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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.

2022 Repress

Feel Fly is the alter ego of Daniele Tomassini: DJ and producer, composer of sound for theater and cinema, member of multiple hybrid projects, both live and studio. Based in Perugia (IT), the co-founder of the monthly party Afro Templum, has been for years an active organizer of musical and cultural events in the underground city scene. Raised between the walls of the historical and transversal Norman Club, he is currently a resident of the Tangram and Numbers parties at Perugia’s Urban Club, which led him to share the console with many important national and international artists. An avid collector of synths, keyboards and any noisy toy he can lay his hand on, after appearances on on “Roots Underground” and his own"Too Romantic” it’s now time for his first full length release “Syrius” on “Internasjonal” co-produced and mixed by Prins Thomas. “In the mystical crescendo of soft cosmic-melodic carpets and expansive Balearic pulses, Feel Fly tinges his sounds with Neo Disco, House, Synth-pop and Italo incursions. A slow pilgrimage permeated by immersive and dreamy beats that envelop you .” Prins Thomas , April 2019

Die Jazzkantine hatte nie Berührungsängste beim Manövrieren zwischen den Genres, das neue Studioalbum "Discotheque" stellt dies eindrucksvoll unter Beweis. Gründer und Bandleader Christian Eitner hat es geschafft, die vielköpfige Charaktertruppe im Kern seit fast 30 Jahren zusammenzuhalten. Gestählt durch unzählige Gigs in kleinen schmuddeligen Clubs, aber auch in piekfeinen Theatern und in riesigen Arenen. Die Jazzkantine hat bis dato um die 1.500 Konzerte gespielt, das Schönste und Schlimmste, Aufregendste und Außergewöhnlichste aus allen Musikwelten erlebt. Und sie hat noch lange nicht genug. Wir müssen wieder tanzen. Wir müssen wieder singen. Und so taucht die Jazzkantine ein in die Welt der "Discomusik", die in ihren Ursprüngen vor 50 Jahren im Milieu des New Yorker Undergrounds viel diverser und innovativer ist, als man vermutet. Eine Melange aus ersten DJ-Techniken und neuen bombastischen Sound-Systemen bietet auf privat organisierten House Partys viel Raum zur Entfaltung der LGBT-Community. Noch heute erinnert alljährlich der Christopher Street Day an die Stonewall-Riots und somit an eine Zeit, als noch gleichgeschlechtlicher Tanz verboten ist. Vor allem David Mancusos "Loft" ist Anfang der 70er eine Keimzelle für den Disco-Sound, der erst viel später mit Hits wie "Stayin' Alive" und "Le Freak" zum internationalen Boom wächst - auch die Rolling Stones, Abba und Kiss springen bekanntlich später auf den Zug auf. Parallel verbinden aber auch Jazzgrößen wie Herbie Hancock, Miles Davis und Chick Corea die Raffinesse des Jazz mit der rhythmischen Intensität des Funks zu "Fusion". Und Fred Wesley sagt: "Discomusic ist Funk mit einer Krawatte". Wie es sich für die experimentierfreudige Jazzkantine gehört, entsteht auf "Discotheque" ein Sound, den man "Disco Jazz" nennen könnte - alles im gewohnten Mix aus Funk, Soul und Rap. Songs, die Lust machen, die neun Musiker endlich wieder live auf der Clubbühne zu erleben.

Die Jazzkantine hatte nie Berührungsängste beim Manövrieren zwischen den Genres, das neue Studioalbum "Discotheque" stellt dies eindrucksvoll unter Beweis. Gründer und Bandleader Christian Eitner hat es geschafft, die vielköpfige Charaktertruppe im Kern seit fast 30 Jahren zusammenzuhalten. Gestählt durch unzählige Gigs in kleinen schmuddeligen Clubs, aber auch in piekfeinen Theatern und in riesigen Arenen. Die Jazzkantine hat bis dato um die 1.500 Konzerte gespielt, das Schönste und Schlimmste, Aufregendste und Außergewöhnlichste aus allen Musikwelten erlebt. Und sie hat noch lange nicht genug. Wir müssen wieder tanzen. Wir müssen wieder singen. Und so taucht die Jazzkantine ein in die Welt der "Discomusik", die in ihren Ursprüngen vor 50 Jahren im Milieu des New Yorker Undergrounds viel diverser und innovativer ist, als man vermutet. Eine Melange aus ersten DJ-Techniken und neuen bombastischen Sound-Systemen bietet auf privat organisierten House Partys viel Raum zur Entfaltung der LGBT-Community. Noch heute erinnert alljährlich der Christopher Street Day an die Stonewall-Riots und somit an eine Zeit, als noch gleichgeschlechtlicher Tanz verboten ist. Vor allem David Mancusos "Loft" ist Anfang der 70er eine Keimzelle für den Disco-Sound, der erst viel später mit Hits wie "Stayin' Alive" und "Le Freak" zum internationalen Boom wächst - auch die Rolling Stones, Abba und Kiss springen bekanntlich später auf den Zug auf. Parallel verbinden aber auch Jazzgrößen wie Herbie Hancock, Miles Davis und Chick Corea die Raffinesse des Jazz mit der rhythmischen Intensität des Funks zu "Fusion". Und Fred Wesley sagt: "Discomusic ist Funk mit einer Krawatte". Wie es sich für die experimentierfreudige Jazzkantine gehört, entsteht auf "Discotheque" ein Sound, den man "Disco Jazz" nennen könnte - alles im gewohnten Mix aus Funk, Soul und Rap. Songs, die Lust machen, die neun Musiker endlich wieder live auf der Clubbühne zu erleben.

Gold Vinyl

Die Jazzkantine hatte nie Berührungsängste beim Manövrieren zwischen den Genres, das neue Studioalbum "Discotheque" stellt dies eindrucksvoll unter Beweis. Gründer und Bandleader Christian Eitner hat es geschafft, die vielköpfige Charaktertruppe im Kern seit fast 30 Jahren zusammenzuhalten. Gestählt durch unzählige Gigs in kleinen schmuddeligen Clubs, aber auch in piekfeinen Theatern und in riesigen Arenen. Die Jazzkantine hat bis dato um die 1.500 Konzerte gespielt, das Schönste und Schlimmste, Aufregendste und Außergewöhnlichste aus allen Musikwelten erlebt. Und sie hat noch lange nicht genug. Wir müssen wieder tanzen. Wir müssen wieder singen. Und so taucht die Jazzkantine ein in die Welt der "Discomusik", die in ihren Ursprüngen vor 50 Jahren im Milieu des New Yorker Undergrounds viel diverser und innovativer ist, als man vermutet. Eine Melange aus ersten DJ-Techniken und neuen bombastischen Sound-Systemen bietet auf privat organisierten House Partys viel Raum zur Entfaltung der LGBT-Community. Noch heute erinnert alljährlich der Christopher Street Day an die Stonewall-Riots und somit an eine Zeit, als noch gleichgeschlechtlicher Tanz verboten ist. Vor allem David Mancusos "Loft" ist Anfang der 70er eine Keimzelle für den Disco-Sound, der erst viel später mit Hits wie "Stayin' Alive" und "Le Freak" zum internationalen Boom wächst - auch die Rolling Stones, Abba und Kiss springen bekanntlich später auf den Zug auf. Parallel verbinden aber auch Jazzgrößen wie Herbie Hancock, Miles Davis und Chick Corea die Raffinesse des Jazz mit der rhythmischen Intensität des Funks zu "Fusion". Und Fred Wesley sagt: "Discomusic ist Funk mit einer Krawatte". Wie es sich für die experimentierfreudige Jazzkantine gehört, entsteht auf "Discotheque" ein Sound, den man "Disco Jazz" nennen könnte - alles im gewohnten Mix aus Funk, Soul und Rap. Songs, die Lust machen, die neun Musiker endlich wieder live auf der Clubbühne zu erleben.

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."

=

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.

Tape

The third LP from the New Zealand quartet houses 12 jewels of tight, guitar-heavy songs that worm their way into your head, an incandescent collision of power-pop and skuzz. With Expert, The Beths wanted to make an album meant to be experienced live, for both the listeners and themselves. They wanted it to be fun -- to hear, to play -- in spite of the prickling anxiety throughout the lyrics, the fear of change and struggle to cope.

Most of Expert was recorded at guitarist Jonathan Pearce’s studio on Karangahape Road in Tāmaki Makaurau, Aotearoa (Auckland, New Zealand) -- and sometimes in the building's cavernous stairwell at 1am -- toward the end of 2021, until they were interrupted by a four-month national lockdown. They traded notes remotely for months, songwriting from afar and fleshing out the arrangements alone, the first time they’d written together in such a way. The following February, The Beths left the country for the first time in more than two years to tour across the US, and simultaneously finish mixing the album on the road. That latter half felt more collaborative, with everyone on-hand to trade notes in real time, until it all culminated in a chaotic three-day studio mad-dash in Los Angeles. There, Expert finally became the record they were hearing in their heads.

Expert is an extension of the same skuzzy palette the band has built across their catalog, pop hooks embedded in incisive indie rock. The album’s title track “Expert In A Dying Field” introduces the thesis for the record: “How does it feel to be an expert in a dying field? How do you know it’s over when you can’t let go?” Stokes asks. “Love is learned over time ‘til you’re an expert in a dying field.”

The rest is a capsule of The Beths’ most electrifying and exciting output, a sonic spectrum: “Your Side” is a forlorn and sincere love song, emotive; while “Silence is Golden,” with its propulsive drum line and stop-start staccato of a guitar line winding up and down, is one of the band’s sharpest and most driving. “When You Know You Know” skews a bit groovier, pure pop and a natural addition to the band’s live set. “Knees Deep” was written last minute, but yields one of the best guitar lines on Expert. There’s a certain chaos across the 12 tracks, the palpable joy of playing music with long-time friends colliding with the raw nerves of pain.

Stokes strings it all together through her singular songwriting lens, earnest and self-effacing, zeroing in on the granules of doubt and how they snowball. Did I do the wrong thing? Or did you? And are we still good people at the end of it? She isn’t interested in villains, but instead interested in just telling the story. That insecurity and thoughtfulness, translated into universality and understanding, has been the guiding light of The Beths’ output since 2016. In the face of pain, there’s no dwelling on internal anguish - instead, through The Beths’ musi

Repress!

Blu is the leader of West Coast Hip Hop. Since the days of Pharcyde, Freestyle Fellowship, and Jurassic 5, there have been few wordsmiths that have grasped the attention of listeners worldwide. Introduced to NWA and Public Enemy by his father, Blu later was captivated by the likes of Black Star, The Roots, and Common, creating a unique balance that is displayed in Blu’s personality and music. Blu’s first full length LP, “Below the Heavens” pairs Blu with producer Exile on the Sound in Color imprint. His first single, “Narrow Path” has rocked stages across the world, as fans begin to feel the impact of Blu’s music. His delivery flows flawlessly, while the content reflects the joy and pain of working class youth everywhere. Since the release of “Narrow Path,” Blu has performed alongside Slum Village, X-Clan, Platinum Pied Pipers, Lyrics Born, DJ Houseshoes, and many others, while participating in 3 high-profile nationwide tours alongside musical family members: Ta’Raach, Aloe Blacc, and Exile. The buzz has fans salivating for new music. Worldwide, people are looking to put hope into the ‘next’ emcee that will give them the same feeling when they first heard Black Thought, Common, or Slum Village. Blu fulfills this need, but maintains something that is entirely new, while not recycled.

Twenty-six year old South African producer Mbulelo Mehlomakhulu grew up with a passion for house music. He began releasing music early at only 18, working with Blaque Core's Profound Nation and issuing a slew of records under the Xerophytic Soul moniker. Achieving local and global success with tracks like 'Ancient Cultures', he began to pioneer a more experimental sound - a cross between Durban's dark, propulsive gqom sound and vintage Detroit techno. This forward-thinking composite didn't go unnoticed, and Mehlomakhulu was tapped by Derrick May to release "The Robotics People" EP on Transmat in 2018. Now Mehlomakhulu returns with four stargazing hybrid compositions that again dance in the shared sonic space between Detroit and Durban. Gqom's slow, sensual pulse carries 'Play the Beat' with chants and echoing cowbell smacks swallowed into a wormhole of squashed analog bass and reverberating Underground Resistance stabs. Title track 'Kalibre' is less florid, but commands the dancefloor with clattering South African drums, ballroom slams and the ticking urgency of Chicago's DJ Sneak. 'Uranus' and 'God's Groove' lift the dancefloor to a higher plain, spiritually connecting with Carl Craig's historic early run and layering synthetic neon pads and cinematic shimmering effects. Mbulelo's sound is smart and poignant, and completely his own. By linking contemporary South African dance music to Detroit's pioneering 1980s techno vision, he makes a connection that's never felt more current.

New version on Solar Orange Vinyl. RIYL: Slowdive, DIIV, Electric Youth, The Cure, My Bloody Valentine. Solo project of Los Angeles based Matthew Doty (ex-Saxon Shore). For Matthew Doty, Deserta has always been about exploring a sonic universe that allows him to express a kaleidoscope of emotions, without having to say much at all. Through a patchwork of reverb-tinged textures – drone guitars, lingering synths and driving percussion – the Los Angeles-based singer/songwriter and multi-instrumentalist weaves together stories of care, frustration and catharsis that ultimately stretch to a gentle resolve. On new album Every Moment, Everything You Need, Doty chronicles the kind of year we all fear, full of uncertainty, tension and sustained pressure, and transforms it into a celebration of perseverance. It’s an essential reminder that we have the power to shape the stories we tell. The pandemic meant that Doty had to give up his studio and downsize a lot of his gear and instead, carve out a space in his two-bedroom apartment to craft the next chapter of Deserta. Sharing the space with his wife and son, Doty and his partner are also essential healthcare workers, which meant the couple would often have to tag-team childcare, along with 13-hour shifts in PPE and people constantly calling with questions about the ever changing guidelines and protocols. Once the blueprint for Every Moment, Everything You Need was set, Doty reached out to a number of collaborators to stitch together his vision for the sonic landscape. James McAlister (Sufjan Stevens, The National, Taylor Swift) came onboard to perform and record drums, while Caroline Lufkin (Mice Parade) wrote and performed vocals on the ethereal “Where Did You Go.” Elsewhere, the LP was mixed by Dave Fridmann (Tame Impala, Mogwai, Interpol), with Beach House and Slowdive producer Chris Coady engineering and co-producing, making this the first time Fridmann and Coady had worked together on a project. While the vocals are more prominent than Deserta’s previous albums, it’s their amalgamation with the instrumental aspects that secures Every Moment, Everything You Need as Deserta’s most confident and assured release to date. An affecting emotional candor teamed with persistent riffs and tenacious rhythms sees Doty unafraid to dive deeper; an unrestrained approach that ushers in a lustrous purging of agitation and anxiety. Showcasing those dark, exhaustive thoughts through crucial swells and looped, electronic soundscapes, it’s an LP that’s infinitely layered, with something new to discover with each and every enchanting listen.

As the daughter of a blues musician, Chastity Brown was born with an
innate ability to channel complex circumstances into beautiful, uplifting
songs
But after surviving the isolation of the early pandemic and witnessing the global
racial reckoning that manifested itself in the riots mere blocks from her South
Minneapolis home, even she is surprised to hear the way her new album 'Sing To
The Walls' turned out. "It's a love album, in a way I didn't plan on," Chastity says.
Like so many artists who endured the uncertainty of the 2020 lockdown,
Chastity's instinct was to turn inward, at first out of self- preservation, and then
because the new songs kept coming and coming. Since finishing her last album,
2017's 'Silhouette Of Sirens', she estimates she's written nearly 100 new songs,
10 of which found their way onto 'Sing To The Walls'. Produced by Brady Blades,
'Sing To The Walls' is a sonically expansive album; it mines the roots of
Americana, folk, and soul music, but Chastity's stories are delivered in a style that
feels remarkably timely, modern, and forward-thinking. "I celebrate the emotional
richness in the tradition, but in my music I've committed myself to moving
forward and reflecting the experiences of those overlooked by tradition."
Chastity Brown has been praised by NPR, CMT, American Songwriter, the London
Times, Paste Magazine, and The Independent, among many others, and appeared
on the U.K.'s Later… with Jools Holland. She tours nationally and internationally,
having shared the stage and supported artists such as the Indigo Girls, Ani Di
Franco, Andrea Gibson, Jayhawks, The National, and Micheal Kiwanuka.

‘Bye Bye’ is a three-track offering from Philadelphia-based
sextet Blood, that rarely stays put in one style for long.

 All three songs were recorded by the band throughout the
pandemic, providing a uniting force whilst touring remained
impossible.

 The tracks are a testament to the unforgiving and rewarding
process of self-recording. The band found great relief in
finally having the time to flesh out an experimental
atmosphere without the constraint of paid studio time.
 Blood are proud of the work they’ve made, but it is
imperative to mention that all three tracks were brought to life
in a way not formerly thought possible, by the mixing
brilliance of Nancy Conforti.

 ‘Money Worries’ finds Blood slingshotted over an open letter
to their landlord. What starts as a clear threat to an obvious
albeit deserving villain, soon caves into an acoustic respite,
in which the nightmare of financial ruin becomes lullaby.

 Blood began as a solo project of current lead singer Tim
O’Brien in the winter of 2017. After going through several
line-up changes throughout 2018, the current iteration began
making waves in the bijou punk scene of Austin. They were
considered “a live staple in their own prospective scene” and
“one of Austin’s buzziest new acts” by press nationally and
locally.

 After twice touring the US, Blood were poised for a big 2020
when plans were altered drastically by the pandemic. They
then self-released their debut EP, ‘Why Wait Til’ 55, We Might
Not Even Be Alive’, in April of that year.

 In 2021, the sextet made a move to West Philadelphia and
began recording their upcoming release, ‘Bye Bye’, while
also playing shows throughout the North Eastern United
States. At this time, the group live in a seven-bedroom house
with a converted basement for recording and rehearsing.

Side A / Double A / You Feel Alright?

Double A returns for a sample heavy b-boy breaks workout with “You Feel Alright?”. This one’s a nod to his roots in late 80’s hip-hop; an à la Prince Paul cut and paste homage to a time when hip-hop was still for the dancers. There’s also a sneaky “whaddup?” to his fellow oldschool D&B heads in the breakdown. The main sample is 1970s
Afro-funk gold; horns, horns, and more horns. Bangin’ drums and a rolling baseline tie it all together for the dance floor.

Side AA / The Gaff / High Life

Party rocker, turntablist, edit maestro, all-round good dude, and Canadian National Treasure, The Gaff smashes a heavy afro-funk edit with a b-boy feel on this one. Knockin’ drums, syncopated percussion, and a house(ish) tempo make this one a guaranteed floor filler. A smattering of male vocals is the icing on the cake here too. Dj-friendly intro and outro for your mixing pleasure. A must for your crates.

After a parentship hiatus, Richard Zepezauer´s n s y d e imprint is back to push new boundaries and save some souls.

N s y d e proudly presents a next release by Skymark. It's his second full EP on the Berlin based imprint.

His Easy Saturday Night EP includes two excellent deep house jams backed with remixes by Kevin Reynolds and Mike Huckaby. The latter was previously released as a single sided limited edition.Skymark brings a bright and sun tinged house anthem on the Instrumental version of Easy Saturday Night on the A1.

The remix is in our opinion amongst Mike Huckaby's best productions. It touches the classic soulfulness of Larry Heard-style piano chords and blissful vocals combined with clear hints of Basic Channel's eternal electrifying waves. It's a perfect testament to Mike's unparalleled knowledge and wide musical range, Not only those who knew him will feel his presence while listening to this beauty.

On Insomnia, Skymark goes even deeper into deep soul territories. Pure vibes. Reworked by Detroit DJ and producer Kevin Reynolds. Made his frst appearance on nsyde back in 2011 and here he twists the original into N s y d e was founded 2011 by Richard Zepezauer.

N S Y D E will continue to bring back the family by unifying diverse artists from all angles of the electronic music familytree. N S Y D E believes in the political power of art, it brings together people.

N S Y D E does not believe in the power of political marketing of art, it divides people from each other. House Nation still under one Groove.

Early DJ support by : Antal (Rushhour), XDB, Laurent Garnier, Steffi (Ostgut), Electric Indigo, Dan Curtin etc.

Vinyl now gone back to June. RIYL: Slowdive, DIIV, Electric Youth, The Cure, My Bloody Valentine. Solo project of Los Angeles based Matthew Doty (ex-Saxon Shore). For Matthew Doty, Deserta has always been about exploring a sonic universe that allows him to express a kaleidoscope of emotions, without having to say much at all. Through a patchwork of reverb-tinged textures – drone guitars, lingering synths and driving percussion – the Los Angeles-based singer/songwriter and multi-instrumentalist weaves together stories of care, frustration and catharsis that ultimately stretch to a gentle resolve. On new album Every Moment, Everything You Need, Doty chronicles the kind of year we all fear, full of uncertainty, tension and sustained pressure, and transforms it into a celebration of perseverance. It’s an essential reminder that we have the power to shape the stories we tell. The pandemic meant that Doty had to give up his studio and downsize a lot of his gear and instead, carve out a space in his two-bedroom apartment to craft the next chapter of Deserta. Sharing the space with his wife and son, Doty and his partner are also essential healthcare workers, which meant the couple would often have to tag-team childcare, along with 13-hour shifts in PPE and people constantly calling with questions about the ever changing guidelines and protocols. Once the blueprint for Every Moment, Everything You Need was set, Doty reached out to a number of collaborators to stitch together his vision for the sonic landscape. James McAlister (Sufjan Stevens, The National, Taylor Swift) came onboard to perform and record drums, while Caroline Lufkin (Mice Parade) wrote and performed vocals on the ethereal “Where Did You Go.” Elsewhere, the LP was mixed by Dave Fridmann (Tame Impala, Mogwai, Interpol), with Beach House and Slowdive producer Chris Coady engineering and co-producing, making this the first time Fridmann and Coady had worked together on a project. While the vocals are more prominent than Deserta’s previous albums, it’s their amalgamation with the instrumental aspects that secures Every Moment, Everything You Need as Deserta’s most confident and assured release to date. An affecting emotional candor teamed with persistent riffs and tenacious rhythms sees Doty unafraid to dive deeper; an unrestrained approach that ushers in a lustrous purging of agitation and anxiety. Showcasing those dark, exhaustive thoughts through crucial swells and looped, electronic soundscapes, it’s an LP that’s infinitely layered, with something new to discover with each and every enchanting listen.

Music For Nations release - essentially a reissue of the record from last year's ‘Kvitravn’, augmented with livestream audio from their worldwide streaming event last year, housed in limited deluxe packaging. 2CD with 28 double page booklet includes disc 1 – 'Kvitravn' (original album tracklisting) and disc 2 'Kvitravn – First Flight of the White Raven' (livestream audio featuring tracks from Kvitravn). 2LP set in gatefold sleeve pressed on 180gm vinyl with an 8 page booklet. Specialist promo/marketing activity across all relevant media outlets.

Federico Albanese is a composer born in Milan, Italy in 1982, and currently based in Berlin. His musical versatility is a natural gift that pushes him to explore music in all its facets. Albanese's compositions are airy and cinematic, blending classical music, electronics and psychedelia. Federico started studying piano and clarinet as a child before becoming fascinated by rock music. As a teenager he studied bass and became a self-taught guitarist and soon became one of the leading figures of Milan's underground scene, performing in several bands. Influenced by black music, folk, electronic, modern and contemporary classical music his skills as a composer soon emerged, He worked for 5 years as prop man in several film sets. This experience made him understand the power of the connection between music and images and helped him to develop his personal musical path. In 2007 Albanese met singer and songwriter Jessica Einaudi and together they founded the avant-garde duo ""La Blanche Alchimie"". Composing songs with Jessica he rediscovered his love for the piano, which from that moment on, became his main instrument. Since then Federico has scored several films, short films and documentaries, including a documentary on a project commissioned by Ermenegildo Zegna in the National Museum of XXI Century Arts in Rome. In February 2014, Federico Albanese will release his debut album entitled ""The Houseboat and the Moon"". He found a place, an imaginary place, where, whenever he wanted to, he could jump on and just float away. On this moving shelter, traveling across memories and imagination, lulled by water and led by the moon, Federico wrote the 13 compositions of his debut. He recorded all of the piano parts with a 1969 German tape recorder, the Uher Royal Deluxe, which allowed him to catch all of the tiny hidden shades, the imperfections, the noises of the piano and its surrounding space. Federico melts this rarefied sound with electronics, live recordings, strings, and homemade instruments. The result is a combination of contrasts and colors with a variety of atmospheres that wonderfully represents Federico's musical universe. Vinyl: thick gatefold covers, 180g vinyl,free download.

Demon Music is proud to bring together a selection of popular and exciting classic Northern Soul Anthems on a new 2LP thirty-three track collection. These are the original recordings by some familiar names and one or two that may have passed you by.

As the Sixties came to a close and the initial success of labels like Atlantic and Motown began to wane, there remained a dedicated fanbase of Soul devotees who would rather be out on the floor than wearing flowers in their hair. They continued to seek out new and previously overlooked releases, many on small labels that had never enjoyed chart success, making surprise hits of a few in the process.

Northern Soul could easily have passed into music history as a fad, something on the fringes of mainstream popular music; instead its popularity has remained and even grown. It is no longer the preserve of venues in the north of England (who had always attracted coachloads of devotees from across the nation), with Soul clubs opening in Europe, Asia, Australia and even - in perhaps the ultimate example of "coals to Newcastle" – America

Every few years Northern Soul enjoys a resurgence in popularity and welcomes a new generation of younger fans, keepers of the faith. This collection is for those with a passing interest and fans both old and
new - music fashions may change but the quality, the infectious excitement and the urge to get up and dance has endured in these fantastic records.

"Queen Of Nowhere" is the result of the photographic works by Kourtney Roy and the musician Dayve Samek (Trance Farmers) initiated by IIKKI, between November 2021 and March 2022.

The man behind the name Trance Farmers is Dayve Samek, a wanderer from Los Angeles to Louisiana, and his music has picked up just about every influence it can along the way. He has recorded his first album in 2014 on Leaving Records (Stones Throw Records). Not sure how to classify his music ranges, but something between sweaty, garage-born ballads brush shoulders with drifter anthems and gasoline drenched doo wop with at some points some beats close from the past Anticon works should make the point.

The Canadian photographer Kourtney Roy was born in Northern Ontario in 1981. Intrigued by the possibility of creating a tragic mythology of the self, she conjures an intimate universe pervaded by both wonder and mystery. Her photographer’s eye is drawn to places and settings whose lyrical qualities underscore the sublime banality of everyday life.

Roy’s studies in photography, at Emily Carr University of Art and Design in Vancouver and later at the Ecole Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts in Paris, inspired her to develop her finicky aesthetic, which lends itself particularly well to both glossy paper and film. Roy works extensively as an independent photographer/filmmaker in the art world. Instilled with a dark sense of humor, taking their clues as much from the grotesque nature of seemingly placid settings as from the tensions simmering just under the surface, her photographs have garnered many prizes, including the Prix Picto in 2007, The Emily Award in Canada in 2012 and the Prix Carte Blanche PMU/Le Bal in 2013 and the Pernod Ricard Carte Blanche in 2018.

Our next mixtape features a superb, tight blend of some of the very best tracks to fly out of the speakers at the Cherry Moon Club. At the helm we have DJ Ghost, spinning the grooves to take us on a journey through the ages, through the genres, from twisted acid concepts to hypnotic trance and gut busting hardcore. Ghost aka Bjorn Wendelen has been a stalwart for us at Bonzai since the very early days. He’s delivered several cuts for us over the years and has branched out with his own Ghoststyle brand with great success. The famous Cherry Moon was and remains one of the biggest names in Belgian club-life, with 30 years of embracing club culture. Since the start in 1991, they have brought the best techno, hard-trance and house to the scene. During the 90's and early 00's, Cherry Moon was the place to be for clubbers from all over Belgium, France, the Netherlands and even other European countries. Housed on classic K7 tape, this comp features a host of tracks from the likes of DJ Ghost, Insider, Body-Shock, DJ Looney Tune, Jones & Stephenson, Push, Blue Alphabet, Final Analysis, Joyrider, Dreamland and more. So, dust off your vintage cassette machine and prepare to be blown away by the sound of Cherry Moon.