It comes with all the necessary ingredients, rythym, hooks and singalong vocal parts
We are bursting with pride and joy. We believe we remain ever so brilliant. Being the Grand Masters of alternative rock comes with great responsibility. We've done our part and now it's up to you to play it loud, enjoy and be safe!
Catalina Matorral is a duo; Marion Cousin and Borja Flames make up its double head and four hands. At the beginning of the 2010s, they were called June et Jim -- they released some disturbing EPs before joining the label Le Saule (a small, chivalrous table whose holy grail is everything unheard, where folk- singing is avant-garde and avant-garde is synonymous with enchantment). Their first LP, Les Forts (2012), evoked the songwriting of indie-hobos inspired by Latin America, contributing to the rejuvenation of French music. Noche Primera (2013) went even further by vibrating in various reveries, from African songs to Spanish medieval music, from Purcell to Bach. It blew hot and cold under a psychedelic candlelight. The record in question has been maturing for seven years in eccentric barrels, marinating in the shadow of Marion and Borja's respective evolutions, nourished by their individual obsessions. Marion fixated on songs and dances from the Iberian Peninsula. This gave birth to a minimalistic, organic record featuring the cellist Gaspar Claus, where humming trembles among frowning pizzicatos, thin drones and throbbing arpeggios. She went on to release another album with the electronic duo Kaumwald, an oeuvre at the crossroads of vernacular narratives and experimental music, simmering everyday songs in an insolently modern production. Meanwhile, Borja leaned towards an intellectual, synthetic and furious pop; made two albums to awaken the dead, somewhere between Moondog and Battiato. They are two conceptual, electrifying and dance-inducing recordings for the phosphorescent masses. ...chimeric narration, heady verses, pop fragments, horizontal synths, distorted technologies. One would think they're listening to an opera composed by Robert Ashley or Laurie Anderson, based on an improbable libretto written by anthropologist Jeanne Favret-Saada, and performed by holograms of Brigitte Fontaine and Areski -- who unexpectedly regurgitate bits of blunt folk, binary jazz, baroque songs and ghostly madrigals. Micro-events, great enchantments. This record was written and recorded by two people, tinkering feverishly for seven years. It was blessed with the furtive appearances of faithful friends: Gaspar Claus played the cello; Igor Estrabol the clarinet, trumpet and flugelhorn; Renaud Cousin the drums; Ernest Bergez played the violin and whimsically mixed the tracks like a bonesetter-scientist. At the crossroads of worlds, eras and moods, Catalina Matorral invents a curiously rural science fiction that confounds poetry with white magic and puts French music in a permanent tension between the cosmos and manure...
Poets of the Fall are back and announce their greatly anticipated 9th studio album "Ghostlight", out worldwide April 29th. Poets of the Fall is a Finnish rock band from Helsinki founded in 2003. With their previous eight studio albums, they've gained several #1 spots on the charts, performed worldwide to an enthusiastically loyal fanbase and have become one of the most internationally successful bands from Finland. Their music videos have been viewed hundreds of millions of times on YouTube, and their songs are streamed over two million plays per month on Spotify alone. The first Single Requiem for My Harlequin can be described as a massive power-drama that hurls you into a dizzying carnival ride, a thick Metallic Power-ballad full of of crunchy guitars, big symphonic arrangements and the silky-smooth golden vocals the band is famous for.
Born out of an impromptu post-pub jam session in Margate, the 5-piece group Pigeon swoops onto the scene with their blistering debut EP Yagana.
As the tracks cross effortlessly between Afro-disco, grunge, no wave and jazz, the cohesive symbiotic relationship of the band members is obvious from the start. The powerful vocals of Guinean singer Falle Nioke are complemented by a wealth of talent from Graham Godfrey on drums, Steve Pringle on keys, Tom Dream on guitar and Josh Ludlow on bass.
Having moved to the UK from West Africa in 2018, Falle Nioke has recently been in the spotlight following recent collaborations with Ghost Culture which were supported by indie radio and BBC 6 Music playlisters. On Yagana, he continues to sing in a multitude of languages, but this time shifts towards a more organic musical direction, showcasing his incredible versatility as a vocalist.
This new path can be attributed to the pedigree of the rest of the group – including veteran musicians Steve Pringle and Graham Godfrey who are key members of Michael Kiwanuka’s band, Godfrey also performing with Little Simz, Cleo Sol and SAULT, among others.
The Yagana EP is an emotionally-charged offering, exploring themes of ust, saudade, homesickness, and hope for peace. The title track ‘Yagana’ translates to “it’s been a while”, and though its up-tempo disco rhythm and wild synth solos lend a cheerful disposition, the lyrics describe a melancholic yearning for Africa.
Recorded in a single weekend, Pigeon’s Yagana EP is a clear testament to each member’s skilfulness and varied experiences, creating a fullyfledged being that is greater than the sum of its parts. With an opening hand like this, we await with bated breath to see what more the humble Pigeon can bring to the world.
Following a four-year hiatus, our main imprint is back with a new outing by our long-time friend, Laslo. His previous works found home on quality record labels like Greta Cottage Workshop, Greta Cottage Woodpile and Soundscape Versions. Now he is delivering three originals, all shaped and arranged along his dub-infused, peculiar sound. As label heads, we rarely focus on remixes, but in the case of this EP we could not resist the chance to get one by the Hungarian drum & bass veteran Ghost Warrior (31 Records, re:st, Well Street Records), who did his first ever remix for Tape Hiss, this time exploring the mid-tempo territory.
4 Hands, an intimate and surreal musical conversation on the piano from German sound pioneer Hans-Joachim Roedelius and American composer Tim Story, is an example of all the warm yet otherworldly beauty that can come from approaching a shared love for a singular instrument from overlapping directions.
Recorded sequentially but on one and the same grand piano, Roedelius laid down a few impromptu piano études in May 2019 whilst visiting his transatlantic friend Story. Tim then learned all their intricate phrasings to add his own parts in the following months.
"Together we shaped the basic compositions, sometimes carefully preparing the piano with various materials (including my own hands), and Achim’s performances were committed to tape. I continued to compose and refine my parts in the following months. Because it was all recorded on the same piano, the result has a very appealing consistency of sound, and hopefully blurs our individual contributions into a single integrated voice,” Story explains.
4 Hands encapsulates rippling minimalistic patterns and delicate, ghostly interactions with surprising harmonic twists. Roedelius’ intuitive and instinctive approach based in improvisation, paired hand in hand with Story’s deliberate distilling of ideas over time, creates two sides of an engaging and thought provoking conversation that seems to evolve and deepen with each successive listen.
"4 Hands is not just a new album — the logical continuation of the long-standing friendship between two composers. It’s our tribute to awareness and listening, coaxing a new sound language from the endless possibilities of a single piano played by our four hands. For me, these pieces express a different kind of beauty, they evoke more than the sum of their parts, they are a wordless dialogue, a bridge across the great water that separates our cultures from one another. Allons enfants des deux patrie, haha!” adds Roedelius.
Tape
The occult and folk music have been friends for a while. In the 21st century, hauntology and the resurface of some cult soundtracks from the 1970s and 1980s helped to create a new sense of folk, not associated with the typical acoustic feeling, but more relatable with library, krautrock/kosmische and industrial music. João Kyron and Tony Watts, long time collaborators since the late 1990s with their band Hipnótica, and more recently with Beautify Junkyards (Ghost Box) are well acquainted with this friendship. Hidden Horse is their new project as a duo and “Opala” their first release.
With eight tracks and almost thirty minutes, their first release explores dense and greyish urban utopias. The song titles explore ideas that mix sci-fi, horror, science, space and urban phobia, and the music Kyron and Watts create delivers, using electronics and drums with great relish. Their relationship as musicians, which spans more than two decades, can be felt in the way their music flows with a continuous dialogue.
“Opala” is always keen to take you to another dimension. It lives in its own twilight zone, where the obscure entangles the most obvious senses of reality. It sounds like Jacques Tati “Playtime” with a hauntology soundtrack: it kind of feels that this imaginary world is real, but it’s not. And it sucks you in to be a part of it and enjoy it: close your eyes and let yourself go while listening to “Levitação Magnética” or “Fantasmas do Planeta”. You will feel like a foreigner in a new city.
Acclaimed UK electronic musician Kevin Richard Martin (The Bug, King Midas Sound) releases a stunningly powerful rescore of Andrei Tarkovsky’s seminal 1972 movie Solaris on Phantom Limb.
In May 2020, British musician Kevin Martin was invited by the Vooruit arts centre in Gent, Belgium to compose a new score for a film of his choice. Having been long inspired by pioneering Soviet filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky, Martin tells us that his 1972 masterpiece Solaris was the “natural choice”. The film is an unattested giant, not only of science fiction and Soviet film, but also in the annals cinematic history. And its original score, composed by regular Tarkovsky collaborator and early Soviet electronic musician Eduard Artemyev, is a magnificent work of haunting majesty, a key element to the film’s brilliance. Martin’s challenge was great: “it was with a certain amount of trepidation I stepped into such large footprints,” he writes.
The results - an all new score entitled Return to Solaris - are breathtaking. The film is intense, psychologically devastating and bleakly compelling. Interweaving themes of love, horror, sorrow, nostalgia, memory and dystopia, Martin’s score expertly mirrors this expansive breadth of psychic weight, from existential dread to heartbreaking poignancy, with immense emotional gravity. Drawn to its “narrative struggle between organic, pastoral memories of a lost past, and the harsh, dystopian realities of a futuristic hell,” Martin employs atonal noise, simmering waves of distorted synthesis, undulating drones and otherworldly, astronomic sound-design to crushing effect. Subtly submerged recurring motifs - reflections of individual characters - rise and fall amidst the fog, occasionally illuminating the doom like motes of starlight, before settling back into the density of space.
On an early morning in November 2015, THE GHOST INSIDE was involved
in an accident that claimed the lives of their driver, the lives of everyone
in the other vehicle, and resulted in multiple injuries for all of the band
members
Jonathan Vigil (vocals) suffered from a fractured back, ligament damage, and
two broken ankles. Zach Johnson (guitar) has since had 13 surgeries for a femur
injury. Andrew Tkaczyk (drums) ultimately lost his leg. The future of the band was
very much up in the air throughout 2016, as everyone struggled to recover.The
road to recovery was both mentally and physically extensive but THE GHOST
INSIDE were determined to get back to doing what they love. Nearly four years
later, the band did just that, returning to the stage July 2019. Originally meant to
take place at the historic Shrine Auditorium, tickets sold out so quick that the gig
had to be moved to the parking lot, selling double the venues capacity. Over 8000
people witness this return to the stage. The accident will always be a defning
moment for THE GHOST INSIDE, but never what defnes them.
The wheels rattle into the thrilling unknown on The Coral’s first new music since 2018, finding the unsurpassed, metamorphic gonzo-pop five-piece in the company of crooks, sell-by-date candyfloss and plastic skeletons as they release Faceless Angel. Of misplaced memories from a place and time that might never have been, the track precedes a new and vividly evocative body of work from the legendary Merseyside band in the form of their TENTH and first, ever double-album: Coral Island.
Squinting into the neon-lit penny arcades and draining an after hours glass with the displaced and dispossessed once the power is pulled, The Coral’s latest caper concerns listeners with the light, shade, thrills and profound melancholy of coastal palaces packed with fun and fright. Both now and then, or perhaps never as fiction encroaches on reality, the feverous anticipation of a night amongst the screams, fights and romance of the fair become part of life on the newly-built Coral Island.
Welcoming travellers one trepidous step at a time, Faceless Angel sits amongst a series of promised audio visual portraits of and inspired by the Island’s inhabitants. Conceived and created by artist, Edwin Burdis, the single’s video was filmed ‘on’ Coral Island itself, a sprawling diorama purpose-built inside a deserted Chinese restaurant in Cardiff. It’s the band and fans’ first venture onto the surreal land mass, populated by surreal sculptural forms, charity shop-finds, looming mountains and gathering storm clouds. Filmed in debt to the traditional model-based filmmaking methods of greats like George Lucas or Ray Harryhausen, Burdis navigated Coral Island at waist-height and via camera-friendly pathways to gather 360 degree footage from inside and outside his and The Coral’s fascinating, fabricated world. The expansive and ambitious installation also provides the album artwork for Coral Island as well as designs for Faceless Angel and future singles.
Indebted in part to the classic pre-Beatles rock and roll era of Duane Eddy and Chuck Berry alongside the clattering of a weary ghost train’s rusted wheels on worn steel, Faceless Angel’s title evokes DC Comics ominous occult detective series, Hellblazer and the broken character of the strip’s protagonist, John Constantine.
The wheels rattle into the thrilling unknown on The Coral’s first new music since 2018, finding the unsurpassed, metamorphic gonzo-pop five-piece in the company of crooks, sell-by-date candyfloss and plastic skeletons as they release Faceless Angel. Of misplaced memories from a place and time that might never have been, the track precedes a new and vividly evocative body of work from the legendary Merseyside band in the form of their TENTH and first, ever double-album: Coral Island.
Squinting into the neon-lit penny arcades and draining an after hours glass with the displaced and dispossessed once the power is pulled, The Coral’s latest caper concerns listeners with the light, shade, thrills and profound melancholy of coastal palaces packed with fun and fright. Both now and then, or perhaps never as fiction encroaches on reality, the feverous anticipation of a night amongst the screams, fights and romance of the fair become part of life on the newly-built Coral Island.
Welcoming travellers one trepidous step at a time, Faceless Angel sits amongst a series of promised audio visual portraits of and inspired by the Island’s inhabitants. Conceived and created by artist, Edwin Burdis, the single’s video was filmed ‘on’ Coral Island itself, a sprawling diorama purpose-built inside a deserted Chinese restaurant in Cardiff. It’s the band and fans’ first venture onto the surreal land mass, populated by surreal sculptural forms, charity shop-finds, looming mountains and gathering storm clouds. Filmed in debt to the traditional model-based filmmaking methods of greats like George Lucas or Ray Harryhausen, Burdis navigated Coral Island at waist-height and via camera-friendly pathways to gather 360 degree footage from inside and outside his and The Coral’s fascinating, fabricated world. The expansive and ambitious installation also provides the album artwork for Coral Island as well as designs for Faceless Angel and future singles.
Indebted in part to the classic pre-Beatles rock and roll era of Duane Eddy and Chuck Berry alongside the clattering of a weary ghost train’s rusted wheels on worn steel, Faceless Angel’s title evokes DC Comics ominous occult detective series, Hellblazer and the broken character of the strip’s protagonist, John Constantine.
First ever box set from one of the most thrilling bands of the Twentieth
Century.
Deluxe 7” singles box set featuring the phenomenal original run of singles
with two bonus singles exclusive to this set. Seven 7” singles housed inside
a lift-off lid box with a booklet featuring an essay by Clinton Heylin,
reminisces from Thurston Moore, Henry Rollins, Mark Lanegan X and Dan
Stuart, rare photographs and flyers, new exclusive issue of the ‘Fire of Love’
fanzine, Ruby Records postcard and a ‘Gun’ button badge.
If ever there was a band seemingly determined to come from nowhere and
go straight back there, it was The Gun Club. Jeffrey Lee Pierce’s search and
destroy combo was spawned by the LA punk scene in 1979. Two years later
their first LP, the incendiary ‘Fire Of Love’, was spewed out by Slash
Records, a matter of months after the punk zine Pierce wrote for, and the
label named itself after, breathed its last. ‘Fire Of Love’ was one of the 80’s
genuinely shape-shifting US debuts, igniting post-punk depth and minting
genres including blues, psychobilly and Americana.
Jeffrey Lee Pierce was an extraordinary character. Learning to play guitar at
the age of 10, he quickly immersed himself firstly in reggae and later the
Delta Blues, particularly works by Tommy Johnson and Robert Johnson. By
1976, he had become obsessed with Blondie, going on to become President
of the West Coast Blondie Fan Club. It was Jeffrey Lee Pierce who
suggested to the band they cover ‘Hanging On The Telephone’. The Blondie
connection would later resurface in 1982 when Chris Stein signed and
produced The Gun Club for his Animal Records label. In 1996 after releasing
seven studio albums, 37-year-old Jeffrey Lee Pierce sadly passed away
following a stroke. What he left behind is a legacy of work that has had a
prolific effect on some of the most distinguished rock acts of the past 20+
years, these include Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, Sonic Youth, The White
Stripes, Mark Lanegan, Primal Scream and The Black Keys.
“Jeffrey was a human tornado. Yet during the most turbulent points in his life,
he was able to tap what seemed to be a limitless supply of astonishingly
beautiful music. Even now, songs like ‘Flowing’ and ‘Desire’ catch me up.
The immense power that passed through Jeffrey, like an electrical current,
informed his amazing body of work. That level of unrelenting heat and
incandescence is simply not survivable. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.” -
Henry Rollins (April 2021)
Six 7” singles reprinted with original artwork. Additional ‘Miami Demos’ 7”
exclusive to this box set. All singles remastered especially for these vinyl
editions.
“Thunderous, and yet somehow also reflective, this album offers a haunting dialogue between the musicians. Betamax drives the music with motoric rhythm, while Bell is seemingly searching for something more sophisticated.”
London’s avant-garde, attempted to master in his youth the delicate art of the Shakuhachi - the infamously difficult-to-play bamboo flute that whiffs of a certain Japanese Zen aroma. After many years of travelling south east Asia in the 70s, seeking out the teachings of many flute and reed traditions, Clive Bell eventually gave up his quest and returned to London exhausted and confused. Horrified by the omnipresent egos of popular music, he was drawn back towards the dark currents of London’s free-improv gutter, where upon he was encouraged by his peers to live in a squat, and participate in abrasive noise experiments typical of the London improvising epidemic that persisted throughout the 80s.
Whilst immersed by this subculture, Bell was to bear his only child that we know of to this day - Maxwell Hallett, later to be known as ‘Betamax’. Bell immediately refused to teach any music to Betamax, hoping greater things and opportunities might lead Max away to a more financially comfortable and spiritually rewarding occupation. Alas Clive was unable to protect his son from the strong seductive forces of London’s prevalent musical subcultures.
Sudi Wachspress returns to Tartelet Records with Dance Planet, a third LP of emotionally-charged house music to welcome us back to the dancefloor. The spirit of true house runs deep in the sound of Space Ghost. Oakland native Sudi Wachspress is intuitively plugged into the romantic, mystical energy of 4/4 club music as a unifying force of empowerment and liberation, carrying the torch from vital forebears like Larry Heard, Alton Miller, and Blaze.
His new album, Dance Planet, carries a greater responsibility to spread spiritual affirmations. As the global dancefloor community emerges from a mentally-taxing recess and confronts their social self like it’s the first day of school, Space Ghost’s message couldn’t be more supportive.
“Don’t be afraid to be yourself, don’t be afraid to let go,” he intones on “Be Yourself.” More than just a beat and a hook, his music is pointedly created to heal and energize. “I’m a big fan of old-school house vocals that have a positive message,” says Space Ghost, “tracks that can perhaps enhance your mood or strengthen your confidence in yourself.”
Wachspress has always represented a beacon of musical uplift, both on his previous Endless Light and Aquarium Nightclub LPs for Tartelet and on his swathes of self-released music and last year’s Free 2 B on Apron. Compared to most house-oriented artists, he places emphasis on the long-player format to create an encircling experience for the listener, smoothing out psychic wrinkles and massaging areas of tension for a fully holistic hit.
Marshall McLuhan’s famous edict ‘the medium is the message’ has never been more apt than with regard to modern remix culture. Although the idea of the remix goes way back to the Jamaican dub pioneers and New York disco remixers of the 1970s, the form didn’t truly come into its own until the acid house explosion of the 1980s, when remixers’ credentials often subsumed — and sometimes surpassed — the original source material. Some, among them our lost friend Andrew Weatherall, used remixing as a springboard into multiple other directions, and became auteurs in their own right.
Forged in the white-hot heat of post-acid house Britain, these Heavenly remixes are perfectly weighted with respect and irreverence, the remixer in each case carefully chosen to add heft to the song (as on Al Breadwinner’s dubwise reworking of Mattiel’s ’Guns of Brixton’— the pairing more a game of chess than a best-of-three arm wrestle).
Although Heavenly was founded in the wake of huge upheavals in electronic music, it was still imbued with its own curious parallel life. I’ve always thought of Heavenly as one of the UK’s alt-pop labels; a place where brilliant pop bands live and record, if the general public would only realise. Some of them have ended up in the real, actual charts (Saint Etienne, Doves), but that’s missing the point about Heavenly, who are, like Factory and Fast Product before them, pop music’s conscience.
There is no sense of order to this compilation and we make no apologies. It’s the Heavenly way. Think of it as a present from Loki, the Norse god of mischief. You’ll find a smattering of older tracks: album openers Saint Etienne are taken on a Poseidon Adventure with Underworld, who inject ‘Cool Kids of Death’ with typically manic energy. Elsewhere, ’90s Brum duo Mother add dancefloor pzazz to Espiritu’s innate glamour on an all-funked-up reworking of ‘Los Americanos’, and Mark Lusardi’s remix of Moonflowers’ ‘Get Higher’ is an early Heavenly classic.
On ‘Terracotta Warrior’, a perfect, psyched-out, Mancunian union is created betwixt Jimi Goodwin and Andy Votel, whilst Goodwin cohort Simon Aldred, in his Cherry Ghost guise, receives a proper Tamla-Motowning from Richard Norris (aka Time & Space Machine) on an inspired cover of Cece Peniston’s glam-house hit, ‘Finally’.
There are several of Heavenly’s current darlings here too. One of the most exciting young British prospects, Yorkshire’s Working Men’s Club, effectively remix themselves, as Minsky Rock — WMC’s Syd Minsky-Sargeant and producer Ross Orton — cleave ‘X’ into a riotous industrial racket. Jagwar Ma’s Jono Ma takes the Kraftwerkian leitmotif on ‘Automatic’ and drives the Australian jazz-funkers Mildlife down an electro-convulsive psychedelic tunnel (thankfully no-one was harmed during the making of this remix); Sheffield’s DJ Parrot and Jarvis Cocker deliver one of the outstanding remixes of 2018, turning Baxter Dury’s ‘Miami’ into a lovelorn minor opera; and, making its first appearance on vinyl, David Holmes’ Unloved project is taken on a panoramic Welsh waltz thanks to Gwenno.
There may well be no rhyme, nor reason, to how these compilations have been put together, beyond the fact that they are assembled with love, an innate understanding of the power of great pop music, and a skilled marriage of song and remixer — but does one really need anything more than that for an album to make sense? I’d suggest not.
Triumph breeds confidence, and with confidence comes an expansion of ambition, a focus of ability, an emboldening of audacity. De-Loused In The Comatorium had risked everything Omar and Cedric possessed on the wildest of gambits, the most impossible of dreams: making sense of the riot of influences ricocheting about Omar’s head, and memorialising their departed friend Julio Venegas through Cedric’s magical realist roman-a-clef. It Clouds Hill shouldn’t have worked. But it did, and with that fiendish tightrope act successfully accomplished, the duo stretched the wire even further and higher, over a figurative fiery pit peopled with lions, crocodiles, piranha and other sharp-toothed beasts not yet known to man. Because how do you make great art without taking great risks? Frances The Mute was no De-Loused Part Two. For one thing, the band’s configuration had changed, in the most painful way. Shortly before the release of De- Loused, sound manipulator and founder member Jeremy Michael Ward passed away, a wound Omar says the group never recovered from. But even though his inspired fucking- with-the-sonic-parameters is absent from Frances The Mute, his spirit and influence can still be determined, the album’s concept derived from a diary Ward had encountered in his day-job in repossession. “Jeremy picked up lots of interesting stuff when he was a repo man,” remembers Cedric. “Weird things, including this diary, He let us read it a bunch of times. It was by a guy who’d been adopted and was searching to find his real parents. It was very surreal, it didn’t make much sense – the guy might’ve been schizophrenic – but it was very inspiring. It felt like how certain music helps you escape your boring every-day life. The names and scenes in the diary directly inspired these songs.” Some of the tracks pre-dated De-Loused, having their origins in early demos Omar recorded at the duo’s Long Beach home Anikulapo, songs such as The Widow and Miranda The Ghost Just Isn’t Holy Anymore. Cedric had heard these jams in their embryonic state and began working in his mind on what he could bring to them. “I was attracted to The Widow like you would be to a lover, right?” Cedric remembers. “I sang over it with Omar while we were touring De-Loused in Australia on the Big Day Out, like, ‘Okay, I’ve got something for this.’” A potent ballad, laden with emotional crescendos and evoking the epic drama of Ennio Morricone – an effect aided by an elegiac trumpet part performed by Flea – The Widow would become The Mars Volta’s first song to chart on the Billboard Top 100, capturing the album’s potent sorrow and widescreen sprawl in miniature. Indeed, the lush sound of the album, the depth of detail and breadth of instrumentation, belies its grungy roots. Having tasted the luxury of Rick Rubin’s mansion, Omar veered in the opposite direction when recording Frances, cutting the album in what he describes as “a shithole... Basically a warehouse with one little air conditioner on its last legs, awful wiring and a console you couldn’t rely on. We were there night and day – I would literally lock engineer Jon DeBaun in there. He slept on a mattress in the vocal booth.” A considerably more complex and ambitious album than its predecessor – four of its five tracks lasted over ten minutes in length, with its closing epic Cassandra Gemini spanning over half an hour – Frances The Mute wasn’t recorded “live” by an ensemble, but with the individual musicians coming into the “shithole” and recording the parts Omar had scripted for them separately. “They had to have absolute trust in me,” Omar remembers, “Like actors trust their director.” In addition to the core band – now fleshed out with incoming bassist Juan Alderete, and Omar’s brother Marcel on keyboards and percussion – the album featured guitar solos from John Frusciante, saxophone and flute by future member Adrian Terrazas-Gonzales, a full string section, and piano played by Omar’s hero, salsa legend Larry Harlow. “It was a childhood dream come true,” Omar says. “We recorded with him in my hometown in Puerto Rico, and my father flew in to watch the session. Larry was a perfect gentleman, and a very lively spirit.” The album’s fevered intensity infected even the staid string section, Cedric remembers. “When they performed the part on Cassandra Gemini, ’25 wives in the lake tonight’, one of the guys in the orchestra played so hard he broke his bow, this real old, antique bow. And you could see his ‘classical’ side come out – like, ‘I broke this playing a fuckin’ rock song??’ He was pissed off. But I was like, ‘Fuck yeah, man, that’s on the record! You’ve got to realise things like that are cool.’” The album also features field recordings of “the coqui of Puerto Rico” during the opening minutes of Miranda That Ghost Just Isn’t Holy Anymore. “We took a page out of the Grateful Dead’s book there,” laughs Cedric. “They recorded air. We recorded fuckin’ frogs in Puerto Rico.”
- 2021 repress / blue vinyl / comes in stickered sleeve / incl. dl code -
Hide your kids! Ghost in the Machine is back and fully intent on setting fire to your pants with yet another quartet of their unique brand of techno. It's all really dark, heavy and pounding, yet you somehow really seem to like it. It's basically more of the same, which is great. The only real difference with their previous EPs is that this one is pressed on blue vinyl.
Disclaimer: digital copies may not all be the same shade of blue.
WRWTFWW Records is absolutely honored to announce the release of Kenji Kawai’s complete soundtrack to Mamoru Oshii's 1993 superb political thriller science-fiction mecha anime PATLABOR 2: The Movie, available on vinyl for the first time ever and housed in a beautiful heavy gatefold sleeve with obi, as well as on digipack CD. Both versions come with liner notes by the great Masaaki Hara.
A true soundtrack maestro, Kenji Kawai is behind the legendary soundscapes of cult animes and movies such as Ghost in the Shell, Avalon, Ring, Ip Man, and Seven Swords among numerous others. PATLABOR 2: The Movie (Original Soundtrack) is one of his most experimental offerings, an outstanding palette of emotion-filled ambient atmospherics and percussion mastery breathing beautifully through Kawai’s minimalism meets modern classical approach. His symphony of moods paints a delicate picture of urban isolation, a central theme in the movie, but doesn’t hide hints of hope for a joyful future.
PATLABOR 2: The Movie (Original Soundtrack) is an ideal companion to Kenji Kawai’s Ghost in the Shell soundtrack, already available on WRWTFWW Records.
Have we ever needed great storytellers so badly? Voices to snap us out of our collective grey funk, to pull us out of our narrow, hemmed-in worlds and to lighten our days and enlighten us with their perspectives, Immersing us in their worldview and history. People who can make us laugh, cry, gasp or nod sagely, to see our world anew and not feel so alone. We need stories, vignettes, new windows to look out of, and narrators to help those new visions make sense.
In short, we need Scott Lavene. Born and raised in Essex, but a man of the world who has wandered far and wide, Lavene’s a storyteller who can capture all the madness, joy and frustration of life while singing about worms writhing in the ground. Lavene’s been in bands since his teens, but only really located the voice that makes his new album Milk City Sweethearts so remarkable – that combination of wry observation, humble wisdom, unguarded vulnerability and unpredictable humour – in a music workshop for alcoholics and addicts, long after he’d bid farewell to childhood dreams of pop stardom, and the ghosts and demons that accompany those dreams.
He released an album as Big Top Heartbreak, 2016’s Deadbeat Ballads, and followed it with his first album under his own name, 2019’s droll and marvellous Broke. “I was signed to a little label in Bristol, but then they went skint,” he remembers. This time, however, the disappointment didn’t shake his confidence or his resolve. “I started writing prose, like ‘flash fiction’, and I’ve begun a novel,” he says. “And I’ve started some creative writing workshops for people who’ve come out of my situation.”
Amid all this activity, the songs that became Milk City Sweethearts began to take shape. Lavene noticed the border between his prose and his songwriting beginning to become porous, and the album feels like a clutch of excellent short stories set to music. Without a label, he recorded the album at home, and assembled it in a week in his mum’s garage during lockdown’s heavy manners. It’s a warm, witty, charismatic record with a dark heart at the centre, Lavene sounding dislocated and therefore able to write his everyday stories with a left-handed brilliance and blunt honesty that keeps them so fresh, like classic Kinks, or David Bowie if he’d never had to go to space to feel otherworldly. His songs are talking blues, set to loose and minimal and excellent art-rock with a pop sensibility, the honk of Roxy sax and the guttural weird-funk of Ian Dury’s Blockheads haunting their grooves.
Have we ever needed great storytellers so badly? Voices to snap us out of our collective grey funk, to pull us out of our narrow, hemmed-in worlds and to lighten our days and enlighten us with their perspectives, Immersing us in their worldview and history. People who can make us laugh, cry, gasp or nod sagely, to see our world anew and not feel so alone. We need stories, vignettes, new windows to look out of, and narrators to help those new visions make sense.
In short, we need Scott Lavene. Born and raised in Essex, but a man of the world who has wandered far and wide, Lavene’s a storyteller who can capture all the madness, joy and frustration of life while singing about worms writhing in the ground. Lavene’s been in bands since his teens, but only really located the voice that makes his new album Milk City Sweethearts so remarkable – that combination of wry observation, humble wisdom, unguarded vulnerability and unpredictable humour – in a music workshop for alcoholics and addicts, long after he’d bid farewell to childhood dreams of pop stardom, and the ghosts and demons that accompany those dreams.
He released an album as Big Top Heartbreak, 2016’s Deadbeat Ballads, and followed it with his first album under his own name, 2019’s droll and marvellous Broke. “I was signed to a little label in Bristol, but then they went skint,” he remembers. This time, however, the disappointment didn’t shake his confidence or his resolve. “I started writing prose, like ‘flash fiction’, and I’ve begun a novel,” he says. “And I’ve started some creative writing workshops for people who’ve come out of my situation.”
Amid all this activity, the songs that became Milk City Sweethearts began to take shape. Lavene noticed the border between his prose and his songwriting beginning to become porous, and the album feels like a clutch of excellent short stories set to music. Without a label, he recorded the album at home, and assembled it in a week in his mum’s garage during lockdown’s heavy manners. It’s a warm, witty, charismatic record with a dark heart at the centre, Lavene sounding dislocated and therefore able to write his everyday stories with a left-handed brilliance and blunt honesty that keeps them so fresh, like classic Kinks, or David Bowie if he’d never had to go to space to feel otherworldly. His songs are talking blues, set to loose and minimal and excellent art-rock with a pop sensibility, the honk of Roxy sax and the guttural weird-funk of Ian Dury’s Blockheads haunting their grooves.
