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"Imagine a classic singer/songwriter record loaded with the intimacy and grit reminiscent of Alex Chilton or Nikki Sudden." Shindig

Los Angeles singer-songwriter Tracy Bryant returns with his new album The Well, which is his first release since 2019’s critically acclaimed Hush. His fourth solo album, The Well marks a striking new chapter, trading his signature guitar-driven sound for piano-led songwriting that took root during the pandemic. The album was born out of one of the most turbulent periods of his life, written in the wake of his father’s sudden passing and birth of his first child. It was produced by longtime friend and compatriot Joo-Joo Ashworth at Studio 22 in Cypress Park, CA, and mastered by Dave Cooley at Elysian Masters. The nine songs are filled with raw emotion and driving motorik rhythm, telling tales of loss and love, relationships beginning and ending.
 
When the pandemic upended Bryant’s promotion for Hush and brought his 2019 European tour to a halt, he found himself at home rediscovering his musical roots at the piano, listening to Vince Guaraldi and Arthur Russell to take inspiration for the song structures. Without a band around, Bryant used the instrument to create both rhythm and melody, which resulted in a repetitive and precise backbeat, which was elevated when he began working with drummer Carmeron Gartung to rehearse the new songs. This different approach would define the style of The Well, creating an amalgamation of sounds with classic songwriting structures blended with post-punk, 90s indie, krautrock and psychedelia.
 
To produce the record, Bryant turned to Joo-Joo Ashworth, who share a friendship stretching back to 2011 (when Joo Joo was only 18) when both of their bands, Corners and Froth, were at the forefront of the bourgeoning Los Angeles/Echo Park music scene of the time and embarked on their first national tours together. Ashworth, who has since become one of underground music’s most respected producers, recorded the album throughout 2024/2025 on half inch tape at Studio 22 in Cypress Park, California, giving The Well a warm, considered sound that matches the weight of its subject matter.
 
The album’s emotional core was forged by two significant life events arriving in close succession. In January 2022, Bryant’s father passed away unexpectedly at the age of 67. Just three months later, Tracy and his wife welcomed their first child. The Well is a direct result of those experiences, a songwriter processing grief and joy, endings and beginnings in real time. 
 
The nine songs take the listener on a meticulously crafted journey through the nooks and crannies of Bryant’s mind. Spanning 37 minutes, the album is an exploration of classic songwriting elements moving fluidly between driving beat punk, like “Weight” and “Widow”, and more melancholic tracks like “Halfway” and “Danny”. Album opener “Cold Floor” sets the tone immediately, Bryant’s lyrics confronting the day of his father’s death with unflinching directness – the breezy California piano sound is in direct contrast to the heavy theme. The Bowie-esque title track is perhaps the album’s most expansive moment – a fully realised epic composed with a dynamic flare. 
 
 The Well feels like an arrival. Dramatic and expansive, it is a true, visceral reflection of the life changing events that altered the course of Bryant’s life. Fans will be surprised by the heavy focus on piano but they will welcome the change as a bold turning point for an artist who has lived long enough to know exactly what he wants to say. 

Some previous press:

"feels like a slice of California, down to its ringing post-surf guitars and bright melodies, but cross-cut with a folk sensibility more aligned to the work of Elliot Smith or, on occasions, Conor Oberst." Uncut - lead album review

"…sees the Los Angeles rocker confront both the finer and uglier aspects of love and life, combining classic rock with psychedelic tinges and catchy melodies." Evening Standard 4*s

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

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

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

Moscow's newly emerging Noots makes debuts with an EP that dissolves genre boundaries. Ambient washes, deep house grooves, jungle echoes and experimental textures coexist in a fluid internal architecture. Field recordings, from the daily hum of Moscow's Preobrazhenskaya Ploshchad metro to a friend's impromptu garage session, weave seamlessly into the music to ground his often abstract compositions in the real world. There is beauty in the green synths of 'Sudden Shift' and a blurry psychedelic edge to the ambient pads of 'Flowing Harmony' while a standout Nookie remix takes things into silky d&b territory.

Maybe it was inevitable that Vilhelm Bromander and Fredrik Rasten would find each other. A symbiotic musical alliance of suggestive combinatory magic that stretches back to the interstitial two day space that separates their dates of birth and manifests here as the movement between ‘perfect’ or ‘just’ intonation and the ragged, psychoactive energy of the slippages from and towards that togetherness that render otherwise simple patterns or generally understood repetitions as wildly other and alive.

Astral Twins shares ‘twin’ works by each composer. The patiently unfolding real time retuning of Fredrik Rasten’s guitars on the a-side’s Sojourns and Vilhelm Bromander’s quickened steps and spry looping melodies on the flip’s Partially Dancing.

Both artists have history of going deep into the aesthetic and acoustic impact of intonation (how you think about what is ‘in tune’). Where their first LP (...for some reason that escapes us, 2019, Differ Records) shared a gorgeous set of sustained tone colour fields, this time they lean more explicitly into the folk music traditions of Scandinavia and further afield, whilst echoing the zoned minimalist atmosphere of Arthur Russell’s classic Instrumentals.

Recorded up close and in real time at Fylkingen’s soon-to-be-abandoned temporary location in Stockholm’s southern suburb of Bredäng, Astral Twins sings with the possibility that one plus one can equal more than two.

Fredrik Rasten:
 Sojourns explores the live retuning of guitar and double bass in a sequence of just intonation harmonies. A guitar ostinato runs throughout the piece where the retuning becomes an integral part of the composition. The slow pace reveals every detail in the transition from one harmonic arpeggio to another — how interfering waves emerge and disappear as the tonal interactions settle in electric clarity. The double bass shadows the guitar's process and comments with occasional pizzicato tones and register jumps, at times providing a low foundation for the sound and sometimes soaring together with the guitar. This is music that is deeply listening; experimental and at the same time humbly inviting many kinds of being with sound.

Vilhelm Bromander: 
As the title suggests, this song has a partially dancing character. The title also has a double meaning with reference to the partials and harmonics that dance together. The basic idea was to write music in just intonation that instead of being drone-based is reminiscent of a lightly dancing folk music, where the joyous feeling of just being in the music — “musicking" — is allowed to lead the way.

The double bass plays repeated overtone double stops in an open harmonic progression with subtle modulations that is inspired in equal parts by Steve Lacy's persistent repetition of phrases as east-asian khaen music. The guitars and mandolin have a freer role, with plucked retuned strings that enhance the bass's modulations and provide forward movement. The music invites to both melodic and spectral listening, suddenly halting so that other focal points can reveal themselves. For example, a chord sequence suddenly transitions to a more spectral part where Fredrik is playing a bowed guitar with a chain, several plucking guitars, voices, and pitch pipes. I wanted to make something ‘orchestral’ with just two people and no overdubs: a dance of overtones and open resonant strings, where we seamlessly take turns standing in the foreground.

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

Destination Unknown is an EP by Unpronounceable born from an archive of sounds collected between 2019 and 2024—sonic fragments that took shape without a predetermined direction guided only by an open idea in constant transformation. The original track conceived as a “destination unknown” composition developed its own independent identity. However precisely because of its fluid and cross-genre nature Unpronounceable chose not to place it within a traditional EP context instead opening it up to a multiplicity of perspectives by inviting five artists to reinterpret it freely without genre constraints.

The result is an EP that unfolds like an alternative map of the same sonic territory where each remix explores a distinct direction transforming Destination Unknown into a multifaceted and ever-evolving experience.

In Carl Finlow’s remix Destination Unknown takes on a strong cinematic and narrative dimension. Inspired by the title Finlow imagines a mysterious journey toward a futuristic dystopian city turning the track into a kind of electro soundtrack—dark yet ironic rich in character and capable of evoking vivid images and motion.

MANASYt pushes the track toward more physical and ritualistic territories focusing on the dark pads and the more oneiric vocal elements of the original. The result is a hypnotic pulsating tribal-industrial reinterpretation where rhythm and sonic material become central intensifying the track’s most visceral qualities.

With Gay Horror the focus shifts to an emotional and narrative dimension. The vocals are deliberately made elusive and undefined while the structure develops through a slow controlled crescendo that recalls the atmospheres of ’90s trip-hop. This version also reflects a long-standing human and artistic relationship conceived as a story that travels through time and reaches the present day.

Kevin Follet adopts a more conceptual approach overturning the perspective of the original track. Rather than working with its main elements he brings the underlying structures to the foreground transforming what usually remains hidden into the core of his reinterpretation. His remix is elegant and deep balancing sound exploration with a strong attention to songwriting.

Closing the EP is GP The Synth Roller with a radical and highly experimental reinterpretation. The track behaves like an unstable system: parameters shift without warning surfaces lose coherence sudden accelerations collide with moments of arrest. There is no resolution only a sonic condition in constant tension eventually condensing into a dark compact mass.

Taken as a whole Destination Unknown is far more than a simple remix collection: it is a collective exploration of the potential of a single composition. Unpronounceable’s original track and the reinterpretations by Carl Finlow MANASYt Gay Horror Kevin Follet and GP The Synth Roller move across electro techno industrial and experimental territories offering six different perspectives from the same starting point. An open journey with no fixed destination where every detour becomes an integral part of the path.

Jim O'Rourke and Jos Smolders teamed up again after their first collaboration, Additive Inverse from 2021. Over a period of three years, both artists worked in sessions of a day, each in their own studio.
The result is sometimes like a warm cloud of sounds, suddenly breaking up into a rhythmic, irregular pattern, after which it dives into introverted mindsets. The music is in constant flux
The project followed the same workflow, but this time Jim took the lead and kicked off with a salvo of sounds that he extracted from his Kyma System. Both Jos and Jim were quite interested in the spectral character of sounds. Jim applied Kyma algorithms while Jos granulated his basic recordings. That way, textures are built, quite slowly moving from warm to gritty, from hard surfaces to deep sonic wells.

Bolka is known as the man with the cap. His cap has lived through a lot: his glitchy and microtonal experiments, studies at Institute of Sonology in The Hague or through countless performative works. A few years ago, Bolka’s cap fell apart. By that time he was already a fixture on the slovak experimental scene, but only releasing his debut album, “smutné stropy.” He started wearing new caps from then: somehow reminiscent of the old one, but much more varied — same as “smutné stropy,” bubbling with motifs, charming humour and pop sensitivity layered over detailed soundscapes popping with surprises.

On schwarzkopf, Bolka returns wishing for a thick black hair. With his charming love songs, that are positioned somewhere between a tightly run freak folk orchestra, deconstructed ballads and colorful ecstatic melancholy, he creates an album that thrives on juxtapositions that are completely unique, yet strangely familiar. Bolka’s songwriting is at once tender and irreverent — lovestruck whispering suddenly tripping over absurdist jokes and surreal images that fizz like soda. His songs move in that strange space between vulnerability and mischief, where intimate confessions collide with radical playfulness and the poetic rubs shoulders with the delightfully ridiculous.

On schwarzkopf, Bolka expands his world with a wide circle of collaborators and an even richer sonic palette. The album is meticulously detailed yet carefree: delicate moments sit next to sudden explosions, drifting from gentle pop to bursts of noise. Toward the end, the album even slips into a footwork-infused remix by Kodiki, passes through Julek ploski’s signature neon-baroque string perspective, and briefly wanders into Lénok’s cinematic sonic world. Bolka sings that he wants to dissolve into a healing ointment, to be ground in a mortar with calendula — and he invites us into this musical spa with him: a place that stings a little but ultimately soothes, a gorgeous soundscape that is both painful and joyful at the same time.

Pon is Tujiko Noriko’s sixth album for Editions Mego and a further extension of her already significant body of work as both a solo and collaborative artist. Dedicated to her cat who she adopted as an infant and passed away due an accident having been born deaf, Pon is imbued with abstraction, tenderness and a deep emotional resonance.

Noriko’s palette of electronics, romantic melodies and surprising sonic details are all fully present here, and like her last full length, 2023’s Crépuscule this is an epic work, released as a 2LP by Editions Mego alongside a Japanese CD release.

The unmistakable hue of Japan hovers throughout this emotional rich landscape. Subtle field recordings and fragile, abstract motifs drift through the album, all cloaked in a warmth and humanity that only Noriko seems able to conjure.

Pon moves effortlessly between the childlike and the obscure. There are moments of deceptive simplicity where unexpected elements suddenly surface — strange voices emerge on Boku Wa Obaka, Knife of Yonder is a standout: a startling ten-minute unfolding that begins with a warm, almost Eno-esque drift before launching into a soaring mid-section and finally landing somewhere unexpectedly blues-adjacent.

Kikoeru Pon is brimming with childlike wonder — a heartfelt ballad that dissolves into domestic field recordings, including sounds of the feline for whom both the album and track are named. A quietly devastating ending that brings the personal nature of the record into sharp focus.

There is a deep sense of the human in the way Noriko embraces technology. This is far from cold abstraction; rather, Ponfeels like a colourful photo album, documenting Noriko’s inner world and instincts with remarkable intimacy. Hovering in liminal states between pop, ambient and abstraction, this is a deeply affective and moving release that reveals new surprises with each listen.

The emotional range of Noriko’s latest offering inspires hope in a world in disarray. It is both gentle and epic and one which we feel embodies the work of an artist fully at the height of her powers.

Geoglyph is the new duo project by Alohn and Khey Mysterio, a convergence of two deeply singular practices into a single subterranean signal. Their debut album arrives as the eighth reference on Organic Signs, not as a collection of tracks but as a carved artifact: six inscriptions pressed into vinyl, mapping a sonic territory where time, rhythm and texture are no longer linear, but layered like geological memory.

Through Geoglyph, Alohn and Khey Mysterio convey a message from below, or beyond. A pulse engraved from forgotten times in the basement of reality, reactivated by abyssal basses, vibrating layers and fractured textures. Exhumed from the subterranean strata where psychedelic dub, mineral techno and fractal dubstep fuse into raw energy, their music becomes a point of contact: every beat, every silence, every oscillation acting as a coordinate toward another perception. What unfolds is not simply sound design, but an invocation, rhythms as sigils, timbre as gnosis, signals that seem to arrive already charged with intention.

Across the album, Alohn’s guitar notes fall like cascades through the mix, dissolving at times into controlled feedback and crystallizing into melodic fragments that hover between tension and release. These organic gestures are interwoven with Khey Mysterio’s dense low-end architectures and rhythmic frameworks, creating a constantly shifting terrain: from weightless transmissions and ritualistic voices to moments of overwhelming propulsion where the music suddenly breaks open with tectonic force. The record moves fluidly between meditative suspension and explosive motion, never settling into a single state for long.

A strong undercurrent of what has come to be known as “druidstep” runs through the album, a term coined within the 95 Open Tabs universe to describe a form of dubstep untethered from genre convention, rooted instead in bass as ritual, in groove as invocation. Here it meets dub-techno pulse, psychedelic echoes and high-velocity 4×4 pressure, drawing subtle influence from underground bass cultures without ever becoming referential. The result is a body of work that feels both ancient and forward-leaning, cyclical rather than linear: a living geoglyph that reveals different meanings depending on how (and where) it is read.

As the final movement accelerates into its closing phase, the album releases its energy outward, with frequencies stretched toward their limits, leaving behind the trace of a completed ceremony. In this sense, Geoglyph’s debut stands as a defining moment within the Organic Signs continuum: a record that unfolds rather than explains, offering an experience to be entered, absorbed, and carried. With this release, the label continues to explore new sonic spaces, evolving and expanding while giving deeper meaning to its own essence. A message from beneath the surface, waiting for those willing to tune in.

Más de este género

Precisely one year after Lézire, Crush of Souls is back with his third full-length album.

The musical endeavour of Charles Rowell – active in the indie/punk global scene since 2008 with bands like Crocodiles, Flowers of Evil, Issue – is just like its creator: always cooking up something. Relentlessly.

Now, as it was perceivable by the trajectory undertaken by after his previous LP, Captive Youth leaves goth rock and dark folk aside and head swiftly towards some old school 80’s EBM & 90’s Industrial dance vibe. After all, any album exploring themes of dystopia, politics and sexuality requires a strong rhythm. So how could this new chapter not mention seminal synth-pop and body music classics such as Technique by New Order, Belief by Nitzer Ebb, Towards Thee Infinite Beat by Psychic TV and Pressure Points by Anne Clark?

Forever a displaced soul, Charles’ album number three feels like a revision of Crush Of Souls and also a reanimation of his captive youth spent moving from town to town. The energy of the wandering worker poet. Warehouse basslines, artillery fire backbeats. Romance and melancholy wrapped in barbed wire. All this and more oozes from nine new tracks that inevitably deliver that blurry sexy urban vibe that’s become the project’s trademark.
Features collabo hit single Domination with Sade Sanchez from L.A. Witch.

Early DJ Support: Massimiliano Pagliara, Paranoid London, Logan Fisher, Terry Farley, James Holroyd, Rocky (X Press 2), Francois K, Marcel Vogel, Sean Johnston, Austin Ato, Ron Basejam, Richard Rogers, Oliver Dollar, Crazy P and many more

Creating an international name for itself over the past decade as a sample pack label, Samples From Mars made its inevitable venture into the music world originally as a home for founder Teddy Stuart’s work. Long before making samples, Stuart garnered credits working as a grammy-nominated recording engineer in the hip hop world, and DJing / producing with Justin Strauss as A/JUS/TED, for labels such as DFA, Domino Records and Southern Fried Records. Now the label is set to release a variety of genres - house, disco, techno, ambient, all with a vintage tinge and a focus on high quality, analog production.

Enter Salt Queen. Visual artist and musician Magali van Caloen together with Samples From Mars founder, Teddy Stuart. Based in New York, the duo combine hardware dance aesthetics with dry, salty takes on familiar club moments into music that sits somewhere between funny, raw and unpredictable.

Salt Queen’s debut ‘ARE U OK’ is an acid-laced, deadpan spoken word track with an opening line that snaps any room to attention. A disorienting club encounter unfolds over Italo-inflected 808s and a relentless 303 bassline. There are no chords and no melodies - just a skeletal groove and an intimate voice circling the dancefloor. Drifting between concern and provocation, the vocal runs through cliché club conversations before destabilizing completely into a siren-laden crash out. The ‘Freak Nasty Club Mix’ ditches the plot and lets the hardware breathe, with a thick SH-101 bassline anchoring the first half before a sudden switch into an unrelenting acid pattern that refuses to settle. Two versions of the same wild night out.

Signaling their long-anticipated debut on ICONYC, the label welcomes acclaimed Italian duo Glowal with their Future Faces EP. Uncompromising in its intent, this two-track capsule extends the duo’s emotional vocabulary, threading new ideas through their unmistakable sonic lens for a release that underscores the expressive precision at the heart of their craft.

Casting their gaze forward on “Future Faces”, Fabio Giannelli and Alessandro Gasperini open proceedings with a fractured rhythmic chassis driven by a throbbing low-end pulse that warps with each passing beat. Heavy percussive strikes carve their path into the night before a disarming female vocal emerges from the shadows, injecting a sense of yearning and fragile wonder into the piece. A sudden brake—like tires skidding across rain-slick asphalt—ushers in laser-etched synth lines that cry out with an anthemic resolve, while iridescent sequences bubble to the surface, sealing a striking first statement on the label.

Turning the corner, Glowal unveil the esoteric “Desert Soul,” a slow-burning reverie that expands on the EP’s emotional terrain. Patiently unfolding over fragmented rhythms and a meandering bassline, neon traces guide us toward a robotic vocal presence that introduces a subtle human-machine tension. Stripped to a minimal core yet rich in sentiment, “Desert Soul” resonates with quiet introspection—an understated meditation on self-discovery that lingers well beyond its final echo.

Cut The With The Cake Knife was recorded by Rose McDowall in 1988/89 following the break up of her group Strawberry Switchblade. Produced with the aid of several musicians in several studios, the album features songs written for the fabled second Strawberry Switchblade album. More importantly perhaps it showcases the honest, direct and life-affirming songs of one of the greatest unsung songwriters of the modern pop era at a tumultuous time in her career.

Tibet opens the set and could be one of the best pop songs you've never heard. The innate sadness of the songs' content - the loss of a friendship, impending sorrow - is heightened to heart-melting level by McDowall's pop nous and melodic sensibility. Choruses and hooks are everywhere on Cake Knife, from the outsider take on stadium 80s pop in Wings Of Heaven to the spiraling, ecstatic So Vicious, a glorious anthem that highlights the human fragility in McDowall's vocal performance, an instrument that has never lost the naïve purity it first exemplified in Strawberry Switchblade's early 80s recordings. The centerpiece of the album, the title-track, is the greatest Switchblade pop chart hit that never was. Like the veiled melancholy of her former group's hits, Cut With The Cake Knife hints at a darkness beneath the gloss, a darkness that saw McDowall delve into more esoteric territory with her subsequent recordings and collaborations. Cut With The Cake Knife serves as the bridge between the pop music McDowall had been making with her friends Jill Bryson, Lawrence from Felt and Primal Scream to what became a more extreme, deep sound informed by neo-folk and post industrial music.

Rose McDowall's role in the canon has always been one of an outsider. Beginning in Glasgow's East End in the avant proto-noise group The Poems, achieving fame briefly in the 80s and then disappearing into counter-cultural folklore, the emphasis in the internet-age has been skewed towards her image and cultural significance. Unseen to many, her solo work, her groups Sorrow and Spell and her collaborations with a whole host of underground luminaries have still touched lives. As McDowall elucidates: 'They're real sad songs, about real life. I've had people come up to me to say I'd connected with them and helped them. I remember a gig in America when we made a whole room cry. It was bizarre. A couple at the front of the stage started crying and then these two boys beside and suddenly everyone was crying. And I thought, "that's power."

Night School's issue of Cut With The Cake Knife includes unpublished photographs, extensive sleeve notes from Rose McDowall and 2 bonus tracks culled from the bootleg 7' 'Don't Fear The Reaper.' First vinyl pressing is Clear w/ Black swirl; 500 only / has DL card and booklet, with a poster
CD has extensive booklet and is packaged in anO-Card.

Hotshot producer D*v*d J*cks*n heroically revives the legendary Puss label, home to some of the most enticing, scandalous and straight out illegal dance music released across the
last 13 years, all supposedly masterminded by K*rn*l K*v*cs of St*d** B*rnh*s fame. Three reasons for this sudden revival: One trancetastic take on a deep cut from the queen of
Swedish pop, an instantly engaging UKG flip of an eternal dance hymn and, lastly, a rugged faux-Baltimorean nugget for all the Kittenz out there.

Since first forming in 2016, London's High Vis have steadily polished their palette of progressive hardcore with shades of post-punk, Brit pop, neo-psychedelia, and even Madchester groove, mapping a middle ground between hooks and fury, melodies and mosh pits. Singer Graham Sayle describes their third album 'Guided Tour' as an axis of competing forces: "It's trying to be a hopeful record, while also being incensed." Rounded out by drummer Edward 'Ski' Harper, guitarists Martin MacNamara and Rob Hammaren, and bassist Jack Muncaster, the band's deep roots in the UK and Irish DIY hardcore scenes have kept them grounded but growing, inspired equally by restlessness and righteous anger. As Sayle puts it, "Everyone's scratching, everyone's working all the time, and their idea of relaxing is just getting fucked and avoiding reality. This album is an escape from that."From its opening seconds of a cab door slamming, a car revving away, and a baggy rhythm swinging to life, 'Guided Tour' sounds like a band reaching for new heights, bristling with energy. Recorded across a few weeks at Holy Mountain Studios in London with producer Jonah Falco and engineer Stanley Gravett, the results feel dynamic and dialed-in, like anthems burned into sense memory through sweat and repetition. Harper cuts to the chase: "We had a clear idea going in, every moment got used. Maybe when we're 60 we can sit around and get a drum sound right, but for now it's about getting things done."The album's 11 songs span the spectrum of contemporary guitar music, sharpened by experience, camaraderie, and societal frustrations. From swaggering street punk ("Drop Me Out," "Mob DLA") to jangling indie sneer ("Worth The Wait," "Deserve It") to heavy alt ("Feeling Bless," "Fill The Gap") to shoegazey spoken word ("Untethered"), the group's chemistry transmutes any style to their unique intensity. Sayle champions this evolving fusion: "For years coming from hardcore, we had pretty clear boundaries - other scenes were separate worlds. Now things are getting more blended, drawing from different places."Nowhere is this sentiment flexed more boldly than on "Mind's A Lie," a dance- punk anthem inspired by Harper's love of house, garage, and pirate radio. Stabs of sampled female vocals (by celebrated South London singer and DJ Ell Murphy) build into a razor wire rhythm of low-slung bass, tense drums, and sparkling guitar before Sayle's staunch voice starts barking harsh truths ("Face to face with all I've known / I can't call these thoughts my own"). After a sudden breakdown, the track regroups and takes off, cruising into the horizon in a haze of chiming guitars and Murphy's ascendant voice, from the streets to somewhere beyond.

Winding through cavernous and dark meanders, amid gurgling water, rustling sounds, low and deep pulsations, incisive and impactful sound masses, floating waves, crystalline drips, sudden rays of light, electronic spirals, and unexpected openings onto almost soothing soundscapes and quiet environmental stasis, Rod Modell paints musical textures that are apparently abstract and contemplative, but in reality charged with pathos and drama, taking advantage of a spectacular, enveloping and surprising sound quality, in which every nuance and every small detail makes the listening experience even more intense and engaging. A new exciting masterpiece by Maestro Rod Modell.

Crate digger and music enthusiast James Endeacott compiles ‘Unlock Your Mind With Morning Glory’ for Two-Piers Records – A glorious heady mix of the weird and wonderful eclectic music from his radio show ‘Morning Glory’

“One weekday afternoon towards the end of 2017 I sat in The Lyric pub on Great Windmill Street, Soho with my dear friend Raf. I’d just finished another of my weekly Soho Radio shows and was starting to think about the next one. Raf had been on as a guest playing some of his favourite tunes of the day. We had a few drinks, told a few stories and started to plot and scheme. It was always a dream of mine to have a daily radio show. Radio had always informed and excited me from my early teens listening to John Peel under the blanket when I should’ve been either sleeping or revising right up to the present-day musical excursions of NTS, WFMU and numerous internet based stations.

We decided to speak to Adrian and Dan who ran Soho Radio to see if they’d be up for us doing a daily morning show. To our surprise they were into the idea and within 5 minutes Adrain came up with the name Morning Glory. We all liked it. We were all excited. It was all systems go. In December 2017 Raf and myself started a daily 2 hour show. We did the show together, got guests in and the musical policy was whatever we felt like that day. After several months Raf found the mornings too much. Off he went into the distance occasionally coming back with a smile, and a bag of new music. I carried on alone and then suddenly in March 2020 the world stopped, and we went into lockdown.

We set up in my house in Catford, Southeast London and carried on. The show became 3 hours a day and I started to invite friends, record labels, record shops, bands etc.. to supply me with hour long mixes that I played every day. The show took off during this time. My musical tastes expanded as I spent all day long searching for new sounds from around the globe. People started to send me more and more music. I became obsessed with the show. The audience started to take to social media and ask for certain tracks or artists to be played. I got listeners to make me mixes to play on the show and I did several phone interviews with musicians while playing some of their favourite tunes.

I was grateful that Soho Radio left me to my own devices. They never told me what to do or what to play – they trusted ma and I trusted my instincts.

The music on this compilation is not a ‘best of’ it’s just how I felt when I compiled it at the start of 2025. Apart from a couple of tracks they are all things I’ve come across since the show started in December 2017. If I did a list of tracks now I’m sure it would be completely different. Surely that’s the point. We never stick in one place. We are always moving and searching. Always trying to unlock our minds. Put it on. Take your time and let it take you somewhere” James Endeacott 2025

Rhiza Semar presents its fourth chapter with Yildizlara, a four-track odyssey shaped from shadow, rhythm, and elemental texture. Crafted as both visceral tools and introspective journeys, the record navigates between ominous density and luminous release, guided by a deep awareness of space, myth, and matter. As an artist, Hitam paves the way for a new sound emerging from his burrows to build bridges between electronic subgenres while shaping a landscape unmistakably his own. Orb Weaver opens the cycle with jagged IDM rhythms that coil and release like threads of a web pulled taut. Originally composed for the graduation project of fashion designer Tim van der Plas, who's collection was inspired on climbing out of depression, its atmosphere is dark and ceremonial, with textures scraping against silence until catharsis emerges from the tension. A confrontation between inner turmoil and release. On Vanishing of the Anasazi, cavernous reverbs carry traces of lost structures, percussion echoing as if across ruins. A relentless drive holds the ghost of ritual processions, summoning a spectral energy that feels at once monumental and hollowed-out. The track suspends itself between presence and absence, architecture and collapse, leaving the listener in a space where echoes become the only surviving form of memory. Mesh Grip plunges downward into subterranean force. A thundering groove rumbles like minerals being unearthed, goblin-like figures at work in hidden shafts, chiseling away at stone in endless rhythm. From this pressure, a sudden swell of melancholy pads rises, reframing the heaviness with emotional resonance as if the whispers of angelic guardians seep into the caverns, transforming extraction into elegy. What begins as pure drive of endurance evolves into an introspective meditation. Closing the release, Yildizlara unfolds as an epic ascent. Layered rhythms rush forward with urgency, intricate yet propulsive, while chopped vocals bring back a sensual human element, scattering like signals across the night sky. Animalistic atmospheres dart through the mix as spectral cries and furtive movements, adding a primal dimension to the drive. What begins as erratic and untamed slowly converges into warmth and ultimate catharsis: a cosmic tale inscribed in sound, both intimate and monumental, familiar yet born of hidden memory. Yildizlara is both innovative and ancestral; a release where turbulence becomes ritual, and where rhythmic complexity unearths fragments of hidden memory. Beneath its dark and erratic surfaces lies a strange familiarity, like echoes of a primal past resurfacing through sound, reminding us of worlds once known but long concealed. Words by A. Veyra