Buscar:hard forces

Summer 2021.Ollie Rant & Peaky Beats have joined forces to bring you 4 hard hitting club ready ukg heaters straight from the PBR studio. Uplifting energetic chord chop filled, wub infused, 2 step come 4x4 bangers to get your ready for the fast approaching festival season.

A tribute to the late Kenny Hawkes, London's dark lord of house music. Lovingly selected and curated by Luke Solomon, Jonny Rock and Leon Oakey.

Running from 1995 to 2002, 'Space' was a Wednesday night founded by Kenny Hawkes and Luke Solomon. It inhabited the underground world of Bar Rumba right in the heart of London's West End and took place each and every week. Kenny and Luke had both been regular fixtures on infamous London Pirate Radio station 'Girls FM', and were seeking a suitable place to play the kind of music they supported on their respective radio shows. They were presented with a weekly opportunity at Bar Rumba and snapped it up.

'Space' was THE place for 7 solid years, hosting local and international guests from the house music community week in week out, to 200+ hardcore and dedicated followers. Regular guest bookings read like a 'who's who' of the music scene with sets from Derrick Carter, Andrew Weatherall, DJ Harvey, Tom Middleton, A Man Called Adam, Ralph Lawson and Huggy, Harri and Domenic, Francois Kevorkian, Salt City Orchestra, Carl Cox, Chez Damier and Ron Trent.... the list goes on and on and on! Music from seminal record labels such as Classic, Prescription, Cajual, Paper, Relief was played on rotation amongst a killer mix of Disco classics, alternative 80s music, left-field B-sides and techno. The night undeniably became a cauldron of amazing music and midweek hedonistic chaos.

As Soho changed beyond recognition and clubbing moved Eastwards, Kenny and Luke decided to call it a day. Sadly, Kenny Hawkes died in 2011, leaving a huge hole in the dance music community. Kenny was a legendary figure with an unmistakable sound and DJ style, he had a warped sense of humour and a huge personality and he continues to be dearly missed by all to this day.

As a tribute to Kenny, his musical partner in crime Luke Solomon alongside 'Space' regular and DJ / Editor supreme Jonny Rock, and former Classic Records label boss Leon Oakey have joined forces to celebrate his life through music. 3 years of tweaking, pooling music and clearing tracks have culminated in 2 very special double albums and a digital compilation. A collection of 'Space' classics, underground jams and the tracks that shook the Shaftesbury Avenue dance floor, shaping one of London's most revered midweek sessions.

All profits from the compilation will be donated to the British Liver Trust.

A tribute to the late Kenny Hawkes, London's dark lord of house music. Lovingly selected and curated by Luke Solomon, Jonny Rock and Leon Oakey.

Running from 1995 to 2002, 'Space' was a Wednesday night founded by Kenny Hawkes and Luke Solomon. It inhabited the underground world of Bar Rumba right in the heart of London's West End and took place each and every week. Kenny and Luke had both been regular fixtures on infamous London Pirate Radio station 'Girls FM', and were seeking a suitable place to play the kind of music they supported on their respective radio shows. They were presented with a weekly opportunity at Bar Rumba and snapped it up.

'Space' was THE place for 7 solid years, hosting local and international guests from the house music community week in week out, to 200+ hardcore and dedicated followers. Regular guest bookings read like a 'who's who' of the music scene with sets from Derrick Carter, Andrew Weatherall, DJ Harvey, Tom Middleton, A Man Called Adam, Ralph Lawson and Huggy, Harri and Domenic, Francois Kevorkian, Salt City Orchestra, Carl Cox, Chez Damier and Ron Trent.... the list goes on and on and on! Music from seminal record labels such as Classic, Prescription, Cajual, Paper, Relief was played on rotation amongst a killer mix of Disco classics, alternative 80s music, left-field B-sides and techno. The night undeniably became a cauldron of amazing music and midweek hedonistic chaos.

As Soho changed beyond recognition and clubbing moved Eastwards, Kenny and Luke decided to call it a day. Sadly, Kenny Hawkes died in 2011, leaving a huge hole in the dance music community. Kenny was a legendary figure with an unmistakable sound and DJ style, he had a warped sense of humour and a huge personality and he continues to be dearly missed by all to this day.

As a tribute to Kenny, his musical partner in crime Luke Solomon alongside 'Space' regular and DJ / Editor supreme Jonny Rock, and former Classic Records label boss Leon Oakey have joined forces to celebrate his life through music. 3 years of tweaking, pooling music and clearing tracks have culminated in 2 very special double albums and a digital compilation. A collection of 'Space' classics, underground jams and the tracks that shook the Shaftesbury Avenue dance floor, shaping one of London's most revered midweek sessions.

All profits from the compilation will be donated to the British Liver Trust.

“Mt. Hadamard National Park” is the Hallow Ground debut by composer, programmer, and instrument designer Matthias Puech. Informed by mathematical and artistic approaches that aim to both contemplate on and control complexity, the eponymous five-part composition explores natural and mystical forces through what he calls “audio-naturalist noise”. The composition is complemented by two further pieces that follow similar concepts: “Suspension” emulates the chemical phenomenon of the same name, while “Imperceptible Life” hinges on the musical possibilities of stridulation. Over the course of the entire album, Puech’s singular take on electro-acoustic and electronic music creates unique sonic spaces as much as it pays its dues to the unpredictability of the world that we inhabit. Jacques Hadamard was a pioneer among physicists and mathematicians who, in the early 20th century, were puzzled by processes that are deterministic but hard to predict. The sounds, arranged in sweeping and tense dynamics, serve as multiple agents within a complex system. The synthetic flora and fauna created through the use of the composer-performer’s instruments feels uncannily familiar or even disturbingly hostile at times... This process is mirrored in aquatic yet tangible sounds as well as dynamics that slowly converge towards density before the composition ends on a quiet note. The 14-minute-long “Imperceptible Life” is based on a 2019 live performance first conceived as a full-scale test drive of some new electronic equipment Puech was designing at that time. It explores the musical potential of stridulation, the act of creating sounds by rubbing together certain body parts—in the insect world, a common means of communication. Again, Puech’s approach is neither purely naturalistic nor only mimetic. Rather, “Imperceptible Life” offers yet another artistic reflection on the theme of chaos and order, and how human perception and emotion relate to it.As a whole, “Mt. Hadamard National Park” thus not merely mirrors natural phenomena but transforms them in ways that are emotionally evocative: the complexity and apparent arbitrariness of Puech’s compositions reveal an underlying beauty that is equal parts haunting and comforting.

Two of underground music's most undeniable and unpredictable forces of nature have collided: END and Cult Leader join together to release their split EP, Gather & Mourn, out on Closed Casket Activities. This four track collection finds each of these each of luminaries firing at full blast with the kind of heavy music that simultaneously repulses as it enraptures, fusing grind, hardcore, and death metal with an ominous intensity befitting of a world on fire.

2020. The year of the corona-pandemic, when the music world was forced into a standstill, five old friends put in motion an old idea that had been lingering - and what eventually was to become a new band and powerhouse: The Halo Effect.
The members of The Halo Effect are not only masters of their domain, but also some of the pioneers of the Gothenburg melodeath scene; Lead guitarists and melodic deathslingers Niclas Engelin and Jesper Strömblad, lead singer and raging growler and lyricist Mikael Stanne, further on adding to this mix is the solid backbone and foundation of power bassist Peter Iwers, and his partner in crime since twenty plus years, hard-hitting drummer Daniel Svensson.
Knowing each other from an early age during the late 80’s and then playing together in different constellations during the 90’s, they came to dominate the Metal scene in Gothenburg - mainly being part of the two major bands and metal exports In Flames and Dark Tranquillity, also two of the pioneers and major forces behind the melodeath monicker: The Gothenburg Sound. A sound that would echo far and wide across the world and influence countless of metal bands during the 90’s and early 2000’s.This was also the initial thought behind The Halo Effect - to go back to the roots and
explore what the groundbreaking metal sounded like then. And add the experience and skills of what the members could bring to the table now. The result is an exceptional album and real tour de force to fans of melodeath where the echoes of the Gothenburg Sound is evident. The Halo Effect delivers the goods in a brutally efficient display of heart pounding beats, melodic mayhem and furious growling at its best. Raw, yetmelodic, and in your melted face.Buckle up and remove your ear plugs. The restrictions are being lifted, the pandemic is over, and The Halo Effect is finally ready to meet its audience all over the world.

(Hardway Brothers, Break Mode, Justin Robertson, Mr BC mixes)

The Brightonian Balaeric scene is very much in the spotlight here as South Coast label Higher Love Recordings join forces with Perry Granville, aka Hotel Pellirocco's Dave Sibley, for six sizzling bits of wonky dance floor action. Tow of the tunes have been released digitally before but here they get polished up and pressed to wax alongside a couple of remixes. 'Sailing Ships' is a textural, dark and heavy chugger that Hardway Brothers flip into way more dubbed out and spacious. Then come four versions of 'New Arp' - the acid-laced Break Mode remix, an icy electro original, a mind-melting Justin Robertson Deadstock 33s remix and a biker disco bumper from Mr BC.

Surging brass and organ-laden funk wonderment! Formed in 1967, Crow
combines gritty blues with nasty, hard-charging garage rock
Inspired by the likes of The Ventures and The Trashmen, Minnesota natives Harry
Nehls, Dick Wiegand, and Larry Wiegand combined forces with ex- Jokers Wild
members David Wagner and Dave Kink Middlemist. Originally known as South 40,
the band released two singles and one album, Live at Someplace Else, on
Metrobeat Records.
After winning a recording session with Columbia from a battle of the bands
contest in Des Moines, Iowa, the band recorded five demos: Evil Woman, Time to
Make a Turn, Busy Day, and White Eyes. Columbia didn't offer the band a contract,
but Dunwich signed the band.
To give their sound a more commercial appeal, Dunwich added horns to Evil
Woman without the band's knowledge- and it worked! Crow signed with Capitol
subsidiary Amaret Records after turning down Atlantic, hoping to be a big fish in a
small pond. Recording their first electrifying album, Crow Music, in 1969, Crow
delivered their very best. Before it was covered by Black Sabbath and Ike & Tina
Turner, their acclaimed single, Evil Woman (Don't Play Your Games With Me), hit
the Top 20 that Fall. Reminiscent of Blood, Sweat & Tears, Deep Purple, and
James Gang, Crow blends an alluring mix of soul, funk, blues, psychedelia, and
garage rock into one package. I'm sure you'll agree Crow Music is a holy grail of
heart-poundin', grease grindin' rock!

Surging brass and organ-laden funk wonderment! Formed in 1967, Crow
combines gritty blues with nasty, hard-charging garage rock
Inspired by the likes of The Ventures and The Trashmen, Minnesota natives Harry
Nehls, Dick Wiegand, and Larry Wiegand combined forces with ex- Jokers Wild
members David Wagner and Dave Kink Middlemist. Originally known as South 40,
the band released two singles and one album, Live at Someplace Else, on
Metrobeat Records.
After winning a recording session with Columbia from a battle of the bands
contest in Des Moines, Iowa, the band recorded five demos: Evil Woman, Time to
Make a Turn, Busy Day, and White Eyes. Columbia didn't offer the band a contract,
but Dunwich signed the band.
To give their sound a more commercial appeal, Dunwich added horns to Evil
Woman without the band's knowledge- and it worked! Crow signed with Capitol
subsidiary Amaret Records after turning down Atlantic, hoping to be a big fish in a
small pond. Recording their first electrifying album, Crow Music, in 1969, Crow
delivered their very best. Before it was covered by Black Sabbath and Ike & Tina
Turner, their acclaimed single, Evil Woman (Don't Play Your Games With Me), hit
the Top 20 that Fall. Reminiscent of Blood, Sweat & Tears, Deep Purple, and
James Gang, Crow blends an alluring mix of soul, funk, blues, psychedelia, and
garage rock into one package. I'm sure you'll agree Crow Music is a holy grail of
heart-poundin', grease grindin' rock!

Surging brass and organ-laden funk wonderment! Formed in 1967, Crow
combines gritty blues with nasty, hard-charging garage rock
Inspired by the likes of The Ventures and The Trashmen, Minnesota natives Harry
Nehls, Dick Wiegand, and Larry Wiegand combined forces with ex- Jokers Wild
members David Wagner and Dave Kink Middlemist. Originally known as South 40,
the band released two singles and one album, Live at Someplace Else, on
Metrobeat Records.
After winning a recording session with Columbia from a battle of the bands
contest in Des Moines, Iowa, the band recorded five demos: Evil Woman, Time to
Make a Turn, Busy Day, and White Eyes. Columbia didn't offer the band a contract,
but Dunwich signed the band.
To give their sound a more commercial appeal, Dunwich added horns to Evil
Woman without the band's knowledge- and it worked! Crow signed with Capitol
subsidiary Amaret Records after turning down Atlantic, hoping to be a big fish in a
small pond. Recording their first electrifying album, Crow Music, in 1969, Crow
delivered their very best. Before it was covered by Black Sabbath and Ike & Tina
Turner, their acclaimed single, Evil Woman (Don't Play Your Games With Me), hit
the Top 20 that Fall. Reminiscent of Blood, Sweat & Tears, Deep Purple, and
James Gang, Crow blends an alluring mix of soul, funk, blues, psychedelia, and
garage rock into one package. I'm sure you'll agree Crow Music is a holy grail of
heart-poundin', grease grindin' rock!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Balamii resident and Sticky Tapes-founder Theo Everyday arrives with a huge debut on Cheeky Sneakers, seamlessly blending the worlds of jungle, electro and trance with his signature sauce of nostalgic and futuristic hyper-funk.

Having curated the Sticky Tapes mix series and label - supporting music from artists such as Stones Taro, Om Unit, Jossy Mitsu and Lobster Theremin label head Asquith - the DJ and producer knows a thing or two about merging differing styles and energies. The Holsten FM EP plays out like a three hour club set; placing classic UK sounds at its foundation and throwing multi-coloured paint all over them.

'The Way You Feel' makes use of the pitched-vocal, SoundCloud hyper-pop aesthetic with hardcore-piano stabs and heartstring-tugging cheese wrapped within a huge low-end swinging bassline. A great lights-up tool to leave them with a smile on their face. The classic rave energy is maintained on the EP title track - a stripped-back cut of ragga jungle-step that's as meditative as it is devastating.

From golden-era rave and jungle future-mutations to heads-down club sounds, 'Every Body's Talking (Well Let's Talk)' is a strobe-light power sequence for when things are in full swing, before 90s breakbeat and trance join forces on a 'Six and Two Threes' hands-in-the-air moments.

Breaks-littered dream sequences that feel like a warm hug follow on 'Summer Lie In' - its chopped melodies and stirring atmospherics causing ripples within the pond of paradise - before 'Mod Cons' closes with a squelching cut of acid-electro on a killer digi-only exclusive.

B. Bravo (aka Adam Mori) returns to Bastard Jazz with the long-awaited follow-up to his 2017 debut LP, "Paradise," with a fresh full-length offering: "Vizionz." Replete with his signature future funk vibes, infectiously soulful grooves, and talkbox excursions, "Vizionz" sees the multifaceted artist take the classic West Coast into outer space. If B. Bravo's last album sought to get lost in paradise - enjoying the moment here and now - "Vizionz" looks forward, feet placed firmly in an established LA vibe, while the matured eyes of a veteran producer gaze keenly to the future.

"Vizionz" arrives following a slew of diverse singles, which highlight B. Bravo's stunning versatility as a songwriter, producer, and collaborator. Last year's "Lifted (What U Waiting 4)" came first, at the end of May, 2020, pairing g-funk talk-box verses and synth lines with rich vocal harmonies and a dance-floor-ready beat. Frequent collaborator Reva DeVito (Miami Horror, Kaytranada) makes a standout vocal appearance on "Fly Bye," the second single. Here, Adam surrounds Reva's vocals with ambient pads, a Dilla-inspired beat, and an irresistible bassline, while Reva's dreamily sings about getting away from it all. The final single, "Believe," sees Chuck Inglish (of the famed duo The Cool Kids) rhyme in his distinctive baritone over a bass-heavy instrumental meant to rattle some car stereos.

The singles offer a view into the rest of the album: Solo B. Bravo joints include "Moon Bounce," a talk-box boogie jam begging for late-night drives with the top down; the largely-instrumental synth improvisation, "Midnight Rider;" the upbeat "Penelope," which showcases Adam's vocal and harmonic prowess; a bumping g-funk interlude, with "Flip Out;" as well as the laid back album opener, "Da Essence."

Further vocal assists come by way of Sally Green on the flirty "10/10," and Rojai on the slow jam ""No Regrets" . Both singers have worked on B. Bravo projects in the past, with Rojai additionally joining forces with Adam to form the duo Kool Customer, whose self-titled debut album was released on Bastard Jazz in 2018. Two more hip-hop-leaning tracks are aided by Def Sound ("Back Times Two") and Nico Fasho ("Ms. Stardust"); leaning heavy into outerspace G-Funk Hip-Hop vibes.

Taken as a whole, "Vizionz" is a much needed boost of serotonin: Uncompromisingly positive, sometimes nostalgic, sometimes aspirational, but always funky. The range of styles is a testament to Adam's indelible production chops, songwriting skill, and ability to collaborate. While it has been a long 5 years since "Paradise," "Vizionz" proves more than worth the wait.

Born and raised in California, with roots in Japan, B. Bravo's signature style of Cosmic Funk and late night synth grooves have made him a favorite among DJ's, dancers, and music lovers worldwide. A tasteful producer, sought after remixer, party rocking DJ, master of the talkbox, band leader, and alumnus of the Red Bull Music Academy, Mr. Bravo is an accomplished performer both at home and abroad.

Heavily inspired by the synthesizer-enhanced R&B grooves of the late '70s and early '80s, B. Bravo debuted in 2009 with the seven-track "Analog Starship" EP. A deeper impression was made the following year with a shorter extended play, "Computa Love," the title track of which was supported by BBC DJ Benji B months prior to release. Additional strides were made with a batch of singles and EPs that followed throughout the next few years, as Bravo toured and performed at numerous festivals around the world.

His relationship with the Brooklyn tastemaker label, Bastard Jazz Recordings, began in 2016 with the 7" single "I'm For Real / Stay The Night' (which notably featured a Mr. Carmack remix of the latter). Bravo's debut solo LP quickly followed with 2017's critically acclaimed "Paradise" - which shone a light on vocalists and frequent collaborators Reva DeVito, Trailer Limon, Kissey, and Lauren Faith - with a remix album appearing six months later.

Additional solo releases have found a home on Gilles Peterson's Brownswood Recordings and Frite Nite, while production credits have appeared on releases from the legendary Blue Note Records, HW&W, All City, Friends of Friends, and Tokyo Dawn. B. Bravo has worked on projects with the likes of Salva, Mr. Carmack, Teeko, DJ Lean Rock, Reva DeVito, Lauren Faith, and Kate Stewart.

Having toured throughout the US, Latin America, Europe and Asia, he's shared the stage with performers like Erykah Badu, Flying Lotus, DāM-FunK, Hudson Mohawke, at a world-spanning range of festivals such as Detroit Electronic Music Fest, HARD LA, Northern Nights, Laneway Singapore, Sonar in Barcelona, Snowglobe, SXSW, Basscoast, Do-Over, Low End Theory, Boiler Room, and Soulection.

B. Bravo's "Vizionz" LP is out on Brooklyn's Bastard Jazz Recordings Spring, 2022.

Quality over quantity. That’s what characterises Shamek Farrah and Norman Person’s recorded output. They may have a small discography between them but it’s a stable of recordings that centrally locate them in the development of the black jazz of America. BBE Music is delighted to present a new edition of a rare, relatively unknown, and unheard gem. Recorded between 1988 and 1991 across a series of concerts, ‘Live’ was released in 1991 and was only available for sale at their gigs. Issued on audio cassette on Farrah’s private Heritage Industries label, ‘Live’ is a raw, uncompromising selection of deep, conscious jazz featuring three original compositions and two covers: ‘Aisha’, written by Person, was inspired by Person’s daughter and is a majestic joyous groove that extends out into a percussive jam; ‘Negative Forces’ is a fiercely paced hard bopper worthy of the Jazz Messengers. Written by Person, he tells how “it had to be like a torpedo, man. It had to come out strong and fight against those negative forces”. The one Farrah/Person co-write on the album is ‘Timeless Beings’, a short freeform improvisation that creates a distinct moment of space and light in an otherwise intensely focussed, yet highly accessible album. The two covers on the album reflect the instruments of the co-leaders: sax and trumpet. ‘Footprints’, the classic written by the Newark Flash himself, Wayne Shorter, and first heard on ‘Miles Smiles’ in 1967 is delivered deftly by Farrah and co. Here, the band pays a respectful yet adventurous rendition, with some superbly colourful piano from Sonelius Smith. The second cover is a tribute to the great trumpeter Clifford Brown, who died in a car accident in 1956, aged just 25. ‘I Remember Clifford’ written by Benny Golson, is handled with suitably delicate reverence. “I still listen to Clifford Brown today,” says Person. “He’s still my teacher.” On ‘Live’, saxophonist Farrah and trumpeter Person - friends for decades - capture an energy and vibration that is infused with the spirit of their youth – whether drawing on the hard bop of the late 50s and early 60s or the Afrocentric spiritual jazz of the early 70s, of which Farrah is intimately linked via his albums on Strata East, ‘Live’ is a document of two masters at work. ‘Live’ has flown under the radar to many a fan of prime black conscious and spiritual jazz but now BBE brings back this astonishing set by two giant talents accompanied by a group of musicians who shine with brilliance and verve. Available for the first time on CD, digital, and double vinyl set cut at 45rpm by the Grammy-nominated The Carvery mastering studio, ‘Live’ also comes with an extended interview with Shamek Farrah and Norman Person by Tony Higgins.

Nathan Fake's fourth album, Providence, crafted in the wake of a crippling two year spell of writer's block. Is his most personal and profoundly emotional work to date.
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Providence sees the British producer collaborate with vocalists for the first time, joining forces with Prurient (aka Vatican Shadow / founder of Hospital Productions) and Raphaelle Standell-Preston from Braids. Both arose from chance meetings in Geneva and Osaka as their tour schedules crossed. Prurient contributed the heavily distorted vocal to 'DEGREELESSNESS' - I was a huge fan of Dominic's (Prurient) music before we met and I love the way he situates his vocals in his productions. I really like how you can't make out what he's saying at all...' - whilst Raphaelle, who lends her voice to 'RVK', was introduced to Nathan by their mutual friend Jon Hopkins. I deliberately kept the first half of the track instrumental and I love the way her vocal lands,' he says. It's quite unexpected when she starts singing.'

It's the quickest album I've written and because of that it's got a close thread running throughout,' says Nathan of his creative process. It also has a distinct sonic signature as a result of the producer refreshing his set-up. I was feeling nostalgic and bought a cheap Korg Prophecy on a whim and it ended up being the backbone of the album,' he explains. I remember reading an article in Sound On Sound back in 1995-96 and I didn't really know much about music production then, but I remember thinking that it must be AMAZING. As it turns out, it's actually quite crap really... It's very hard to program, looks unimpressive, doesn't sound great (laughs), but I recorded it through loads of different pre-amps and tape and mixers and roughed it up. I'm always intrigued by low-end gear, I like the challenge and the limitations it poses.'

Norfolk born and bred, Nathan's first encounters with electronic music came via the radio (hearing the likes of Aphex Twin and Orbital) and reading about the equipment that they used in magazines. This was the stimulus for him to buy some gear and begin his own sonic experiments and, linking with James Holden in 2003, Nathan's early output came via his fledgling Border Community label. His debut album Drowning In A Sea Of Love' (2006) was a triumphant record, drawing a rapturous reception from the likes of Pitchfork, The Guardian and Mixmag (who hailed it among the best of the year). Recording two further albums for Border Community, Hard Islands' (2009) and Steam Days' (2012), Nathan found himself in frantic touring mode for two years and, in this nomadic state, found it impossible to write any new music. On his return, events in his personal life intertwined with, and exacerbated, this creative block. I didn't write any music at all for about two years,' Nathan explains. Overall there was roughly a three year break from writing.'

Emerging from this extended period of inactivity with renewed vigour and lust for life, Providence was recorded during the first six months of 2016 in Nathan's home studio / living room. The meaning behind the title is two-pronged: on the one hand it's a nod to the aforementioned Korg Prophecy synth that features so heavily on the record. But on a deeper level it means guidance or divine guidance' - not necessarily in a religious sense but more to be guided by a higher power - or more specifically to Nathan, music as therapy and a path out of a dark period in his life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Italy’s rising star Mauro Venti will arrive on Hot Creations for the first time in July with the three-track Sirens EP. It continues a stellar 2022 for the burgeoning artist, having released on EMI and Snatch Records already this year.

The title track leads the charge, blending minimal-laced bass elements with a rolling lead groove. It’s a modern house cut through and through, building cleanly into the futuristic sounds of Prison. Signature synths create a bladerunner-esque feel, transporting us to far away realms, before Symphony ends proceedings on a techy, late-night note courtesy of four-four bass patterns and gritty, hard-hitting percussion.

Mauro Venti is fast-becoming one of contemporary house music’s leading forces. His releases speak for themselves, with appearances on Green Velvet’s Relief, Superfett and Gorgon City’s Realm Records already under his belt. At just twenty-five years old, such feats are made all the more impressive, proving there’s plenty still to come for the young Italian talent.

Anton Klint hails from Sweden and likes to make music at night. In his first release for Hivern he shows once again his knack for producing highly amusing electronic dancing sounds. Both of his tracks in 'Lyckliga Mnniskor' are twisted, playful and hard to pin down, which gives them a unique freshness. The title track is a schizoid take on tribalistic house, in which playful percussion layers and nervous synth sequences provide the background to its menacing vocal sample. 'Djembe Unchained' is, as its title suggests, still heavy on the percussion, but these are generously processed through delays to build a spaced-out and dizzy atmosphere. The track gets the remix treatment by our long-time favourite Black Merlin, who sharpens the beat to invoke mystic forces and push 'Djembe Unchained' into slo-mo cosmic techno territories. The artwork is by Barcelona-based artist Xavier Marin.

The Body has been an iconic force in heavy music for over 2 de- cades with a long history of collaborations. Recent collaborators include BUMMER, Full of Hell, Thou, Uniform. Lee Buford from The Body is also in Manslaughter 777 and Sightless Pit. BIG| BRAVE have a singular voice in heavy music, honed over 5 albums The Body and BIG|BRAVE are both bands possessed with an unequaled ability to convey overwhelming weight with simplicity, repetition, and detailed sonic atmospheres; artists who continue to alter the definition of what it means to be a heavy band. The Body are consistently prolific while increasingly ambitious as untethered producers and collaborators. BIG|BRAVE shape sound with dense waves of guitar and feedback, minimalist and hypnotic crashes, and emotionally exacting vocal melodies. In collaboration, The Body and BIG|BRAVE shift the gravity of their compositions to woven layers of percussion and unspooling guitars that sprawl through stark frameworks of earthy folk. Their debut collaborative album Leaving None But Small Birds distills the two ensembles" pioneering approach to heavy music into psalms for the forgotten, threnodies of lost love, and odes to vengeance. Typical to The Body"s creative process, Leaving None But Small Birds was composed almost entirely in the studio at Machine With Magnets with engineer/producer Seth Manchester. The Body and BIG|BRAVE aimed to challenge themselves to craft a fully realized and cohesive work that strayed outside the boundaries of the music they make individually. The Body"s Lee Buford set up the initial challenge: collaborating to make an album that evoked the country and folk roots of The Band. BIG|BRAVE"s Robin Wattie compiled lyrics and melodic lines from across Appalachian, Canadian, and English hymns and folk songs. Select phrases were then reworked and precisely arranged to center the experiences of marginalized characters, victims of hardship, and those yearning for love within each story. The despair and empowerment of these traditional tunes draw remarkable parallels with each group"s focus on championing people often cast aside in history. The Body and BIG|BRAVE, following a folk tradition, make each song their own through shifts in perspective and a synthesis of passages from kindred tales. BIG|BRAVE"s roots as a minimalist folk band and The Body"s love of old-time, country blues, and folk music enable the quintet to strike a formidable balance between sorrowful lamentation and uplifting resolve to weighty effect. Leaving None But Small Birds thatches together two monumental innovative forces that render the emotionally profound with lucid, devastating vitality