Im Mai 2021 veröffentlichten Adam Duritz und Counting Crows „Butter Miracle: Suite One“ und erhielten begeisterte Kritiken. Nach der Veröffentlichung von Counting Crows’ Butter Miracle, Suite One folgt nun das vollständige Album Butter Miracle, The Complete Sweets!. Das Album besteht aus den 4 Titeln von Suite One sowie 5 neuen Titeln.
The compositions of Miłosz Kędra (b. 2001) explore synthetic sound, electroacoustic music, and self-built acoustic instruments, seeking diverse timbres, tunings, and textures. His main field of work is the pipe organ. Through minimalist motifs, he has transported the instrument’s sound beyond the church space by synthetically processing its tones. He is currently pursuing a Master’s degree in New Media Music at the Academy of Music in Poznań and recently completed a Bachelor’s degree in Electroacoustic Composition, during which he built his own pipe organ from scavenged pipes.
~ Liner notes ~
Miłosz Kędra - "their internal diapasons"
The pipes that Miłosz Kędra used to craft his own organ emulator have lived many lives. They come from churches scattered across Greater Poland—some trimmed for a more presentable façade, others left to gather dust in parish houses until, stripped of purpose, they were cast away. Their first voices have faded, their inner resonance unsettled, yet with patience, one can teach them to sound again—to sing in their altered state, to be gently coaxed out of silence.
Audiomancy—the conjuring of lost sounds—is the word that lingers when I try to grasp the lore crystallizing with Kędra’s second album.
The resolve with which the musician and composer has inhabited his self-built instrument recalls Witold Szalonek and his search for “unexploited properties of wind instruments in classical music.” Szalonek sought to map these hidden voices into a system of multiphonics, revealing over 160 on the oboe alone by 1968. Some sound eerily alike, yet emerge through distinct gestures—“a particular breath, a precise choreography of levers and apertures, the seamless fusion of the two.”
The splitting of a single note into its spectral fragments—allowing a melodic instrument to speak in two, three, even four voices at once—enabled Szalonek to bend the rigid structures of Western music. "their internal diapasons" follows a similar path: an aesthetic bypass through which Kędra taps into the sacred gravity of the church organ, only to reveal it as a domesticated echo of something far older—the primal theater of transformation. To listen closely to an instrument is to learn its flaws, to turn its imperfections into a new way of speaking.
Each of the nine compositions on "their Internal diapasons" is an invitation—to approach the material world with the intent of letting it speak beyond expectation. An instrument that is at once a sculpture, a performance, and a manifesto of voicing the discarded suggests that its creator—following the path of Didier Eribon (Returning to Reims)—might take as his motto, a principle of asceticism, Sartre’s words: “What matters is not what is made of us, but what we ourselves make of what is made of us.”
Filip Szałasek
Rocket Recordings’ new Black Hole Series is a place where the unorthodox, otherworldly and esoteric can flourish, and there could be no more fitting first release for it than the most powerful metaphysical travelogue yet from Moundabout. Journeying still further into and beyond the landscapes from which this duo have unearthed inspiration, ‘Goat Skull Table’ is a transmission to give flight to spectral visions and include trance-states in abundance.The vibrations and manifestations of the duo of Paddy Shine(GNOD) and Phil Langero (Los Langeros, Damp Howl, Bisect) has always resonated within a very specific sense of place, transcending linear narratives and astral planes in a quest to unite timeless spirits with inner space. This third release for Rocket Recordings sees them colluding with
the landscape of their surroundings, transcending linear narratives and astral planes in a quest to unite timeless spirits with inner space.The title track marks a focal point here; a Shamanic rite on which Langero’s charismatically charged mantras collude with an audial landscape somewhere on the map between the abstract spell-casting of Nurse With Wound and the druidic gnosticism of Julian Cope. This is Moundabout at their darkest and most ritualistic. Elsewhere, the hypnotic repetition of the twin ten-minute extrapolations ‘Blood On My Blanket’ and ‘Wagon’, and the potent incantatory chants of ‘Am I Not’ and ‘Brave New World’ glow with a rugged and
charged dynamism redolent of the Swedish Psychedelia of Träd, Gräs & Stenar, uniting a minimal aesthetic with maximal impact.
Dauntless, feverish, and reaching new heights of primal intensity ’Goat Skull Table’ is a formidable field guide to the earthen and other
Originally released in 1987 on a private cassette - this is the first vinyl release of the absolute gem. Comes with obi strip.
Masahiro Sugaya is a Japanese composer with a prolific career in music for film, television, and the performing arts. Renowned for crafting soundscapes that invite deep contemplation, his music blends synthesizers, field recordings, and traditional Japanese instruments, achieving a delicate balance between minimalism, ambient, and folk influences.
In addition to his experimental compositions, Sugaya has been a pivotal figure in Japanese television and cinema. He collaborated with NHK, Japan’s national broadcaster, creating soundtracks for documentaries and educational programs that explored both the everyday and the extraordinary. His ability to translate emotions and landscapes into sound has made him stand out in projects that connect the visual and the musical.
In cinema, Sugaya worked as an arranger for GONTITI, the iconic Japanese guitar duo, and contributed to soundtracks for renowned directors such as Hirokazu Koreeda. His work captures the stillness and subtleties of everyday life, resonating deeply with audiences.
The Pocket of Fever, originally conceived in 1987 as a soundtrack for Pappa Tarahumara’s avant-garde dance company, merges traditional Japanese elements with modern compositional techniques, reflecting the fluid and dreamlike choreography. The album shifts between nostalgia, as in Green of the Future, and the poetic hypnosis of Conversation with the Wind. These pieces invite the listener to explore deeply evocative and intimate sonic landscapes.
Now available for the first time on vinyl, this album was originally released solely on cassette and has been carefully remastered to preserve its delicate textures and vibrant sound. Presented in a limited edition, The Pocket of Fever remains essential for fans of ambient and experimental music. Inspired by figures such as Hiroshi Yoshimura, Midori Takada, and Brian Eno, this timeless masterpiece invites introspection and the appreciation of its serene beauty.
Embark on a funky synth-drenched journey as the cosmic count Jimi Tenor reunites with Timmion Records' soul architects Cold Diamond & Mink for yet another album. When placed side by side with the fellows' recent effort "Is There Love In Outer Space? "July Blue Skies" glides on a slightly more raw and mystical plane. Crafted over fiery sessions between Tenor and Cold Diamond & Mink, this vinyl release offers six soul-grasping tracks ranging from mellow groove to soundtrack funk. The album's opening title song kicks off with an extended analog synth intro which eventually develops into a sweet romantic invocation, painting a sonic canvas reminiscent of a boundless summer sky. The most vocal tune of this quite instrumental set of songs "Sky Train Baby" propels the listener on a locomotive ride through the star systems while "Venus of Barsoon" with its drum breaks and fuzz sounds blast you straight into sci fi movie funk territory. The album's B-side opens with "Ikuchi," where Tenor's always trusted flute and tenor sax take the spotlight over the slinky library beats. Closing the album we discover two single releases, the sublime "Summer Of Synesthesia" and the demonic "Tsicroxe" both completely worthy to hear sequenced inside this album as well. This album might be just the Spring jam that you needed in your life.
Incl. huge Barac remix. Welcome to an odyssey that only those with a unique understanding can embark on. We have gathered these artists to transport you to a world of fantasy, where anything is possible. Join us on this journey of sensations.
Argentine artist Nektar Agu unlocks this enigmatic path, where you may come face to face with your deepest fears. Are you ready? By grasping the essence of Leviosa, you will come to appreciate the magnificent masterpiece created by Barac. It is an honor for us to present this historic sound on our label—we still can’t quite believe it ourselves. The Romanian artist continues this journey with his signature sound, leaving us speechless as we follow him into the unknown. Closing the experience, Forty Eyes—a collaboration between our label owner, Lucas Moss, and Nektar Agu—immerses us in a pure atmosphere of grace, offering a breath of clarity after this bewildering passage through auditory flavors.
Black Vinyl[34,24 €]
CHIME OBLIVION began out of the blue. David Barbarossa reached out to John Dwyer saying he was a fan of OSEES and he was invited to a show in London. The two hung out and hit it off, "then I rabbit holed on Bow wow wow too…," Dwyer recalls. "I reached out to David and suggested that we try and write some songs together... I flew David out, we met at my studio and spent five days writing basin drums ideas." The two got to know each other and had a lot of laughs. Dwyer then brought in Weasel Walter, knowing that he would be perfect "to add all that legitimate old-school weird proto-punk no wave guitar scratch to it, which of course he did masterfully." Next came Tom Dolas to play fuzzy marimba, and the fabulous H.L. Nelly, "as I knew her from a record I’d put out back in the day for a band called Naked Lights from Oakland. I knew that she could pull off the vocal style I had in mind." Together, the group created their debut self-titled album, due for release via Deathgod on April 18th. CHIME OBLIVION will be released as a 45 rpm 12" vinyl, CD & on digital. They're sharing the first taste of the album today, in the form of lead single, "NEIGHBORHOOD DOG." "For fans of Adam & the Ants, Bow Wow Wow, Crass, The Slits, and any other wierdo punk we fell in love with as youths." CHIME OBLIVION is due for release on April 18th via Deathgod.
CHIME OBLIVION began out of the blue. David Barbarossa reached out to John Dwyer saying he was a fan of OSEES and he was invited to a show in London. The two hung out and hit it off, "then I rabbit holed on Bow wow wow too…," Dwyer recalls. "I reached out to David and suggested that we try and write some songs together... I flew David out, we met at my studio and spent five days writing basin drums ideas." The two got to know each other and had a lot of laughs. Dwyer then brought in Weasel Walter, knowing that he would be perfect "to add all that legitimate old-school weird proto-punk no wave guitar scratch to it, which of course he did masterfully." Next came Tom Dolas to play fuzzy marimba, and the fabulous H.L. Nelly, "as I knew her from a record I’d put out back in the day for a band called Naked Lights from Oakland. I knew that she could pull off the vocal style I had in mind." Together, the group created their debut self-titled album, due for release via Deathgod on April 18th. CHIME OBLIVION will be released as a 45 rpm 12" vinyl, CD & on digital. They're sharing the first taste of the album today, in the form of lead single, "NEIGHBORHOOD DOG." "For fans of Adam & the Ants, Bow Wow Wow, Crass, The Slits, and any other wierdo punk we fell in love with as youths." CHIME OBLIVION is due for release on April 18th via Deathgod.
A collaboration between US label Astral Spirits and Sweden’s Thanatosis Produktion, It could / If I marks the debut album from Stockholm-based duo Johan Jutterström (saxophone) and Alex Zethson (piano). Together, they reinterpret jazz standards and explore an eclectic mix of compositions by Leonard Cohen, Pet Shop Boys, John Lurie, and 19th-century composer Alexander Fesca.
Jutterström and Zethson’s musical partnership dates back to their teenage years, when they bonded over a love for jazz and the struggle to find their own voice within it. Their duo work has always been about navigating that tension—trying to capture jazz, failing, and finding another way forward. This album continues that pursuit, emphasizing not just what is played, but how it is played.
The record’s title reflects their approach: a process of reaching for something just out of grasp. Songs are deconstructed, rearranged, and treated like palimpsests—scrubbed clean and rewritten while allowing traces of the original to shine through. The result is a dynamic and deeply personal exploration of sound, filled with both reverence and reinvention.
Both musicians have extensive backgrounds in jazz, improvisation, and experimental music. Zethson, a prolific pianist and composer, has worked with ensembles like Fire! Orchestra and Trondheim Jazz Orchestra, and plays keyboards in ensembles such as Vilhelm Bromander Unfolding Orchestra, Goran Kajfes Tropiques, Vathres, and Angles (current with the jazzopera The Death of Kalypso). Jutterström, a saxophonist with an artistic PhD, has performed internationally and runs the ensemble STHLM svaga, a band who have performed commissioned pieces by jazz legends such as Ron Carter, Archie Shepp and Roscoe Mitchell.
With It could / If I, the duo crafts an intricate, ever-shifting dialogue—an ongoing attempt to "stick jazz music," as they put it, constantly approaching, never quite arriving, and finding beauty in the pursuit.
"Donald Duck, kill Minnie!" These words, ordered with urgency against a circular series of drum strikes and manipulated guitar/electronic textures, come over three fourths of the way through the album known as SYR 5 (aka "Olive's Horn"). While the words and sounds taken on their own may shock, their appearance within this collaborative effort between Kim Gordon (Sonic Youth, Body/Head, solo efforts), Ikue Mori (DNA, solo) and DJ Olive (We, solo) by this point in the album are not surprising. Taken on whole, SYR 5 sees its creators' respective histories forged in the 80s downtown noise scene, No Wave zone and Marclay-inspired club collide head on to create the audio equivalent of a slow-playing J.G. Ballard novel. Starting from the album's initial impressions where shimmering tones are interrupted by the sounds of winding clocks and bird calls before giving way to a cinematic sweeps of percussion, alien samples and blown out wasteland subs, the listener is constantly taken on a guided journey through a waking dream state where anything is possible. It is a world where dub samples, gurling beats and plaintive vocals (as only Gordon can deliver) fit together like the final locking puzzle pieces, the only elements needed to fully grasp a new reality. Re-appearing on vinyl for the first time in 25 years, these sounds have proven to be jaw-droppingly timeless. - Cory Rayborn, 2025
Vol 2[23,74 €]
Contains tracks by Amon Tobin, Two Fingers, and Cujo previously only available to members of The Nomark Club, Nomark’s online subscription service.
NOMARK SELECTS Vol.1 includes the first new Cujo music since the Adventures in Foam album (1996)
A compilation of previously publicly unavailable tracks selected by the members of Nomark's online subscription service, The Nomark Club. The album features work from Amon, Two Fingers and sees the return of Cujo, Tobin's earliest alter ego.
First Reissue of this fantastic Folk Funk masterpiece on 'starflower leaf green' Vinyl, a beautiful collection of songs from the late great Linda Waterfall, the record sells for over £50 and has been exhanging hands between collectors for more than that for the past few years. Essential reissue for collectors, portion of the profits will go towards the Linda Waterfall Foundation. Joni Mitchell-esque folky funk blissness.
Psychedelic Coloured Vinyl[31,30 €]
Inspiriert vom Leben und Mythos des Schauspielers Dennis Hopper haben Mike Scott und The Waterboys - die schottische Rockband bekannt für ihre Hits 'The Whole Of The Moon' und 'The Big Music' - dieses umfangreiche Album als Hommage an eine der faszinierendsten Persönlichkeiten der amerikanischen Popkultur geschaffen. Das Album mit ausschließlich eigenen Songs ist sehr konzeptionell angelegt und bringt hochkarätige Künstler wie Bruce Springsteen, Fiona Apple und Steve Earle zusammen, um Hoppers Leben musikalisch zu durchdringen, einschließlich eines Songs für jede seiner Ehefrauen.
- Die Verpackung enthält Fotos aus dem Archiv von Dennis Hopper
- Col. 2LP: (Burnt Colored Vinyl in Gatefold-Hülle mit bedruckten Innentaschen)
Burnt Coloured Vinyl[31,30 €]
Inspiriert vom Leben und Mythos des Schauspielers Dennis Hopper haben Mike Scott und The Waterboys - die schottische Rockband bekannt für ihre Hits 'The Whole Of The Moon' und 'The Big Music' - dieses umfangreiche Album als Hommage an eine der faszinierendsten Persönlichkeiten der amerikanischen Popkultur geschaffen. Das Album mit ausschließlich eigenen Songs ist sehr konzeptionell angelegt und bringt hochkarätige Künstler wie Bruce Springsteen, Fiona Apple und Steve Earle zusammen, um Hoppers Leben musikalisch zu durchdringen, einschließlich eines Songs für jede seiner Ehefrauen.
- Die Verpackung enthält Fotos aus dem Archiv von Dennis Hopper
- Ltd. Col. 2LP: (Psychedelic Waves Colored Vinyl in Gatefold-Hülle mit bedruckten Innentaschen)
Yellow Coloured Vinyl[29,37 €]
Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?
You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.
On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.
The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.
Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.
So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:
I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”
Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.
Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,
“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”
And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.
Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.
Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?
You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.
On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.
The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.
Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.
So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:
I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”
Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.
Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,
“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”
And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.
Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.
Another foggy day in Yorkshire. A steel grey sky. Raindrops tracing one another down the windowpane. Kirk Barley sits in his studio and assembles compositions from scraps of found sound and live instrumentation. Melodies swell, withdraw and repeat like waves. Time slows. Accelerates. Slows again. The light bends, tweaked at the edges. Twisted by rhythms that never quite resolve.
Written, recorded and produced by Barley in Yorkshire in early 2024, Lux picks up where 2023 LP Marionette leaves off, conjuring a mystical, reflective space between formal minimalism and sonic imaginaries of northern landscapes.
And yet, where Marionette relied at times on more recognisable field recordings, Lux leans into Barley’s skill as an instrumentalist and sound designer, working from a palette of short samples and utilising a variety of alternate tuning systems to build, layer and coax his compositions into being. Most evident on tracks ‘Vita’, ‘Sprite’ and ‘Descendent’, these tunings create an otherworldly harmonic language that is easier to perceive than describe.
Alongside more familiar instruments of guitar, bass, drums, organ and clarinet, here Barley draws on plastic saxophones and bells, and recordings of glass, wood and metal sound objects to provide the organic matter. Rather than directly representative of the natural world, Lux enters into a dialogue with it which, like the grasses and flowers of the album’s cover, exists somewhere between reality and artifice.
On album opener ‘Cache’, Barley constructs his own sense of time from a recording of an umbrella crank, a sparse and spectral piece which hints at memories embedded in the track’s title. Introspection blossoms into new life on ‘Vita’, crumpling again into the percussive ambience of ‘Verre’. A track that takes its harmonic lead from the clinks of glass, it features Barley’s long-time collaborator Matt Davies on drums, whose nuanced, tonally sensitive playing gives ‘Verre’ a fizzing, ice-like quality.
There are several moments where Lux picks up on themes Barley explored under electronic moniker Church Andrews on recent works with Davies, stretching and distorting temporalities most explicitly on ‘Descendent’, whose ritualistic air unfurls around a pattern in exponential decline.
Embracing the surrealism Barley absorbed over years watching classic film noir and the works of David Lynch and Federico Fellini, Lux wends its way through the enchanted sound worlds of ‘Sprite’ and ‘Balanced’ before arriving at the album’s title track.
An expression of his recent experiments in live, prepared guitar, ‘Lux’ brings the album back to earth, returning us to the room where the rain has stopped, the clouds have parted, and the soft warmth of the spring sun is pouring in through the open window.
Vol 1[28,99 €]
Googling “paradise house”, the first results to pop up are an endless list of European b&b’s with whitewashed lime façades, all of them promising “…an unmatched travel experience a few steps from the sea”. Next, a little further down, are the institutional websites of a few select semi-luxury retirement homes (no photos shown, but lots of stock images of smiling nurses with reassuring looks). To find the “paradise house” we’re after, we have to scroll even further down. Much further down.
It feels like yesterday, and at the same time it seems like a million years ago. The Eighties had just ended, and it was still unclear what to expect from the Nineties. Mobile phones that were not the size of a briefcase and did not cost as much as a car? A frightening economic crisis? The guitar-rock revival?! Certainly, the best place to observe that moment of transition was the dancefloor. Truly epochal transformations were happening there. From America, within a short distance one from the other, two revolutionary new musical styles had arrived: the first one sounded a bit like an “on a budget” version of the best Seventies disco-music – Philly sound made with a set of piano-bar keyboards! – the other was even more sparse, futuristic and extraterrestrial. It was a music with a quite distinct “physical” component, which at the same time, to be fully grasped, seemed to call for the knotty theories of certain French post-modern philosophers: Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, Paul Virilio... Both those genres – we would learn shortly after – were born in the black communities of Chicago and Detroit, although listening to those vinyl 12” (often wrapped in generic white covers, and with little indication in the label) you could not easily guess whether behind them there was a black boy from somewhere in the Usa, or a girl from Berlin, or a pale kid from a Cornish coastal town.
Quickly, similar sounds began to show up from all corners of Europe. A thousand variations of the same intuition: leaner, less lean, happier, slightly less intoxicated, more broken, slower, faster, much faster... Boom! From the dancefloors – the London ones at least, whose chronicles we eagerly read every month in the pages of The Face and i-D – came tales of a new generation of clubbers who had completely stopped “dressing up” to go dancing; of hot tempered hooligans bursting into tears and hugging everyone under the strobe lights as the notes of Strings of Life rose up through the fumes of dry ice (certain “smiling” pills were also involved, sure). At this point, however, we must move on to Switzerland.
In Switzerland, in the quiet and diligent town of Lugano, between the 1980s and 1990s there was a club called “Morandi”. Its hot night was on Wednesdays, when the audience also came from Milan, Como, Varese and Zurich. Legend goes that, one night, none less than Prince and Sheila E were spotted hiding among the sofas, on a day-off of the Italian dates of the Nude Tour… The Wednesday resident and superstar was an Italian dj with an exotic name: Don Carlos. The soundtrack he devised was a mixture of Chicago, Detroit, the most progressive R&B and certain forgotten classics of old disco music: practically, what the Paradise Garage in New York might have sounded like had it not closed in 1987. In between, Don Carlos also managed to squeeze in some tracks he had worked on in his studio on Lago Maggiore. One in particular: a track that was rather slow compared to the BPM in fashion at the time, but which was a perfect bridge between house and R&B. The title was Alone: Don Carlos would explain years later that it had to be intended both in the English meaning of “by itself” and like the Italian word meaning “halo”. That wasn’t the only double entendre about the song, anyway. Its own very deep nature was, indeed, double. On the one hand, Alone was built around an angelic keyboard pattern and a romantic piano riff that took you straight to heaven; on the other, it showcased enough electronic squelches (plus a sax part that sounded like it had been dissolved by acid rain) to pigeonhole the tune into the “junk modernity” section, aka the hallmark of all the most innovative sounds of the time: music that sounded like it was hand-crafted from the scraps of glittering overground pop.
No one knows who was the first to call it “paradise house”, nor when it happened. Alternative definitions on the same topic one happened to hear included “ambient house”, “dream house”, “Mediterranean progressive”… but of course none were as good (and alluring) as “paradise house”. What is certain is that such inclination for sounds that were in equal measure angelic and neurotic, romantic and unaffective, quickly became the trademark of the second generation of Italian house. Music that seemed shyly equidistant from all the rhythmic and electronic revolutions that had happened up to that moment (“Music perfectly adept at going nowhere slowly” as noted by English journalist Craig McLean in a legendary field report for Blah Blah Blah magazine). Music that to a inattentive ear might have sounded as anonymous as a snapshot of a random group of passers-by at 10AM in the centre of any major city, but perfectly described the (slow) awakening in the real world after the universal love binge of the so-called Second Summer of Love.
For a brief but unforgettable season, in Italy “paradise house” was the official soundtrack of interminable weekends spent inside the car, darting from one club to another, cutting the peninsula from North to centre, from East to West coast in pursuit of the latest after-hours disco, trading kilometres per hour with beats per minute: practically, a new New Year’s Eve every Friday and Saturday night. This too was no small transformation, as well as a shock for an adult Italy that was encountering for the first time – thanks to its sons and daughters – the wild side of industrial modernity. The clubbers of the so-called “fuoriorario” scene were the balls gone mad in the pinball machine most feared by newspapers, magazines and TV pundits. What they did each and every weekend, apart from going crazy to the sound of the current white labels, was linking distant geographical points and non-places (thank you Marc Augé!) – old dance halls, farmhouses and business centres – transformed for one night into house music heaven. As Marco D’Eramo wrote in his 1995 essay on Chicago, Il maiale e il grattacielo: “Four-wheeled capitalism distorts our age-old image of the city, it allows the suburbs to be connected to each other, whereas before they were connected only by the centre (…) It makes possible a metropolitan area without a metropolis, without a city centre, without downtown. The periphery is no longer a periphery of any centre, but is self-centred”.
“Paradise house” perfectly understood all of this and turned it into a sort of cyber-blues that didn’t even need words, and unexpectedly brought back a drop of melancholic (post?)-humanity within a world that by then – as we would wholly realise in the decades to come – was fully inhuman and heartless. A world where we were all alone, and surrounded by a sinister yellowish halo, like a neon at the end of its life cycle. But, for one night at least, happy."
- Also available on black vinyl - First ever official reissue - Produced in full cooperation with Hiroshi Yoshimura's estate - Liner notes by contemporary music writer and professor Junichi Konuma - Remastered from original sources by John Baldwin - First time on vinyl, cassette, and streaming - 2xLP vinyl housed in gatefold jacket - Discs cut at 45 rpm for optimal sound quality // Following their 2024 reissue of Hiroshi Yoshimura's classic album, Surround, Temporal Drift proudly presents the first-ever reissue of FLORA, Yoshimura's underappreciated ambient classic. FLORA was originally recorded and completed in 1987, and remained unreleased until 2006, nearly three years after Yoshimura's passing in 2003. The album is chronologically and stylistically a follow-up to his acclaimed 1986 works GREEN and SURROUND, wherein Yoshimura continues to play with the ambience of sound and the sound of ambience, underscoring his mastery in the field of environmental music. Yoshimura's other recorded works include Music For Nine Post Cards (1982), originally produced to be played back inside a museum space, and Pier & Loft (1983), commissioned as accompaniment to a contemporary fashion show.
