Search:g sudden

There are only a few figures in music whose work influences and
shapes a genre as a whole. This is undoubtedly true of the Swede
Esbjörn Svensson. With his trio e.s.t., the pianist and composer
wowed audiences beyond age and genre affiliations. And his
influence on jazz as a whole reverberates to this day and already
within the second and third generation of musicians worldwide.
‘HOME.S.’ is Esbjörn Svensson’s only solo album and the sheer
existence of such a recording and its completely unexpected
discovery over a decade after its creation are nothing less than a
sensation: Since the early 1990s, Svensson focused almost his entire
creative energy and recording activities on his work with e.s.t.. Thus,
these new recordings are not only the first, but practically the only
ones that show Svensson in a setting other than that of the trio:
Intimate, concentrated and completely one with himself. The
recordings for ‘HOME.S.’ were made only a few weeks before
Esbjörn Svensson’s sudden death on June 14, 2008. Svensson
recorded the music in his Swedish home.
For almost ten years afterwards, the album rested untouched in his
wife Eva Svensson’s personal archive. Here, she tells the story
behind the discovery of the album and the music: “After Esbjörn’s
passing, I made sure all the contents of his computer were saved to
backup hard drives. And then I basically left them untouched for the
next ten years. At the point where I eventually felt ready to look into
the material, I soon realised that there was something I wanted to
look into.
“I took the hard drive and went to Gothenburg to meet with Åke
Linton, the sound engineer who had worked on all e.s.t. albums as
well as on their live shows. He was also the one who had helped me
to save the material from Esbjörn’s computer in the first place. So he
probably already knew that there was something hidden in there. But
nobody had listened to it.
“We went to his studio. And we pressed the start button. Then there
was a total silence and we couldn't speak for the entire time the music
was playing. After it finished, at first we were not able to say anything,
because we were both so touched and surprised that it was all there,
and that it was so beautiful. The tracks seemed to follow one another
like pearls on a string. After we just had sat there for a while we
agreed: This is really good. Musically, but also from a sound
perspective.”

Tiny Blue Ghost are a band possessed. Haunt- ing, melodic vocals soar over a dreamy landscape of floating guitars, washy drums, and meandering bass that can pull suddenly into focus at a mo- ments notice. Moving seamlessly across genre to genre, Tiny Blue Ghost can’t simply be defined by any single label- unless you want to come up with a new term for a band that blends the best parts of bedroom pop, shoegaze, twee, indie, post-rock, and college rock.

With I was born by the sea, Richie Culver brings to a close a period of intense introspection and emotional reckoning with a debut album that serves as both an optimistic statement of intent and a final glance back at the painful places it explores. Following recent work with Blackhaine and Pavel Milyakov, I was born by the sea picks up where Culver’s EP for Italian label Superpang, Post Traumatic Fantasy, leaves off, painting an unabashed portrait of contemporary malaise, detailing a life lived behind closed doors, pinned under the crushing weight of austerity, sapped of the strength to do anything other than gaze out to sea and all the grey possibilities it represents. Where Post Traumatic Fantasy saw Culver returning to his hometown of Hull after a period spent entangled in London’s relentless sprawl, his first full length project reaches further back to his formative years working in a caravan factory and going to raves in and among Hull’s outskirts. Unspooling like a fever dream, I was born by the sea is the anxious clutter of a racing mind spoken clearly, a stark reflection on how it feels to have too many ideas and too much time to act on them.

Though unquestionably a snapshot of a time of significant difficulty, Culver reflects on this period with tender empathy and pitch-black humour, stitching together unflinching observations from England’s neglected corners, ‘there’s more mobility scooter repair shops and bookies than there are bookshops,’ and devastating vignettes of everyday struggle, ‘tears on the tin foil’, with surreal depictions of industrial grit, ‘skimming stones in a small pond by the slaughterhouse’. His DIY approach to production stretches the rough sinew that connects these fragments of memory, a process he describes as using a paired back collection of synths and drum machines to the best of his ability, ‘but to the least of their capabilities,’ wringing out visceral sound with self-taught urgency. During the album’s most impressionistic passages it’s as though Culver has transposed past internal turmoil into powerfully resonant noise, the Sisyphean sonics of ‘Create A Lifestyle Around Your Problems’, which evokes in its concrète clatter and MRI machine barrage the sound of making the same mistake again and again, or the stuttered jumble of ‘Its Hard To Get To Know You,’ its garbled vocal modulation and frayed edges of distortion channeling the paranoia of somebody listening to muffled voices through thin plaster, climbing the walls of their bedroom with the curtains closed, a nervous breakdown in stereo.

In counterpoint to this glides the ever-present spirit of the dance floor, which haunts the record from the moment it is invoked in its first few seconds. Opening onto a sea wall of bright synthesis, the stuttering vocals and bass tone chops of ‘Nervous Energy’ dump us directly into post rave ecstasy, the echoing cry of a voice amplified by loudspeaker carrying the loose energy and surge of crowds moving in darkness. The incessant, dead phone line beep of ‘Pigeon Flesh’ builds to a pulse that suddenly swells into an anxious technoid surge, shapeshifting at lysergic speed into head shrinking audio hallucinations, a descent into the void of the present via machine music hypnosis. Even ‘Its Hard To Get To Know You’ summons the ego death drive of hardcore techno within its scorched textures, flickering indiscernibly between attritional noise and frazzled hardware stomp. Paying homage to both the parties of his youth and a countless succession of Sundays spent offering himself up within Berghain’s hallowed architecture, Culver’s experiments in addressing his formative relationship with rave provide an energetic glimpse at where he might take his sound next.

Between spikes of propulsive energy and grim mood pieces Culver returns to suspended passages of aching, glacial drift, the cold swell of the North Sea, accompanied by some of his heaviest testimonials. The gauzy ebb of ‘Daytime TV,’ its tumbling loops reminiscent of boats bobbing off a distant shore, sees the artist at his most checked out, slumped in front of his television, seven days a week. ‘I used to dream of doing something,’ he admits, ‘anything to get out of this town.’ ‘Love Like An Abscess’ pairs swirling currents of ambient shimmer with violent images of baseball bats lying next to beds and blood-stained mattresses, next to which Culver pleads in a desperate mumble, ‘let our love grow, like a broken abscess.’ Yet it’s with the album’s final word and title track that Culver reveals a glimmer of cautious optimism, a parting gesture of exposition and closure. ‘I knew I had to get away,’ he asserts, ‘so I did and I never looked back.’ What follows builds from a low throb, the flutter of a tiny heartbeat, to a resonant glow, embellished with unfurling synthetic burbles, oil rigs sparkling in the distance, golden light spilling across the sea. In reckoning with the place he had to escape, Richie Culver is now free to look towards the promise of something new, something hopeful.

Fangst never announced their arrival – without a warning they were just there, and so was the demand for their music. The band’s hook-laden songs were quickly embraced by audience and press alike. Suddenly there was a new challenger to the throne of Norwegian “mother tongue rock”. Fangst appeared with a bang – releasing four singles in quick succession in 2021. Seeing the band live, it’s easy to be seduced by the four band members and their magnetic stage presence. Now they’re ready with their debut album on Jansen Records. But this is hardly a musical debut for the guys who make up this four-headed beast. All members of Fangst come with heaps of musical experience, and the bare mention of their other bands – Death By Unga Bunga, Honningbarna and Hvitmalt Gjerde – will awake fond memories in every concert goer who’s ever encountered those bands. Fangst’s debut full-length will be out in the fall of 2022, and if captivating Norwegian lyricism or very, ehm…rocking rock (or even both!) is your bag, then you’ll get your fill here. The band’ sound is a result of their diverse musical backgrounds and combines to create beautiful rock music – sporadically dangerous and at times plain cute.

"Most of this record was created in the shadow of COVID and deep in the maw of Melbourne’s 2020 long winter lockdown. It is a meditation on the nature of connection.

Restricted to a 5km zone, one of the only people I saw outside my family during this time was my old friend and teacher, Ania Walwicz. We met in the overlap between our zones on the waterfront near Docklands to walk and talk on bright, cool winter afternoons. Those conversations became large in my thoughts when Ania suddenly passed away in September. Her voice was in my head as I worked on this music, trawling through threads of ideas, recordings made on my phone, and thoughts jotted down in notebooks.

Ania’s practice as a writer relied on ‘automatic’ processes. Her work was informed by everything she had read (a lot) but it was created in the manner of dreams. In a state where the subconscious might bubble up and the words arrange themselves into meaning bearing forms that resonate more than represent. I thought a lot about that as I made this music. I recorded everyday using the trumpet, my old Revox reel-to-reel, a couple of synths, a harmonium I lent from a friend, and whatever else was around. I worked mostly on just diving a little deeper each time I sat down to it.

Through the simple process of exhalation, I explored my relationship with the trumpet, which has been through so many twists and turns. I let the tones produced by my breath unfurl on long tape loops and degrade beyond recognition through pedal and plugin chains, until the only imprint of the initial gesture remained.

My process also involved long bike rides during which I’d listen to the work of previous days on ear buds, gliding through familiar streets made slightly strange by the absence of people and movement. Often my rides took me along Footscray Rd next to the port, and as I washed down towards Docklands past the old boat moorings I stopped pedalling to coast. The sounds from my darkened studio mingled with the low rush of air past my helmet, the click and whirr of my bike gears, a squalling bird, a whooshing car. And I remembered my last conversation with Ania. Sitting in the late afternoon sun, squinting against the light that raked across the water, she was telling me about all the different words for they have for blue in Polish and Russian, and how words don’t just change our perception of things, but also actually change the thing being perceived.

As I rode home that afternoon, I felt like anything was possible. "

Peter Knight

The Local Moon (East Berlin 1987/88) The name The Local Moon originated from an intimation by the oriental jester Nasreddin that every city had its own moon. This idea did not go without a certain local colour in the bipolar frontline city of Berlin; from an astropolitical view, its divided sky never saw a full moon, the light conditions were ideologically broken. From the black light of those years emerged The Local Moon. René Le Doil and Ronald Lippok took wings like two crows from a pigeon’s nest when quite suddenly in 1987 light entertainment permeated East Berlin’s Offground and the two musicians were hired for the New Romantic revue New Affair. Before that, Le Doil had been involved in the Stattgespräch fashion spectacle and in Allerleirauh, the “thing of light, space, sound and leather”. Lippok had been the drummer for Rosa Extra, one of the earliest punk rock bands in East Berlin. Together with his brother Robert, who had already come into the picture with an avant-punk project named after the Jules Verne novel Fünf Wochen im Ballon (Five Weeks in a Balloon), Ronald Lippok then founded the post-punk commune Ornament & Verbre- chen, for whom Le Doil would occasionally guest as an... more credits released July 20, 2022 Tape (Side A, B, C – Track #1 - #16) Music by The Local Moon, recorded in April 1987 René Le Doil: accordion, bass, guitar, keyboards, piano, voice Ronald Lippok: acoustic guitar, keyboards, percussion, voice Produced by The Local Moon Single (Side D – Track #17 - #19) Music by The Local Moon, recorded in May 1988 René Le Doil: keyboard Ronald Lippok: keyboard, voice Charlotte Jansen: oboe, voice Alex Wolf: percussion Bo Kondren: emax, traktor Detelf Pegelow: guitar Robert Lippok: clarinet, ethno brass Produced by Bo Kondren Recorded at Gunther Krex Studio Vinyl published by Henryk Gericke Texts and liner notes by Henryk Gericke Remastered by Calyx/ Bo Kondren Digital distribution via aufnahmeundwiedergabe.de

In 2016 lutenist Sofie Vanden Eynde put her instrument aside for nine
months in order to recover from a severe burnout
Five years later, she felt the need to look back. Would it be possible, she
wondered, to use the intense, shared concentration between musician and
listener to convey sensations of over- stimulation, contrast, excess, stagnation,
emptiness, beauty and movement? Would it be possible to articulate the inner
reality of a burnout musically: to make a burnout audible, tangible,
understandable and, who knows, avoidable? The result is Vanishing Point /
Verdwijntijd, an autobiographical recital, a musical narrative, a journey:
somewhere between fragile comfort and cautious happiness. Writer Annemarie
Peeters drew on her interviews with Sofie to write a text that reflects the three
phases of a burnout. The run- up, the phase of total stagnation during, and the
cautious way out. Three colours, three seasons, three ways of being. Lurking
beneath Sofie's personal story are experiences that many will recognize: the
craving for efficiency, the sudden faltering, the unfamiliar and at the same time
disconcerting sense of emptiness, and the tentative search for a new balance.
But also the questions Sofie asked herself – about the connection between her
own little story and the big world that surrounds her – evoke wide recognition. Is
burnout a personal failure or a social symptom?
Sofie went in search of pieces from the solo lute repertoire that she intuitively
associated with the various phases of the text. This resulted in a recital with a
surprising palette of colours, styles and atmospheres. At times she chose the
rich, powerful sound of the theorbo. At others she chose the fragile, hushed
sound of the Renaissance lute. The Prelude by the French baroque composer
Robert de Visee combines phrases full of grandeur with breathing pauses filled
with intimate doubt. The music of John Dowland draws on the typically English
penchant for melancholy. In the fantasias and ricercars of Francesco da Milano, it
is not only the bright colours of the Italian Renaissance that resound, but also the
constant search for a new beginning. Luis de Narvaez's Cancion del emperador is
an arrangement for lute of the famous chanson Mille Regretz by Josquin Desprez,
a song that emanates serene regret for everything that is not. And in Robert de
Visee's Chaconne the same chord sequence revolves around its own axis. Hope,
tenderness, revolt and acceptance each step to the fore in turn.
At Sofie's request, Vladimir Gorlinsky created a new composition, one which
reflects the state of mind in the middle of a burnout. Vanishing Point balances on
the edge of total emptiness, a stagnation that at times is hard to bear. Vanishing
Point starts out from this stagnation to explore the different facets of burnout:
resistance and acceptance, fear and hope, stagnation and movement, absolute
solitude and the desire to interact again with the surrounding world. Vanishing
Point / Verdwijntijd can be listened to in different ways: not only as a lute recital,
but also as a radio play with voice, lute and soundscapes. Annemarie Peeters'
text was recorded by actress Katelijne Damen (NL) and voice artist Caroline
Daish (EN). Vladimir Gorlinsky created soundscapes based on the sounds of the
lute, which were magnified as if under a microscope. The soundscapes weave
themselves between the text and the lute music. Jo Thielemans created the
sound design and provided the live electronics.

Dear Friends,
Do you know that tipping point, when an average gathering at a bar turns into a dancing party? A few seconds ago, you´ve been mixed up in boring small talk, then you suddenly get distracted by unobtrusive but cheerful sounds that unwittingly make your head bob, let you turn around and at least let you unintentionally find yourself in a bunch of smiling and dancing people…. so, music can save the night- Freudenthalers “Bar Rescue EP” definitely does. It appears nonchalant and unexcited, but always with a compelling spell.
With a touch of swing, a wobbling bass line and all the jazzy elements and cheering voices “The Swingers” gives that perfect vibe to really get a party going. “Worthy” is nearly cracking that harmony with raw, almost careless cut Afro Latin jazz samples, deep chords and spherical particles embedded, but a funky bass always keeps the easy vibe. “Lingerie” opens the flip-side with a tight beat, perfectly complemented with a noisy piano lick, strings, horns and some hip hop cuts. “Overseas Phone Number” then rounds out the release by featuring a swinging rhythm, lovely string pads, pleasant saxophone parts and paying tribute to a French rap classic. Altogether, you will answer it with a smile, for sure. With this in your bag, you´ll be prepared for toughest rescues!

P.S.: Physical release comes with handcrafted, screen printed artwork by fabulous graphic artist Zatina Kessl.

2022 limited edition of this Japanese no wave gem from 1982. With extended liner notes and interviews with band members about the recordings of the album, as well as unpublished photographs from 1981 by Jibiki Yuichi.

The Japanese punk rock movement known as Tokyo Rockers began in the summer of 1978. It incubated an independent music culture as well as a host of fascinating, individualistic musicians. One of the more striking units was the male-female duo Maria 023. NON played bass for them, and it was here that she first attracted attention. However, Maria 023 was short-lived, and NON would not reappear until the following year, August 1979, on stage at the legendary concert event "Drive to 80s". Her unbilled performance at the event consisted of several songs for solo bass and vocals, and her combination of intensity and a distinctly female emotionality made a striking impression. In the months that followed, NON continued to play solo and she became a pivotal presence among the female rockers on the scene at the time.

Finally she shifted from solo to group performance, and formed NON BAND. After several member changes, the line-up stabilized into a unique trio with Kinosuke Yamagishi on violin and clarinet, and Mitsuru Tamagaki on drums. It was with this line-up that the group reached a musical peak. At the same time, the Japanese punk and new wave rock scene was moving in a new direction, as a second generation of artists appeared and mushrooming independent labels began to play an increasingly important role. I myself started a label called Telegraph Records in 1981 and worked hard on record releases and building a distribution network.

Since starting the label, I had wanted to release a record by NON BAND. There were many vicissitudes before it could happen, but in February 1982 NON BAND's first album was released as a 10-inch LP on Telegraph Records, the label's fifth release. In the early Japanese indies scene, if a release sold 1000 copies it was counted as a significant success. The NON BAND album went through several repressing and sold 2000 copies. The album was a hit and the band's critical reception and popularity suddenly took off.

The shows that followed the release of the album were given a boost by the addition of two female rockers, the guitarist Kummy and keyboard player Mitsuwa. The group was reaching a real musical peak and everyone expected more great developments, but just six months after the release of the album the group would grind to a halt. Members quit the band one after another, and with no possible replacements to be found, NON herself faded away from the scene.

NON BAND's career in the early Japanese indies scene was thus short-lived. But their sole album was reissued twice on CD, and remained popular with listeners. However, the group's history was to have a second chapter.

NON ended up returning to her hometown, snowy Hirosaki in the far northern prefecture Aomori. There she raised two children and took over the running of the family business, an arts supplies store. Her thoughts turned once again towards music, and in 1999 she took up her bass again and began to sing. She invited two fabulous musicians, Keiji Haino and Tatsuya Yoshida, to Hirosaki, and performed together with them as well as solo. This marked the beginning of a new phase for her, and she played live in Tokyo and released a solo album, "ie". She got back in touch with Yamagishi and Tamagaki and reformed NON BAND. They added Emi Sasaki on accordion and began to play a handful of gigs each year, bringing a mature depth to their undiminished power and dazzling a new generation of fans. In 2012 the group released an album of recent live performances entitled " NON BAND Liven' 2009-2012". I released the album on the newly reanimated Telegraph Records.

NON still lives in the north, in Hirosaki. The city is famous for its summer Neputa festival. The first track on this album, "Duncan Dancin'" is almost a theme song for NON BAND, but its rhythm is taken from the ohayashi music that is performed in this festival, as large floats and troupes of dancers wind their way through the streets. The title refers to the legendary dancer, Isadora Duncan. The image perfectly represents NON herself: Isadora Duncan dancing to the earthy rhythms bubbling up out of the north land.

Nov 9, 2016 Jibiky Yuichi (Telegraph Factory)

In order to achieve a meticulous sound quality the reissue version is cut on 12" vinyl instead of the original 10" format. The original cover artwork has been reproduced and there are liner notes by Jibiky Yuichi with unpublished photos of NON BAND.

Massachusetts's finest indie punk outfit, Born Without Bones, have returned to announce their upcoming new album, Dancer, due out November 4th from Pure Noise Records. Since their formation, Born Without Bones have put together an impressive catalog that ranges from heart-on-sleeve punk, to biting alternative rock, to sweeping indie, and more. Now on Dancer the band sound undeniably like themselves, bridging all of their different influences into their own distinctly hook sound. Produced by Mike Sapone (Oso Oso, Taking Back Sunday, Cymbals Eat Guitars), Dancer is bursting at the seams with massive melodies and personality to spare.

Freedom is both an integral and multi-layered topic for improvised music, describing its mechanics, aesthetics, and values and often an underlying political dimension as well. In the case of free jazz specifically, the word carries additional weight given the music's deep connection to the black liberation movement of the 1960's and 70's.

The passionate and unclassifiable work of Calgary-based improviser Jairus Sharif embraces each of these definitions of freedom and others, albeit strictly on its own personal and idiosyncratic terms. Since early 2020, the 34 year-old autodidact has been generating a steady stream of homespun solo recordings that forge unprecedented connections between hip-hop abstraction, cosmic skronk, outsider jazz, and staunch post-punk DIY ethos.

Leading up to the pandemic, Sharif's immersion in spiritual and exploratory jazz had culminated in him deciding to purchase an alto saxophone. Unbeknownst to him this instrument would be a catalyst for him to discover his own ardently individualistic artistic voice.

Prior to that point, he had always been somewhat of a solitary musical traveler. In 2002, he acquired his first instrument—a pair of Technics 1200s — but struggled to find local collaborators that had equal investment in hip hop culture. Ultimately, Sharif picked up the guitar, turning to the resilient local punk community, that had also nurtured both of his mothers some time earlier.

As Black Lives Matter gained momentum in the wake of George Floyd's murder, Sharif was suddenly flooded with an acute awareness of his own identity. It compelled him to zealously plunge headlong into open-ended spontaneous solo creation. Water & Tools, his strange and stirring debut for Toronto's Telephone Explosion Records (home to full-lengths from the likes of Brodie West's Eucalyptus, Mas Aya, and Joseph Shabason), offers a glimpse into this ongoing hermetic journey.

As Sharif dedicated himself to uncovering his own deeper musical truths, he assembled a home studio in his basement, cobbling together a drum kit from bits his bandmate had left at his house pre-pandemic, chaining effects together and outfitting the entire space with microphones. Somewhere between the chaos of child's treehouse and the tidy import of a shrine, this space (pictured on the album's back cover) consecrated his own imagination. He laid it out to maximize access to any and every tool in his arsenal, providing him a freedom to explore that he had never permitted himself to consummate before.

Within this cozy private universe, his recent purchase—the saxophone—assumed new meaning. It furnished a tangible connection to the black radicalism that mobilized free jazz, but also something far more personal. From a technical standpoint, the instrument was completely unfamiliar to him, yet rather than this being a hindrance to Sharif, his inexperience opened fruitful path forward, unencumbered by preconceptions. Resolving to shirk formal training, convention, and build his own understanding of it from scratch, allowed him to access his most raw, fundamental creative impulses. The Saxophone's inseverable bond with breath compounded this effect, echoing revelatory discoveries he had been making about breathing through yoga, research, and psychotherapy. Of course, the parallels with BLM's harrowing rallying cry—“I can't breathe”—were not lost on him either.

Water & Tools is a dense, contradictory statement with a blustery surface that shelters a soulful heart. It's generous music, exuding profound vulnerability—grappling with the loss of one his mothers, Lisa—all the while brimming with electric wide-eyed wonder. Almost every one of the nine pieces seems to carry some semblance of a groove, while remaining completely untethered from pulse. For Sharif, this collection is an expression of newfound lucidity, however for the listener his sonic concoctions act as powerful psychotropics. At points, there's a timelessness that's conveyed through the music's processional, ritualistic tenor, and yet there's an endless amount of wild, futuristic detail waiting to unspool at any given moment. Similarly, while this recording emerges from Sharif's private pilgrimage and personal emancipation, he also leaves room for collaboration. Woven throughout Sharif's one-man-ensemble textures, one finds Maxmilian Turnbull (of Badge Epoque, U.S. Girls, and Cosmic Range infamy) providing sundry keyboards and treatments, as well as his mixing skills.

Whether conjuring effusive psychedelia or plumbing introspective depths, the music that Jairus Sharif produces is singular, visceral, and wondrously unpredictable. Water & Tools sketches a raw, firsthand account of his nascent explorations within his own unbridled imagination.

Experimental black metal from Brooklyn featuring the conductor of the Glenn Branca Ensemble. For fans of Krallice, Mizmor, Liturgy. Also featuring member of Pyrrhon, Weeping Sores, Glorious Depravity, and Seputus. There’s a real sense of loss on Brooklyn experimental black metalists Scarcity’s debut album Aveilut, an inescapable presence of the realities of death. Multi-instrumentalist Brendon Randall-Myers (conductor of the Glenn Branca Ensemble since Branca’s passing) wrote Aveilut while processing the sudden deaths of two people close to him, tracked it while caught in Beijing’s first lockdown of 2020, and finished it while surrounded by the overwhelming plague visuals of New York’s early COVID peak. Back in Brooklyn, vocalist Doug Moore (of Pyrrhon, Weeping Sores, Glorious Depravity, and Seputus) soon found himself in the midst of an equally bleak lockdown experience—living next to a funeral home when New York City was America’s COVID epicenter. From conception through development, tangible death surrounded Aveilut. The result of such a profound closeness with death is this grief-stricken release, which takes its name from the Hebrew word for mourning. 72-note octaves, alternate tunings, psychoacoustic phenomena and macro-phrases embody the hugeness of loss, the inexplicable space of death’s void that Randall-Myers faced both on a personal and existential scale. Together with Moore’s gripping vocal delivery and stark lyrics, the album takes the form of a hyperobject, an entity with such vastness and reach that it’s difficult for the human mind to comprehend. Consisting of one 45-minute composition, the music is black metal roughly in the vein of Jute Gyte, Krallice, Mare Cognitum, and Enhare—with hefty doses of post-Branca microtonal guitar abuse, and a cinematic scope that draws on Randall-Myers’ work with orchestras. Aveilut’s mathematical abstraction and lyrical focus on the greatness of the void breed raw emotion, attempting to represent a catastrophe, the vastness and inevitability of things outside one’s control, as well as a direct expression of grief, a kind of requiem. Though born of Randall-Myers and Moore’s intense intimacy with absence, Aveilut is an attempt to present a harrowing universal representation of death’s true form. Tracklist: 1 I 2 II 3 III 4 IV 5 V

The renowned trio of Keiji Haino, Jim O’Rourke and Oren Ambarchi return to Black Truffle with their 11th release, “Caught in the dilemma of being made to choose” This makes the modesty which should never been closed off itself Continue to ask itself: “Ready or not?” Demonstrating once again their commitment to continual experimentation in instrumentation and approach, the record begins with a long-distance collaboration made in response to a commission from New York’s Issue Project Room in 2021 during widespread lockdowns and travel limitations. A unique piece in the trio’s extensive body of work, this side-long epic finds Haino performing on metal percussion, O’Rourke on electronics and Ambarchi on gongs and bells. Initially dominated by rapid patterns on resonant, high-pitched tuned percussion, the piece sets Haino’s dynamic and dramatic performance against a calm backdrop of cycling electronics, thrumming gong strikes and hanging bell tones. The performance develops a heightened, intensely concentrated atmosphere reminiscent of Haino’s classic Tenshi No Ginjinka or his Nijiumu project; when Haino moves to clashing hand cymbals in its second half, the piece’s ritualistic energy suggests aspects of the music of Tibetan Buddhism.

The remainder of the double LP documents the trio live at Tokyo’s SuperDeluxe (the location of all but their very first recording) in a wide-ranging set recorded in December 2017. The concert opens, in another first for the trio, with Haino on drums, O’Rourke on Hammond organ and Ambarchi on his signature Leslie cabinet guitar tones. Haino’s explosively untutored approach to the drumkit will be familiar to some listeners from the radical duo iteration of Fushitsusha heard on Origin’s Hesitation. Setting flurries of rapid activity against moments of silence, his drumming here at times suggests Milford Graves in its tumbling toms and thudding kick-drum propulsion. Accompanied by O’Rourke’s organ and Ambarchi’s guitar, which in their shared use of long tones and shifting modulation speeds almost blend into a single voice, the opening sections of this performance are some of the most magical music the trio has committed to tape thus far.

After an interlude of spoken vocals in both Japanese and English, Haino makes a dramatic entrance on guitar. Against O’Rourke and Ambarchi’s increasingly intense electronic backdrop, Haino unleashes a stunning passage of slowly moving chromatic melodies and sudden shrieking explosions bathed in distortion and reverb. By the time we reach the third side, the guitar/bass/drums power trio is established and lurches into a passage of massive, lumbering rock that threatens to fall apart at every beat, O’Rourke’s strummed chordal work on six string bass creating a harmonic density equivalent to a second guitar. An abrupt edit throws the listener in media res into a frantic locked groove grounded by fuzzed out bass patterns and caveman drums. As Haino moves through a variety of approaches, from massive edifices of stuttering fuzz to ominous swarms of feedback, the trio eventually stumble into a kind of Harmolodic military tattoo, Haino’s guitar weaving and slashing across the rhythm section’s irregular accents. Moving through an epic opening duet for O’Rourke on Hammond and Haino’s wailing guitar, the fourth side eventually ramps up into a frenetic finale of mad bass riffing, crackling snare hits and guitar squall.“Caught in the dilemma of being made to choose” This makes the modesty which should never been closed off itself Continue to ask itself: “Ready or not?” is a testament to the continuing power and invention of this trio, who continue to seek out new terrain after over a decade working together. 2LP set presented in a lavish gatefold sleeve on heavy stock along with inner sleeves containing live pics by Tsuyoshi Kamaike. Photography by Jim O’Rourke, design by Lasse Marhaug and translation by Alan Cummings.

- The complete score by Tom Holkonborg aka Junkie XL - 180g Double LP Multicolor Vinyl: Blue and Pink & Orange and Black - 12x12 Art Print - Heavyweight Gatefold Packaging with Matte Finish // Description: Waxwork Records is excited to present GODZILLA VS KONG Original Motion Picture Soundtrack by Tom Holkenborg aka Junkie XL (Army of the Dead, MAD MAX Fury Road)! Godzilla vs Kong marks the fourth in Legendary Pictures' titan universe. Godzilla & King Kong are back and they've led us to the center of our hollow Earth. In this movie, directed by Adam Wingard, tech mogul "Apex" and a band of conspiracy theorists, tech moguls, and scientists try to harness the power of the center of the earth to defeat a suddenly violent Godzilla and return King Kong to his original home. Junkie XL delivers a score that convinces you that this coalition of outcasts from across the world has to be correct. Huge orchestral arrangements perfectly match the intensity level of the multi-level coverup that hides the truth about the hollow earth theory. The composer complements awesome battles with sweet flashes of humanity from the two monsters, leaving hearts both racing and breaking for the creatures. Waxwork Records is thrilled to present the official double LP score with 180 gram "Godzilla" & "King Kong" colored vinyl, deluxe packaging, heavyweight gatefold jackets with matte coating, 12x12 art print, and more!

“Home” is a tough thing to pinpoint for someone who’s constantly in motion. Scout Gillett knows this well, but since relocating from Kansas City in 2017, she’s found one in Brooklyn’s DIY scene, playing in multiple live bands and even starting her own booking company to organize local shows. Her intrepid nature results from a childhood spent running barefoot through rural Missouri and coming of age in Kansas City’s punk scene. Her debut solo album no roof no floor is a bold and spirited yet warm, intimate meditation on trust, surrender, and what makes a home.

Following the sudden overdose of a lover in 2018 and the onset of the 2020 quarantine, Scout returned to Missouri in search of reprieve. Instead, she was dismayed to find that her hometown was suffering; friends and family members were caught in the grips of drug and alcohol addiction. Overcome by grief and helplessness, she retreated inward, channeling her fears and frustrations, as she always had, into songwriting. The resulting songs were more vulnerable than any of her prior work

Multiphonic trills and yodels, loops of ululations, sudden percussive outburst, warbling glissandi. Ute masks her voice with bird whistles creating a hybrid vocal persona with sculptural, oscillating, swirling tone-colours. The vocal sounds seem to be disconnected from the human voice dissolving into the sounds of birds, of machines, of electronics, of fragmented language.

'Ute Wassermann´s vocal practice is so unique and specialized that it seems to challenge our ability to understand it’s sounds as vocal.' - Aaron Cassidy, Noise in and as Music, University of Huddersfield Press, 2013

'Wassermann sings as a bird, rather than like one. And as philosophers Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari point out in A Thousand Plateaus, “Becoming is never imitating.” … The Wassermann soundworld takes form within waveflows and fluctuating particles.' - Julian Cowley, Outer Limits Review, CD review radio tweet, The Wire, March 2016 (Issue 385)

Written and recorded in the midst of a dizzying stretch in which nearly everything about the way the band lived and worked was turned on its head, Motel Radio's "The Garden" is indeed a work of relentless hope. The songs are profoundly vulnerable here, and the performances are warm and breezy, calling to mind everything from Andy Shauf and Cass McCombs to Beck and Tame Impala with an easygoing demeanor that belies the deep emotional work underpinning them. Motel Radio generated early buzz in their adopted hometown of New Orleans on the strength of their 2015 debut EP, Days & Nights, which helped land them dates with the likes of Kurt Vile and Drive-By Truckers in addition to festival slots at Firefly, Jazz Fest, and more. The band followed it up with the similarly well-received Desert Surf Films in 2016 and their first full-length, Siesta Del Sol, in 2019, touring the country on a seemingly endless loop as they built up their devoted following one night at a time. Since then, the band had set a goal of becoming more self-sufficient and learning to record on their own, and when it came time to cut The Garden, they dove in headfirst, cutting half the collection in an old fishing camp south of New Orleans with the help of engineer Ross Farbe (Video Age, Esther Rose) and the other half fully remotely while engineering themselves. "There was this real creative freedom that came with working remotely and learning how to run the sessions on our own," explains co-lead singer Ian Wellman. "Synths, samples, beats, plug-ins; suddenly these whole new worlds of sound were at our fingertips and the possibilities were limitless." That creative liberation is easy to hear on The Garden, which opens with the mesmerizing "Wise." Like much of the album, it's a gentle meditation on finding joy and fulfillment, on spreading love and positivity. "I've gotta open my eyes," co-lead singer Winston Triolo sings over dreamy guitars and a hypnotic digital drum loop. "I only get one life, well now how can I live it wise?" The airy "Outta Sight" celebrates the simple pleasures of letting go and being present, while the washed-out "Sweet Daze" revels in the warmth of human connection, and propulsive "Happiness Pie" looks for ways to share the comfort and contentment that comes with self-acceptance. On The Garden, they've realized there's no sweeter garden than the one you grow yourself.

In the five years since, Larsen has moved across the country, studied philosophy
at a small liberal arts college, dropped out, and then moved across the country
again. Their life was also put on pause after the sudden death of their first love.
“This loss left so many people with so many unanswered questions, myself
included. I haven’t always arrived at answers to these questions, but songwriting
has provided me with a way to at least ask.” The first voice we hear on Good Grief
does not belong to Larsen, but to their first love. “Ready?” she asks. As if to
answer her, the album begins with an audio recording from 2013 of Larsen and
their high school friends singing Sufjan Stevens’ song "The Predatory Wasp Of
The Palisades Is Out To Get Us!" around a campfire. “When the record starts and
my ex says “ready?” there’s a part of me that feels like - in some way - she’s
asking grown-up-me if I’m “ready” to share my songs about grief now.” Good Grief
captures a coming-of-age story - of an artist and of a human being - as they try to
navigate the terrain of their existence and that of those around them. It’s an
experience of their loss but also honours the person that was lost to them. The
record closes with a reprise of the “Wasps” audio recording, marrying the past
and present as the old voice memo slowly fades into a newer one. Present-day
Larsen sings, “I can tell you I love her each day”: a testament to the fact that their
grief is-- finally--good.Packaging: LP Opaque "Yellowjacket" LP, with cover mount
marketing sticker

DNO hits double figures as Denver’s Trisicloplox & Sectra return with more industrial-strength electro-sludge.

Sectra sets the tone with ‘Mail Theft’, a hulking mass of sand-blasting static, insectoid jitter and low-end boom. It’s an intimidating, uneasy listen, like tuning through the haunting emptiness of post-apocalyptic broadcast frequencies, only to be interrupted by sudden bursts of unseen filth and gore.

Trisicloplox follows with a brace of tracks. ‘Bruised’ does exactly what it says on the tin, gargantuan kicks pummelling layer upon layer of dense sound into an impenetrable wall of noise. Ritualistic rhythms and gluttonous amounts of overdrive swarm over distant wails, sending everything into a spiral into despair.On ‘Megastructure’, doom metal meets hip-hop, as rough-hewn drums crunch above a bassline that takes its cues from the Super Hans School of Electronic Music: “The longer the note, the more dread.”

And finishing up the vinyl offerings is ‘Dead On Arrival’. Coming courtesy of Sectra, the most traditionally ‘club-focused’ effort of the lot sees a serrated breakbeat and venomous acid lick sparring over dissonant pads.

As always, digital listeners are offered a little bonus, this time the only full collab: ‘The Dead InTheir Shrouds’. Shunted along by a systematic kick, the track’s jackhammer subs become all-consuming, seemingly sucking all the air from the room and hurling it back out of the bassbins in a violent frenzy.

A bold release that’s not for the faint of heart, the ‘Dead Structure’ EP further cements Trisicloplox & Sectra as truly original talents and DNO as an outlet that can never be pigeonholed.

Rhythms of postmodern realism at the very bottom of the DNO.