers’ personal experiences, shared through collective, supportive vocal expression.

 After 2017’s largely covers-based debut album, ‘Be OK’, the choir recognised the call to evolve. “Having been singing together for five-plus years, and having released an album of mostly covers, it felt like the logical next step to make our own music together,” says Gerstein. “This album is the alchemy of all the specific voices and players that make up the choir, and a collaborative process of writing and sharing music and ideas. Sonically, I wanted to move beyond just voices and percussion, to see what richness could be brought with acoustic instruments and electronics, and to transition from a choir that
does covers to a band with loads of vocalists.”

 ‘In Order to Know You’ heads towards its climax without seeming to touch the ground, from the title track’s devotional exhalation to the stealthy, smoky shimmer of ‘Unstitching’. Its lyrics drawn from a poem by Emma Cleave, the sublime ‘Field of Not Knowing’ closes the album in a vivid tapestry of folkgothic images (moon beams and pipistrelles) and serene-to-soaring arrangements, revelling in possibility: “It’s the place where I begin,” sing the choir.

 For Deep Throat Choir, the result is both an exquisite culmination of journeys taken so far and a lustrous, exquisite springboard for further adventures. Their travels began in 2013, when the collective took shape from a desire to strip music back to the basic elements of raw female voices and drums, united in a fashion that both honours and transmogrifies personal expression.

 A small group of four or five singers steadily expanded, with Zara Toppin’s drums providing a propulsive energy. Cathartic live shows and collaborations followed, ranging from team-ups with Peggy Sue, Stealing Sheep, Horse Meat Disco and Matthew E White, to performances at Green Man, Wilderness, the Southbank Centre’s WOW festival, London’s Scala and beyond. ‘Be OK’ provided a gutsy showcase for the band’s close, collective strengths, bolstered by weekly gatherings at a church in east London to blow
the roof off. A fruitful collaboration with techno-pop duo Simian Mobile Disco on the 2018 album ‘Murmurations’ followed: a testament to the choir’s alchemical abilities.

Bria is an intimate and incisive labour of love from multi-instrumentalists Bria Salmena
and Duncan Hay Jennings. Catapulted by a deep sense of dread and confusion in the
depths of 2020, Salmena decided to forgo writing her own music. “I wanted to listen for
what might reflect my life back to me,” she says, “six tracks that could be my mirror.” The
result is a pointillistic knockout of a release that weaves a landscape both luscious and a
little rogue; showing us exactly what good songs can do.
 Bria’s internal turbulence seemed to mirror last year’s external instability. When Jennings
and back-up singer Jaime McCuaig moved to The Outside Inn, a hobby farm in Hockley
Hills, Ontario, Bria soon joined. The farm’s living-room-turned-studio proved an ideal
setting for the long-time friends to compile a record of handpicked country covers. They
went searching for songs that could speak to our everyday loneliness, outside and in.
‘Cuntry Covers’ houses it all: well-worn favourites and lesser-known gems.
 The record opens with ‘Green Rocky Road’, as performed by Greenwich Village legend
Karen Dalton. Jennings’ twangy guitar carries Bria’s original inflection and richly textured
vocals, complete with dreamy overlay. ‘Dreaming My Dreams With You’, a rendition of the
Waylon Jennings hit, is followed by John Cale’s ‘Buffalo Ballet’, a lyrical journey through
Abilene, Texas, the endpoint of the Chisholm Trail.
 Engineered and mixed by Duncan Hay Jennings, each song brings desire and sexuality
front and centre, with all the swagger you’d expect – and more. Bria hopes the record will
be understood as a small contribution to the subversion of a genre with deep patriarchal
roots. Mistress Mary’s ‘I Don’t Wanna Love Ya Now’, from the 1969 album ‘Housewife’,
served as the original inspiration. “It was the first song Duncan and I worked on,” Bria
notes. “It definitely set the tone for the other tracks we picked.”
 Bria’s voice - described as wavering between “sultry and howitzer” - shines on ‘Fruits Of
My Labour’, written and performed by country great, Lucinda Williams. The Walker
Brothers’ ‘The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore’ is a harmonic (and hypnotic) standout. A
musical explorer who moves fluidly between styles, Bria doesn’t consider herself a
country artist: “I feel as though I’m a visitor here, paying respect to a style that has
informed a part of my musical identity. Country music, as much as any other art form,
should be an arena for representation, expression and provocation. I have a ton of
reverence for artists who came before me and challenged the primarily whiteheterosexual status quo.”
 Salmena and Jennings have toured for years as members of Toronto four-piece FRIGS,
whose 2018 debut ‘Basic Behaviour’ was long-listed for the Polaris Music Prize. Making a
mark in diverse genres from country to punk, both play as permanent members of Orville
Peck’s band.
 ‘Cuntry Covers’ was recorded on the territories of the Anishnaabe, the Haudenosaunee,
the Wendat and the Mississaugas of the Credit. The release also features contributions
from FRIGS drummer Kris Bowering and vocals by Ali Jennings.
 LP pressed on opaque breeze blue vinyl.

Bria is an intimate and incisive labour of love from multi-instrumentalists Bria Salmena
and Duncan Hay Jennings. Catapulted by a deep sense of dread and confusion in the
depths of 2020, Salmena decided to forgo writing her own music. “I wanted to listen for
what might reflect my life back to me,” she says, “six tracks that could be my mirror.” The
result is a pointillistic knockout of a release that weaves a landscape both luscious and a
little rogue; showing us exactly what good songs can do.
 Bria’s internal turbulence seemed to mirror last year’s external instability. When Jennings
and back-up singer Jaime McCuaig moved to The Outside Inn, a hobby farm in Hockley
Hills, Ontario, Bria soon joined. The farm’s living-room-turned-studio proved an ideal
setting for the long-time friends to compile a record of handpicked country covers. They
went searching for songs that could speak to our everyday loneliness, outside and in.
‘Cuntry Covers’ houses it all: well-worn favourites and lesser-known gems.
 The record opens with ‘Green Rocky Road’, as performed by Greenwich Village legend
Karen Dalton. Jennings’ twangy guitar carries Bria’s original inflection and richly textured
vocals, complete with dreamy overlay. ‘Dreaming My Dreams With You’, a rendition of the
Waylon Jennings hit, is followed by John Cale’s ‘Buffalo Ballet’, a lyrical journey through
Abilene, Texas, the endpoint of the Chisholm Trail.
 Engineered and mixed by Duncan Hay Jennings, each song brings desire and sexuality
front and centre, with all the swagger you’d expect – and more. Bria hopes the record will
be understood as a small contribution to the subversion of a genre with deep patriarchal
roots. Mistress Mary’s ‘I Don’t Wanna Love Ya Now’, from the 1969 album ‘Housewife’,
served as the original inspiration. “It was the first song Duncan and I worked on,” Bria
notes. “It definitely set the tone for the other tracks we picked.”
 Bria’s voice - described as wavering between “sultry and howitzer” - shines on ‘Fruits Of
My Labour’, written and performed by country great, Lucinda Williams. The Walker
Brothers’ ‘The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore’ is a harmonic (and hypnotic) standout. A
musical explorer who moves fluidly between styles, Bria doesn’t consider herself a
country artist: “I feel as though I’m a visitor here, paying respect to a style that has
informed a part of my musical identity. Country music, as much as any other art form,
should be an arena for representation, expression and provocation. I have a ton of
reverence for artists who came before me and challenged the primarily whiteheterosexual status quo.”
 Salmena and Jennings have toured for years as members of Toronto four-piece FRIGS,
whose 2018 debut ‘Basic Behaviour’ was long-listed for the Polaris Music Prize. Making a
mark in diverse genres from country to punk, both play as permanent members of Orville
Peck’s band.
 ‘Cuntry Covers’ was recorded on the territories of the Anishnaabe, the Haudenosaunee,
the Wendat and the Mississaugas of the Credit. The release also features contributions
from FRIGS drummer Kris Bowering and vocals by Ali Jennings.
 LP pressed on opaque breeze blue vinyl.

Since its creation in 2007, Hifiklub has led more than 150 collaborations which have allowed the Toulon trio to open its music to multiple artistic experiences revealing a constant desire for research and novelty. From unprecedented encounters to unique projects, Hifiklub has developed over the years a now substantial discography whose musical proposals range from pop to jazz through the most experimental sounds and even traditional music. One path, however, remained unexplored: contemporary music."Last Party On Earth" is organized around the association of three energies: contemporary composer Jean-Michel Bossini, singer Duke Garwood and the instrumental ensemble Hifiklub.

Surrounded by mysticism and darkness, the creation has cinematographic dimensions. It positions the listener in a depth and disposition of soul where the voice - and the poetry - of Duke Garwood is carried by Hifiklub and Jean-Michel Bossini around cold and tormented atmospheres. The album seduces by the detail of its sounds, its apparent tranquility and its intimate atmospheres thwarted by harsh flashes.

Mixed by Alain Johannes (Queens of the Stone Age, Them Crooked Vultures, Eleven), the album sees the exceptional participation of the string trio Anpapié (Alice Piérot, Fanny Paccoud and Elena Andreyev) who magnificently perform the score by Jean-Michel Bossini.

All songs performed by Hifiklub, Duke Garwood and trio Anpapié (conducted by Jean-Michel Bossini)

Pascal Abbatucci Julien – drums, percussion
Eléna Andreyev – cello
Jean-Loup Faurat – guitar
Duke Garwood - vocals, guitar
Régis Laugier – bass
Nico Morcillo – guitar
Alice Piérot – violin
Fanny Paccoud – alto

Collaboration is an essential ingredient to this open trio’s creative approach, forming a recurring theme in Hifiklub’s extensive discography and filmography. Based in Toulon, the hyperactive experimental rock band offer a diverse ever-evolving catalogue that now boasts over 150 artist collaborations since they started in 2006. Over the years they have formed as many fruitful artistic friendships allowing them to explore the endless possibilities of expression combining sound, image and text.

Some of the artists that feature in Hifiklub’s kaleidoscopic discography: Lee Ranaldo (Sonic Youth), Alain Johannes (Queens of the Stone Age, Them Crooked Vultures, Eleven), Roddy Bottum (Faith no More, Imperial Teen), Matt Cameron (Pearl Jam, Soundgarden), The Legendary Tigerman, Jad Fair (Half Japanese), Iggor Cavalera (Sepultura, MixHell), Jean-Marc Montera, R. Stevie Moore, Mike Watt (Minutemen, The Stooges), Fatso Jetson, Nels Cline (Wilco), Scanner, Mike Cooper, Eugene Chadbourne…

Featuring Squirrel Flower and Liam O’Neill (SUUNS). Recommended If You Like: Mount Eerie, Low, Richard Swift, the Weather Station, Lomelda, Fleet Foxes, Squirrel Flower, L’Rain. Cedric Noel is a songwriter, bassist, collaborator and producer currently based in Montréal, Québec. The newest longplayer from Tio'tiá:ke/Montreal staple Cedric Noel lands with a stunning sense of surety and self. Hang Time stands as a high water mark for a songwriter who's spent the past decade quietly expanding the borders of his music. Longtime fans will recognize the fluid elements of the album’s open-ended rock formations: reflective strumming, soaring choruses, searing guitar lines, subtle bass grooves; all occasionally dissolving into pools of pure ambience. New listeners will find surprises throughout: threads of folk pop, ambient and sound collage fasten the foundations of this expressive whole. However, what’s most striking on Hang Time is Noel’s newfound sense of voice, both literal and metaphorical. Written primarily in 2017-18 during an intense period of self-reflection, this collection of songs finds Noel wrestling profoundly with his sense of identity, self and place. The album’s material was captured faithfully at The Pines, a beloved downtown Montreal studio whose doors shuttered shortly after amidst the strain of the pandemic. Noel worked closely and patiently with friend and engineer Steve Newton, ensuring the songs had the time and space needed to come fully to fruition. Hang Time features subtle rhythm work from drummer Liam O’Neill (SUUNS) and guest spots from Brigitte Naggar (Common Holly) and Tim Crabtree (Paper Beat Scissors) among others. The album opens in mid-air with ‘Comuu’, a song that implores a becoming-more while hovering triumphantly. Then follows a suite of songs (‘Headspace’, ‘Keep’, ‘Stilling’) that recall the heart-rending power of y2k-era Low, albeit with a more vigorous beat. On ‘Bass Song’, an intimate duet with musician Ella Williams (Squirrel Flower) that explores the depths of interpersonal constriction. At the crux of the album sits ‘Born’, a deceptively pleasant-sounding song that explores the confounding emotionality of adoption before fading into a distended soundfield. Throughout the back half of the album, Noel double’s down on this commitment to his genuine, proud, Black self. The most confrontational track, ‘Allies’ finds him refraining “Are you on my side?” as a trailing guitar solo interweaves a Malcolm X soundbite, eventually engulfing the composition. Glorious lead single ‘Nighttime (Skin)’ traces the artist’s sense of ancestral dissociation through to a triumphant moment of pride in self-acceptance. Throughout Hang Time, Noel finds a way to ask hard questions (both of the listener and himself) in ways that are compassionate, open and honest. The ebb and flow of tension and tenderness that moves within these tracks helps to grow the heart and redefine what Black music can be in 2021.

In creating Our Beautiful Baby World (May 2021), the pacing of Izzy True’s
songwriting process has slowed down since their prior Don Giovanni
releases -- Sadbad (2018) and Nope (2016).
Arranging with Curtis and Sam, Reidy says they’ve grown as musicians together, and their songs were given space to grow, too. OBBW exhibits eleven rock
songs of melded collaboration, expressing the deepness of acceptance. These
are the band’s most dynamic compositions to date. The result is, Reidy hopes,
to ‘sound like a bad drawing of a rock record.’
The inspiration for the soft-hard dynamics of OBBW may have come from Reidy
listening to Thin Lizzy, along with the bleeding of the band members’ strengths
and histories: Curtis as a courageous experimental musician in the DIY circuit,
Sam’s expertise as a hardcore drummer, one Halloween cover-set of System
of A Down in a Chicago basement from another world, and Reidy’s childhood
growing up listening to old love songs and country music.
OBBW was recorded in Rock Island, IL at Rozz-Tox, a well-loved bar and music
venue in the humble Midwest. Recorded and mixed by Ian Harris on reel-toreel, Izzy True’s tunes returned to tape after Sadbad, which was digitally produced.
The record utilizes the talents of Chicago music friends Jess Shoman (Tenci)
on backup vocals and Andrew Clinkman (Spirits Having Fun) on lead guitar on
‘Four Good Ponies’. OBBW was recorded in the months before the pandemic,
January and February 2020, which can feel obvious (‘I don’t wanna hang out
for a thousand years’) and subtle. The authentic limitations of reel-to-reel tape
recordings give this project the aura of a time when live music was possible.

Cindytalk is the mercurial, expressionist outlet of Scottish artist Cinder. An evolution of her early 1980's Edinburgh-based punk band The Freeze, she launched the project upon moving to London, inspired by the crossroads of exploratory UK post-punk and early European industrial. Her work thrives on chance and transformation, collaging elements of noise, balladry, soundtrack, catharsis, and improvisation. After a series of celebrated albums for the Midnight Music label as well as collaborations with This Mortal Coil and Cocteau Twins, Cinder migrated to the United States, becoming involved with various underground techno collectives around the Midwest and West Coast. Subsequent relocations to Hong Kong and Japan further expanded Cindytalk's horizons, resulting in a fruitful partnership with Viennese experimental institution Editions Mego, for whom she released five albums of swooning, granular atmosphere. 2021 finds her as engaged as ever, at the precipice of long-awaited back catalog reissues alongside multiple new works, guided by her lasting love of discovery and deviation: “new pathways always being uncovered.”

Across decades of activity Cinder’s body of work has forever followed its own elusive muse but nowhere is this restless spirit more apparent and ambitious than the 4th Cindytalk LP, Wappinschaw. Conceived as “a call to arms” inspired by Scotland and its struggle for independence, the title refers to an archaic Scottish battle inspection during which clan chieftains surveyed their group's weapons to ensure they were combat ready. A mindset of reflective preparation threads throughout the record, manifested in forms both naked and noisy, ancient and anguished.

Opening with an aching solo vocal rendition of the British folk standard “The First Time Ever (I Saw Your Face),” the album then surges into the Cindytalk classic, “A Song Of Changes,” sparkling and spiraling in strange waves of sorrow and joy. From there the mood fragments, tracing asymmetrical paths of feverish dirge, pensive spirituals, noir abstraction, spoken word (landmark Glaswegian writer Alasdair Gray guests on “Wheesht”), bagpipe drone, and apocalyptic post-punk. Given its aggressive eclecticism, it's not surprising that Cinder describes the creation of Wappinschaw as a “precarious” process, composed from “scraps” with abruptly shifting personnel – a situation only compounded by the impending dissolution of their label at the time, Midnight Music.

Cindytalk is the mercurial, expressionist outlet of Scottish artist Cinder. An evolution of her early 1980's Edinburgh-based punk band The Freeze, she launched the project upon moving to London, inspired by the crossroads of exploratory UK post-punk and early European industrial. Her work thrives on chance and transformation, collaging elements of noise, balladry, soundtrack, catharsis, and improvisation. After a series of celebrated albums for the Midnight Music label as well as collaborations with This Mortal Coil and Cocteau Twins, Cinder migrated to the United States, becoming involved with various underground techno collectives around the Midwest and West Coast. Subsequent relocations to Hong Kong and Japan further expanded Cindytalk's horizons, resulting in a fruitful partnership with Viennese experimental institution Editions Mego, for whom she released five albums of swooning, granular atmosphere. 2021 finds her as engaged as ever, at the precipice of long-awaited back catalog reissues alongside multiple new works, guided by her lasting love of discovery and deviation: “new pathways always being uncovered.”

Across decades of activity Cinder’s body of work has forever followed its own elusive muse but nowhere is this restless spirit more apparent and ambitious than the 4th Cindytalk LP, Wappinschaw. Conceived as “a call to arms” inspired by Scotland and its struggle for independence, the title refers to an archaic Scottish battle inspection during which clan chieftains surveyed their group's weapons to ensure they were combat ready. A mindset of reflective preparation threads throughout the record, manifested in forms both naked and noisy, ancient and anguished.

Opening with an aching solo vocal rendition of the British folk standard “The First Time Ever (I Saw Your Face),” the album then surges into the Cindytalk classic, “A Song Of Changes,” sparkling and spiraling in strange waves of sorrow and joy. From there the mood fragments, tracing asymmetrical paths of feverish dirge, pensive spirituals, noir abstraction, spoken word (landmark Glaswegian writer Alasdair Gray guests on “Wheesht”), bagpipe drone, and apocalyptic post-punk. Given its aggressive eclecticism, it's not surprising that Cinder describes the creation of Wappinschaw as a “precarious” process, composed from “scraps” with abruptly shifting personnel – a situation only compounded by the impending dissolution of their label at the time, Midnight Music.

Cindytalk is the mercurial, expressionist outlet of Scottish artist Cinder. An evolution of her early 1980's Edinburgh-based punk band The Freeze, she launched the project upon moving to London, inspired by the crossroads of exploratory UK post-punk and early European industrial. Her work thrives on chance and transformation, collaging elements of noise, balladry, soundtrack, catharsis, and improvisation. After a series of celebrated albums for the Midnight Music label as well as collaborations with This Mortal Coil and Cocteau Twins, Cinder migrated to the United States, becoming involved with various underground techno collectives around the Midwest and West Coast. Subsequent relocations to Hong Kong and Japan further expanded Cindytalk's horizons, resulting in a fruitful partnership with Viennese experimental institution Editions Mego, for whom she released five full-lengths of swooning, granular atmosphere. 2021 finds her as engaged as ever, at the precipice of long-awaited back catalog reissues alongside multiple new works, guided by her lasting love of discovery and deviation: “new pathways always being uncovered.”

The 3rd album by Scottish industrial enigma Cinder aka Cindytalk began life as the soundtrack to an experimental film by English director Ivan Unnwin entitled Eclipse (The Amateur Enthusiast's Guide To Virus Deployment), and was originally slated for release via Factory Records' video division, Ikon. Inspired heavily by Alan Splet's eerily disembodied sound design in David Lynch's Eraserhead, the collection's 15 pieces seethe between field recordings, wistful piano vignettes, and lurking metallic haze – a hybrid palette Cinder characterized at the time as “ambi-dustrial.” Unfortunately Ikon collapsed on the eve of the project's completion so the film was never distributed, but the Midnight Music imprint repackaged Cindytalk's score as an LP in 1990 under the name The Wind Is Strong... (full title: The Wind Is Strong - A Sparrow Dances, Piercing Holes in Our Sky).

Cindytalk is the mercurial, expressionist outlet of Scottish artist Cinder. An evolution of her early 1980's Edinburgh-based punk band The Freeze, she launched the project upon moving to London, inspired by the crossroads of exploratory UK post-punk and early European industrial. Her work thrives on chance and transformation, collaging elements of noise, balladry, soundtrack, catharsis, and improvisation. After a series of celebrated albums for the Midnight Music label as well as collaborations with This Mortal Coil and Cocteau Twins, Cinder migrated to the United States, becoming involved with various underground techno collectives around the Midwest and West Coast. Subsequent relocations to Hong Kong and Japan further expanded Cindytalk's horizons, resulting in a fruitful partnership with Viennese experimental institution Editions Mego, for whom she released five full-lengths of swooning, granular atmosphere. 2021 finds her as engaged as ever, at the precipice of long-awaited back catalog reissues alongside multiple new works, guided by her lasting love of discovery and deviation: “new pathways always being uncovered.”

The 3rd album by Scottish industrial enigma Cinder aka Cindytalk began life as the soundtrack to an experimental film by English director Ivan Unnwin entitled Eclipse (The Amateur Enthusiast's Guide To Virus Deployment), and was originally slated for release via Factory Records' video division, Ikon. Inspired heavily by Alan Splet's eerily disembodied sound design in David Lynch's Eraserhead, the collection's 15 pieces seethe between field recordings, wistful piano vignettes, and lurking metallic haze – a hybrid palette Cinder characterized at the time as “ambi-dustrial.” Unfortunately Ikon collapsed on the eve of the project's completion so the film was never distributed, but the Midnight Music imprint repackaged Cindytalk's score as an LP in 1990 under the name The Wind Is Strong... (full title: The Wind Is Strong - A Sparrow Dances, Piercing Holes in Our Sky).

Comet Records presents the Tony Allen & Afrika 70 reissue series with the classic late seventies first four solo albums of Tony Allen remastered and restored: Jealousy, Progress, No Accomodation for Lagos & No Discrimination, all coming in an heavy Deluxe Tip-On Jacket.
1978's No Accommodation for Lagos, Tony Allen's third solo album, is an effortless Afrobeat masterpiece. The Afrika 70 band floats through two of Tony's heaviest and most churning compositions.
With this album, we start to hear Tony Allen's unique style of Afro-Funk that he would explore for decades to come as a solo artist - it is groove-focused, a rolling meditation on rhythm.
The first track, "No Accommodation for Lagos" is one of Tony's most pointed and churning songs, recorded in a chaotic period following the army raid of Fela's compound. There is a seriousness to the funk, a real burning purpose in the performance of every instrument, from the horns to the shekere. Tony's performance is supercharged - he clearly showed up to the studio that day with a fire in his heart. The followup track, "African Message," is an Afrobeat compositional staple. Tony sits back in the cut through most of the supremely funky track until about seven minutes in, when he steps into the spotlight to express himself fully - his emotions, his frustrations, his convictions - in a fiery duet between his drumkit and his voice. The percussionists coalesce around him in support, lifting Tony up as he gives it his all.
Tony Allen was a musical and compositional visionary, and this album finds him beginning to explore that vision outside of Fela's immense gravitational pull. They are the start of a new era in Tony's fruitful career as a solo artist, opening the floodgates for his distinctive Afro-Funk sound and laying the foundation for the next generation of Afrobeat musicians to come.

Ubuntu Music is excited to announce the signing of Skeltr for the worldwide release of their album, ‘Dorje’. Skeltr began as a late night, post-gig session between Sam Healey (keys) and Craig Hanson (drums) in the dusty old cotton mills of Manchester. Forging a shared connection inspired by Post-bop and Modern groove, the pair developed a tightly knit, highly musical duo. Their first UK gig in 2017 at the Manchester Jazz Festival saw the duo sell all of their physical records of their debut release in one day. Within a few months of this auspicious start, the lads found themselves supporting L.A sensation KNOWER on UK tour, appearing on JazzFM, Worldwide FM, listed as ‘ones to watch’ in Jazzwise Magazine as well as performing across European jazz festivals, including Reykjavik Jazz Festival, InJazz, Rotterdam and the famous Osloscene Club in Norway. A tragic accident saw hard times fall upon the Duo as Sam suffered a serious hand injury. However, after operations and months of rehabilitation, Sam was able to return to his saxophone and continue playing music again. Having had chance to compose during rehab, the Duo immediately hit the studio and recorded their second album, named after Sam’s new-born son, Dorje. A nucleus of Saxophone and Drums set to scapes of synths, vocals and guest features, Skeltr's second album, 'Dorje', combines heartfelt statements of sensitive, illuminating, incensed improvisation which stem from ardent and fluent melodies. Craig ondrums is as much an expressive protagonist of the music as he is a foundation with deep roots, leading to intricate interplay between the Duo. Themes include understanding the nature of happiness, self-examination and acceptance in aquest to achieve a positive mental state. Ultimately, ‘Dorje’ seeks to provide the listener with a space in which to explore their own relativities with guidance, inspiration and accompaniment. Sam describes the project, saying, “What a wonderful experience it has been to create this album. We look forward to spreading the music far and wide with positive intentions. The sounds are crafted with a passionate energy in our hearts and I hope otherswill be able to feel and hear that.” Concerning Skeltr’s new relationship with Ubuntu Music, Healey continues, “It has been a three-year journey to bring this album to fruition and we’re so happy to have met Martin (Hummel) and Ubuntu Music as the album was coming to completion. This auspicious timing makes the new relationship all the more rewarding. The Ubuntu Music team’s knowledge, experience and phenomenal work ethic are vastly inspiring and will help Skeltr to reach a much wider audience across the world. We look forward to a close relationship with theLabel as we strive to bring great musical offerings to many people.” Martin Hummel, Director of Ubuntu Music, said, “These guys have breath-taking talent. I first came in touch with Sam on New Year’s Day (probably not the best day to do so) and told him what I thought of their music. It’s deep. It’s spiritual. And it shakes your senses, inside out and to your very core. Sam is meticulous in everything he does, and you can hear this in the recording. If you want to feed your soul with the best musical vibes, check this out.”

Three years after their last collaboration “Lost in the Moment”, part of Darius’ debut album Utopia, the French producer and Nigerian born future soul artist Wayne Snow unveil their stellar single “Equilibrium”.

The message of unity has never felt more relevant than the times we are living through right now. This project composed one year ago, serves as a stark reminder that we can all transcend above our differences and connect through the experience of music together, regardless of colour and race.

The undeniable synergy of both artists create a harmony magnified by the richness of their diverse cultures and musical background.

The beat instantly catches us in a warm and arresting atmosphere. The main melody reveals an uptempo rhythm gently interwoven in Wayne Snow’ emotive voice, born in Nigeria, living in Berlin in preparation for his next album. His lyrics infuse a carefree candor, which only suggests love and euphoria, fruit of an universal balance and a collective caring energy.

After multiple collaborations among “Helios” or the “Nightbirds” improvised live project (feat. FKJ and Crayon), the two artists reunite once again on “Equilibrium”. Heady and joyful, only few seconds are enough to form a timeless memory and make this track an instant classic. Darius holds Wayne’s powerful vocals, which travel through the composition as gospel pipe dreams. His Funk and Disco influences, embodied by his heart-warming and dynamic groove reminds us of his iconic project Romance (2014). Driven by a festive and upbeat energy, Darius finally renews himself with a return to his musical roots, whilst Wayne Snow steps up towards an audacious expression and a peek into his forthcoming artist album.

Lovers of pastel and retro aesthetics, we find the artist’s aesthetic language elevated through an impressive video treatment by the esteemed French director Alice Kong set for release on July 23rd. The audio release will precede a week earlier on July 16th, part of his forthcoming project.

Reissue of this long lost funky Afrobeat/Reggae classic from 1978
For fans of Fela Kuti, Peter Tosh, Bob Marley, Segun Bucknor

The year is 1978 and one hot thing from the musical underground is Reggae music from Jamaica, the USA or the UK, where most of the acts had musicians of Caribbean descent. Reggae had the groove, the rebel spirit, and the relaxed attitude all in one, to enchant a big part of the world’s inhabitants. And while at least Jamaica as a relatively poor and so-called "Third World“ country proved to spawn Reggae acts of the highest quality, literally nobody dared to look further and dig deeper into the underground except of a few maniacs who were not satisfied with spinning Marley over and over again. And maybe they stumbled over the 1970s Afro Beat sound from countries like Zambia or Nigeria and then got interested. What did they find in the simmering metropolises of this still mysterious continent? Somewhere in Nigeria, they would have certainly caught a glimpse of mind-blowing performances of The Sea Lions, a six-piece group mixing the then hip Reggae and Afro Beat styles to generate fresh and furious music with a hypnotizing atmosphere.



Polyrhythmic beat patterns build the foundation, the utterly fruitful soil for the heartwarming melodies wailed out by the guitars and the commanding vocals with their conjuring charm. Great organ work builds the link between the groove section and the melody instruments. You can imagine what a pleasant experience this band might have been live back in 1978 when their sole album "Free The People“ got released. And this album, of which copies in only good conditions already fetch prices of $450, while nice clean pieces might go up to $1200, lives up to the expectations one might have from watching a live show by the Sea Lions. The sound is vivid, transparent, powerful, and clean enough to make the music a real pleasure listening to, but earthy enough to present nothing but the band going wild here. The songs all have a similar pace, not too fast, but swinging and pulsating to spread their energy to and among the listeners. The melodies are simple but come from the depth of the heart. This feels typical for African 70s music and despite being kind of reduced, these melodies keep haunting you still even hours after the record been taken off the turntable and put back into its sleeve. They bring images of an ever pulsating city by night, warm climate, palm trees, people at the bar, a witches cauldron of sounds, smells, voice, and pictures. And you feel the magic floating through the air while this groove will not let you go so easily.

You can either dance your soul out to this ultimate reissue or you can sit down, listen and let the music tell you a story of the dark corners of the big city, the narrow alleys that lead you into a boiling labyrinth of mystical dreams. And in songs like "You Can Make It If You Try“ you will find the whole magic of the African world, a world so fascinating for us Europeans but still so unapproachable in some ways and dangerous for the weak. Do not try to resist, this is your pleasure. Grab a copy and the Sea Lions will carry you off to their place. I haven’t heard such a killer Afro Beat and Reggae album with songs this exciting and wild in a long time. If you equally love Peter Tosh, Bob Marley, Segun Bucknor, and Fela Kuti, look no further. Here is the spiritual essence of all these great artists merged into one giant act.

“Stop here!” exclaimed Robert Oumaou as we passed a mango tree on the side of the road just outside of Point-a-Pitre, the balmy capital of Guadeloupe. He filled a plastic bag with ripe fruit, and we set off on our journey across the small Caribbean island in search of musicians he hadn’t seen in years. On the way, we shared stories in broken French and English, stopping at truck stops to eat delicious fried fish. Robert took me to his hometown, and placed a mango and a flower on the grave of his teacher and mentor, a local poet. The seeds of Vwayajé (Traveller) were sewn on this trip, but shortly after returning home, I heard that Robert was ill, and he sadly passed away in 2018. This compilation was originally intended as a way to share Robert’s brazen work with a wider global audience, but it now also serves to immortalize his indomitable spirit.

Gwakasonné is the ecstatic articulation of Robert Oumaou’s artistic and political vision, a unified expression of his interests in American jazz, pre-colonial rhythms, Guadeloupian independence, and Créole poetics. Over the course of three albums, all released in the 80s, Robert piloted a revolving cast of musicians, a venerable who’s-who of Point-a-Pitre avant-jazz pioneers, to deftly intone his creative communal concepts. The songs on Vwayajé are compiled from these three releases, Gwakasonné, Temwen, and Moun, along with an electronic mantra taken from his 2007 solo album Sang Comment Taire. Viewed from our current artistic and cultural landscape, Robert’s work is exceptionally enduring, grounded in its declarations of freedom and foundational use of the Ka (drum) and voice, and prescient in its borderless explorations of protest folk, electronics, ambient atmosphere, music from the African diaspora, and spiritual jazz. The long-form hive-mind expression of the group has parallels with similar explorations by The Grateful Dead, electric
Miles, Pharaoh Sanders, and even the Boredoms, but these are only oblique references for a truly peerless sound. Like other conceptual children of Gérard Lockel, the group was part of a progressive movement of like-minded musicians, such as Serge Fabriano, Dao, Erick Cosaque, and Gaoulé Mizik, who embraced Lockel’s modernist ideals, fusing Gwo Ka drumming and tuning systems with contemporary jazz and vanguard recording technologies. Robert’s ecstatic phrasings, embrace of electronic instruments, and daring lyrics set the group apart as the beatific expression of a sagacious soul.

Cosmic Bridge’s club focused ‘Earthbase Series’ continues with ‘Nocturnal’ the new release from Russian producer A.Fruit.

Four tracks that fuse Footwork, Drum’n’Bass, Techno and bold sound design into the 160 BPM framework. A er a heavy hitting set of releases via Russian imprint Hyperboloid, Irish modern trendsetters Rua Sound, and the ever vigilant Med School, so please welcome A.Fruit to the Cosmic Bridge roster.

Label boss Om Unit says: “Anna has a rare ear in this 160bpm world; one foot firmly in the techier sound-design lane, and one in the world of fun dance floor sounds. Well mixed, and not too serious! It’s great to have her on board and we look forward to sharing a stage soon!”

Kicking things off is ‘Make Them Shake’, a hypnotic and contorted expression of footwork with bubbling bass and drum FX - only for the boldest of dancers. ‘Polykarp’ comes complete with rugged old school hardcore chops twisted into a technoid stepper. ‘Deep Insight’, is reminiscent of early Moving Shadow Jungle; hypnotic & minimalist with tight drums, glitches and jazzy late night moments. Closing track ’Before You Go’ is a breaks filled, garage-footwork workout; cheeky vocal cuts and rolling syncopated rhythms for your waistline!

Sa Bat' Machines & Tam Ly continuent sur la lancée et proposent un nouveau EP 3 titres electro deep bass.
La Combinaison de Sa Bat' Machines, producteur parisien, musicien, et compositeur de bass music et de Tam Ly, chanteuse auteure, compositrice et caméleon passionné de jazz, de musique classique et de mélopées orientales, avec le guitariste Pierre Maddio fonctionne suavement.
Les influences sont multiples, entre sons concrets, harmonies jazz et riffs de guitares un tantinet rock. La voix est mélancholique et syncopée, expressive ou fantomatique.
Elle invoque des instantanés intimistes, "Strange Fruit" est une interpretation du titre d'Abel Meeropol popularisé par Billie Holliday puis Nina Simone.
Road trip electro, ce vinyle n'est pas dsans nous rappeler la bande original du film "Mulholland Drive".
A écouter tard, ou au réveil.
text: Supa Cosh

Limited Edition heavyweight 180g Vinyl EP - PURSUIT by KWALIA, available now! Following the success of his 'Wallflower' and 'Cloak' LP's, breakthrough artist Jordan Rakei has teamed up with classical composer Richard Melkonian for something entirely new, releasing their debut EP 'PURSUIT' under the name 'KWALIA'. Joining the dots between their respective musical sensibilities, a hybrid sound incorporating free moving jazz rhythms, Rakei's soulful vocals and Melkonian's Armenian harmonies came to fruition. A deep, melodic and emotive journey, the EP features string quartet, woodwind live band and heavy synths throughout. 'PURSUIT' is an authentic blend of two entirely different musical worlds that complement one another in an entirely new way. Rakei's expressionist lyrics unashamedly explore questions about faith, God, identity and power structures. Several of these themes came about through discussions between Rakei and Melkonian and the musical structures of each track follow this free-form enquiry; ideas are allowed to flow, unexpected tangents form and no predetermined song-form is ever adhered to. Running at 22 minutes in length, the EP is comprised of three long compositions.

"On Pursuit, they continue the fruitful partnership with three-long compositions that meld meandering jazz rhythms with Rakei's achingly beautiful vocal work". - XLR8R

"'The Waves' is a superb fusion of their disparate influences, the mellifluous arrangement in a perpetual state of flux, grinding dissonance leading to soothing ambience.

Jordan Rakei's vocal continually strains against the rules, displaying the same daring that flooded through Tim Buckley's late 60s work." - CLASH

Written and produced by Jordan Rakei and Richard Melkonian

Recorded, mixed and mastered by Rick David at Pink Bird Recording Co.

Alien Ensemble's trombone man Mathias Goetz caused quite a splash when he released his eponymous debut LP under his Le Millipede moniker back in 2015: The multi-instrumentalist's initial offering was clearly something else, impossible to grasp, a musical vessel beyond genre, beyond style or era, seemingly beyond space and time even, a vessel that carried an almost cosmic kind of song-craft - music with no fixed stamp of origin, though it did somehow feel like an Alien Transistor release. Followed by remix album Mirror Mirror, which comprised reworks by 1115, Protein, LeRoy, Olaf Opal, and Saroos, to name a few, it's now time for album #2: The Sun Has No Money.Let's face it: There's nothing as majestic as the sun. At least not in our world. If it runs out of juice one day, it's game over: The End. Light's out. For everyone. At that point, it wouldn't even matter if you're rich or poor. We're all equal under the sun. Same level. And yeah, this might not be major news, but then again... we're talking about the sun. The sun! Guess it's about time to acknowledge its power and superiority, right In fact, you can feel it on your bicycle: pedaling at night, when it's on duty in other hemispheres, and you're working hard at the dynamo, sweating, you can actually feel how powerful it is. In the end you get off the bike all recharged, a tune on your lips - and somehow feeling like a miniature version of the sun yourself. And whenever you feel like that, that's exactly the right moment to grab a melodica and get to work.Following an initial warm-up round sans electricity, this new album soon begins to glow: Mathias Goetz aka Le Millipede doesn't need pedals, he boosts circulation by single-handedly* playing tons and tons of different instruments - it actually feels like thousands, easily. And thus begins a show that has countless levels to it: There are various sonic illusions... and yet Le Millipede doesn't hide anything: He's also willing to show the inner workings, the actual recording process and everything else. In short: he goes meta. Makes songs about making songs. That's right: why not use all these beautiful means to address the issue of money It's not the sun that casts shadows, all it does is recharge, fuel: growth & thriving, that's the sun's area of responsibility. And yet there came a man whose plan was simple: steal the fruit from your garden, only to sell it right back to you, for money. We can hear the sea gulls crying in the distance, as somebody is throwing breadcrumbs up into the wind that carries their voices...It's not the sun that casts shadows - all it does is radiate light. And yet there came a time when someone blocked those rays of light. Now if you're some kind of Diogenes, you'll simply say, Move at least a little out of the sun.' But if you're a teacher, you'll maybe light up your pipe and use that to lighten up. What matters is that the percussion parts, in this case, resemble some serious musique concréte. The sun doesn't know shadows - all it knows, is itself. And yet somebody entered the picture and built an entire city. A city full of streets, so that houses can cast shadows into these avenues. Plus, there's music in the streets, music originally written inside the walls of said houses.One of those streets is known as the Tin Pan Alley: a place that got its name from a music writer who compared the sound of so many pianos to the banging of tin pans. That sound: that's one side of the road that is this album. Some of these melodies appear to be shadows of earlier tunes, dating back to, say, 1898 or even before that, melodies that were first registered in the Tin Pan Alley publishers' offices back in 1912 or 1917. We actually get to see this Alley at that point in time. We see the ropes, the workings. How things come together, the actual act of creation. Suddenly, we can hear the shadows!
Okay, so one side of this street is America. The US of A. The opposite side: Russia. And smack dab in the middle: Europe. A pothole in the center. All the back-and-forth that occurs between these two poles ultimately depends on the movement of the sun. Night and day, taking turns, commuting in and out of sight. We get to meet Prokofiew's and Scriabin's ghost, among other spirits, reframed and published by Le Millipede's own imaginary label imprint on the historic Tin Pan Alley. Indeed there are moments on this album when Le Millipede seems to be playing Scriabin's clavier a` lumie`res (tastiera per luce), when his performance seems to be based on synesthesia, a wild cross-pollination of colors and sounds. In case you didn't know this: In the States, Prokofiew goes by the name Brian Wilson, and Scriabin's also known as Sun Ra - yet another guy who's usually broke, but gets to spend a lot of time out in the sun. Together, these assorted protagonists ask the people of the Antilles for Mutabor dance-tokens and send postcards to Moondog in Germany, right back into the darkness. On the postcards you can see people dancing the Biguine...Firing foreign fossil fuels from all pipes (Brennelementsteuer!), Le Millipede controls the very center of this hustle and bustle: going as far as to employ some southern Chopped & Screwed styles, he's 100% current and zeitgeisty! Houston, we've got a problem: there's some kind of myriapod, centi- or millipede on the loose! Well, give me another sip of lean, sizzurp, dirty Sprite, and on goes the journey in the Pullman coach. Let's follow the sun! Keep on moving, keep things motorik! Here comes the Trans-Eureka-Express. Cherish the backpacking days! A piercing rhapsody of sound (bohrende Rhapsodie), we'll remember them fondly! And thus things move on, the sun, the days, the earth: rise, set, action, round and round... onwards eternally. The sun: the biggest loop known to mankind. As if it was some kind of sonic Rube Goldberg contraption, time seems to be stretching out while listening to that hmmm. After all: time is a lot (a lot!) more than just money. And yeah, the sun is the real big shot on (or rather: above) Planet Earth. Le Millipede's live line-up also includes Markus & Micha Acher (The Notwist etc.), Nico Sierig (Joasihno), and Manuela Rzytki (G. Rag & die Landlergschwister, Kamerakino etc.).
*sole exception: Evi Keglmaier (Zwirbeldirn, Hochzeitskapelle) plays the viola. Words/sun worship: Pico Be

Bordello A Parigi has just returned from a fruitful expedition to Russia to secure a four tracker from St Petersburg synthesizer playboy Kito Jempere. Super Sax Sounds is a rich and varied expression from an artist who has explored a spread of sounds during his career. The A-Side is the product of one diverse machine, the Yamaha QY-70. 'Bueller's Dance' gets the show on the road with latin showband flare. The opener brims with cruising notes, crisp claps and smooth bass; a track guaranteed to put a smile on any face. Moods change with the tear stained chords of 'Space Commercial', a superbly subtle work of joy and heartbreak. A colder wind permeates the flip as a cinematic and sinister element enters. Toms and snares support the descending bars of 'Atmosphere', a track where tropical dreams cloud into despair. Those dreams are purged by 'Tomohawk', a dark prowler who stalks with a maniacal glint and menacing intent. An audio feast care of Kito Jempere.