Buscar:human life

Prometheus is the 2012 science fiction horror film directed by Ridley Scott, written by Jon Spaihts and Damon Lindelof and starring Noomi Rapace, Michael Fassbender, Guy Pearce, Idris Elba, Logan Marshall-Green and Charlize Theron. It is set in the late 21st century and centers on the crew of the spaceship Prometheus as it follows a star map discovered among the artifacts of several ancient Earth cultures. Seeking the origins of humanity, the crew arrives on a distant world and discovers a threat that could cause the extinction of the human species.

Marc Streitenfeld is a German composer. He has frequently collaborated with director Ridley Scott. Streitenfeld has composed the music for many high-profile Hollywood features as well as critically acclaimed independent films, including American Gangster, Body of Lies, The Grey, Poltergeist and All I See Is You.

Prometheus became the fifth collaboration between the composer and the director. The score was recorded over one week with a 90-piece orchestra at Abbey Road Studios. Streitenfeld began coming up with ideas for the score after reading the script prior to the commencement of filming. To create an “unsettling” sound, he provided the orchestra with reversed music sheets to have them play segments of the score backwards, before then digitally reversing it. The track “Friend from the Past” reprises Jerry Goldsmith’s original main title from the Alien soundtrack.

"After the success of his album Le Bal des Crocodiles in 2023, the Parisian label Teenage Kicks Production has announced the imminent release of the new album by the artist Homme Bleu, titled Dark Matter. Recorded at Garage Studio in Montpellier, this album will feature 12 tracks in English. The mixing was done in New York by Alex Conroy, except for the track The Life in Me, which was mixed by Steve Lyon (Depeche Mode, The Cure, etc.). A resolutely rock album that highlights guitars with modern arrangements. Introspection, existential questions, human relationships, and the passage of time are the artist's favorite themes, with a distinctly pop-rock influence infused with an electro whirlwind. Three singles have already been released from the album: The Life in Me, a high-energy rock track dominated by guitars; I Ride: a groovy mid-tempo ballad reminiscent of Radiohead's universe, an ode to inner freedom and resilience; titletrack Dark Matter, an eponymous track, a piano-vocal ballad. The album cover was designed by Frank Loriou (Manu Chao, Miossec, etc.), with whom Homme Bleu has collaborated since the beginning of his career." Double-LP in gatefold sleeve, blue vinyl.

A self-described chronically-sincere farm girl, Emily Hines grew up on a farm in rural Ohio before moving to Nashville where she played in other songwriters' projects before recording her own songs on a 4-track cassette recorder. Hines worked with producer Henry Park. Together they drew inspiration from acts like Duster, Laura Marling, and Karen Dalton to record simply and add layers one at a time. The resulting collection makes for something truly special; rich and decadent but also earthy and cracked. Emily prioritized creating a recording that feels human and present, and the outcome is palpable throughout These Days. At times we're right there in the room with Emily, up close and deeply personal, at other points it's as if you're straining to hear from the outside listening in; ear to the wall, notes carried and caught in the breeze. "We were drawn to the 4-track because it constrains the urge for perfectionism and encourages authenticity to the moment," Emily explains. "What you get is what you get, the 4-track doesn't afford you to get surgical about the details - and that can be really freeing." "Listening to Emily Hines' lo-fi folk ballads feels like discovering a cult hero's lost demos-these gentle, heart-mending recordings crackle with intimacy and seem to unfold as you're listening.' Paste Magazine 'Hines sings plaintive and romantic acoustic ballads, small moments of a life that build to something far greater within the woozy timber of her voice." - Gold Flake Paint

Vines, the solo project of New York-based multi-instrumentalist and composer Cassie Wieland, offers a window into her inner world through expansive swaths of sound. She pieces together a celestial mix of synths, percussion, strings, and vocoded voice, making music that is at once deeply personal and cinematic in scope. This diaristic approach first took shape with her 2023 EP Birthday Party, and is crystallized on her debut LP, I’ll be here. With the sweeping and vulnerable I’ll be here, Vines arrives fully formed as an artist who crafts deeply resonant and open music–the kind that invites listeners in to listen, reflect, and share in the journey of learning through living.

“It was through making music that I was able to meet myself,” Wieland said. “Anything I’m going through or feeling is something that somebody else out there can relate to, and that’s really special to me.”

I’ll be here is both a culmination of years spent creating gossamer soundscapes and an opening to a new journey for Wieland as an artist. The album grew out of her years as a composer and songwriter, and builds on the language she developed on Birthday Party, which transformed the tumultuous feelings of the passing of time into minimalist meditations. It was just a start, though–a prologue, a development of the kind of language and ideas she wanted to express. With I’ll be here, she digs deeper and writes music that feels more sprawling, further solidifying her singular voice.

Wieland’s musical composition process is similar to journaling, lending itself to the music’s honesty. When she writes, she makes room for all the ideas she has; in these sessions, there are no wrong ideas, and she allows the music to be attuned to the experiences she’s having at the time. With I’ll be here, Wieland zeroes in on themes of anxiety, loneliness, navigating human connection, and having to grow up from a young age, ultimately coming to a place of acceptance. And though it began as a journal written in solitude, her collaborators shape the music with her.

Working with friends, in fact, was a crucial part of bringing the record to life. “Everything that was supposed to happen came together so easily because of the people involved,” Wieland said. I’ll be here was co-produced and recorded with Wieland’s longtime collaborator Mike Tierney, a four time Grammy-nominated engineer who has worked with artists across the contemporary classical and experimental scene like minimalist pioneer Steve Reich, LA’s preeminent classical ensemble Wild Up, and various bands on Bang on a Can’s Cantaloupe Music label. Percussionist and composer Adam Holmes and violinist Adrianne Munden-Dixon are two other longtime collaborators who are frequent fixtures of her live show. Holmes plays synths, drums, and banjo; in live settings, his kit is loaded with elements of the songs that are then triggered by MIDI, making the music an interactive, evolving experience. The album’s gentle, filamented edges are colored by Munden-Dixon, whose poignant string melodies elevate Wieland’s introspective compositions, as well as cellist Helen Newby, saxophonists Julian Velasco and Jordan Lulloff, and bassist Pat Swoboda.

Wieland takes an economic approach to writing music, building the swirling and immersive landscapes of Vines through short melodies, lyrics, and phrases. As each element layers and interweaves, they grow into sprawling webs of ghostly sound. Prior to Vines, Wieland composed pieces for other people to play using a minimalist’s sensibility, writing slowly unfolding melodies for instruments like violin and saxophone. In recent years, she sharpened her solo style across a variety of singles and covers which have garnered significant attention on social media for their emotional resonance (“being loved isn't the same as being understood” in particular went massively viral on TikTok in 2024). Birthday Party, her debut as Vines, brought her writing to a much more intimate space, centering on her vocoded voice cloaked in feathery reverb. A series of recent singles, meanwhile, including “I am my home,” showcase the way that Wieland’s music is born from the story of her innermost feelings, extending far beyond just the self.

Though Wieland’s music often deals with dark themes, it unfolds with tender melancholy, the kind that feels like a warm embrace. On “Evicted,” Wieland wonders if she’s getting sick or moving on, if she’s lost or found. Her vocals expand with each lyrical repetition, as the instrumentals slowly encircle and the music’s rhythm grows and bursts into a heart-wrenching, yet radiant wave reminiscent of post-rock bands like Explosions in the Sky. “Tired” follows a similar trajectory, building from a looping, melancholy rhythm and floating lyrics into a solemn resignation. Elsewhere, Wieland takes a more ruminative approach: “Omw” begins with twinkling piano and melancholy strings that gradually transform into an undulating mass. It is a song born out of the warm feeling of reminiscence, the slight return of hope that comes with nostalgia.

With any searching journey, there is also a point of understanding. The title track closes the album with the freedom of acceptance. A marching drum beats steadily beneath Wieland’s open vocals, moving forward, ever onward as it flies into the ether. In Wieland’s delicately textured music, there is room to come into yourself, and learn to love whomever that is. I’ll be here is a special space that can be all your own, one in which to feel what needs to be felt. “This is music for your story,” Wieland said. “I want you to use it how you need it.”

Originally released in 1998, ‘Electro-Shock Blues’is the emotional centrepiece of EELS’ catalogue -a stark, beautiful exploration of grief, survival andultimately, hope.
Written in the wake of tragic personal losses, itblends fragile melodies with raw, often darklyhumorous lyrics.
From the haunting opener ‘Elizabeth On TheBathroom Floor’ to the defiant closer ‘P.S. YouRock My World’, it’s a deeply human record thatdoesn’t flinch from life’s hardest moments.
This special two-disc edition is pressed on solidblue 140gram double vinyl at 45 RPM, offeringupgraded sound from the original 10” 33 RPMedition and bringing new depth to its layeredproduction.
A landmark album of the late 1990s, ‘ElectroShock Blues’ remains a poignant, cathartic listen -as vital today as it was upon release.

Since its founding back in 2014, Blume has carved a unique place in cultural landscape, issuing free-standing works, spanning the historical and contemporary, that represent singular gestures of creativity within the field of experimental sound. Joining their broad efforts in building networks of context and understanding that already includes the works by Werner Durand, Sarah Hennies, Bruce Nauman, John Butcher, Jocy de Oliveira, Mary Jane Leach, Valentina Magaletti, Alvin Curran, Julius Eastman, Alvin Lucier, and following the first ever vinyl release to attend to James Tenney's legendary Postal Pieces, the label now presents the first LP published by the visionary Swiss composer Jürg Frey. Drawing from the transformative power of breath and resonance, this release represents one of the most profound explorations of musical metamorphosis to emerge from the contemporary experimental landscape.

The completed work represents a "conjunction of these two artists" that has "activated a transformative form of experimentalism." These renderings "dance with an airy lightness, humour, and play, imbuing them with a beauty and emotiveness that can be rare within experimental music." They exist as "breaths, carrying the curiosities of life, belonging to no time and all time, to no one and everyone: a human music to be inhaled and pondered, for which the outcome remains unknown." In this liminal space between composition and interpretation, between breath and resonance, Zurria and Frey have created something that transcends the boundaries of experimental music itself, offering what might be called a metaphysical cartography of sound in its most essential form. As Bradford Bailey observes in his penetrating liner notes, "music is rarely a fixed entity," existing instead in a state of perpetual flux, "taking on the influences of its interpreters and performers." This fundamental truth finds its most eloquent expression in the transformative collaboration between Italian flutist Manuel Zurria and Frey, longtime member of the Wandelweiser Group. Where conventional recordings might preserve a definitive version, this release activates what Bailey calls "states of unknowing and continued experimentation," allowing Frey's compositions to evolve into entirely new dimensional territories. The original string quartet and piano works dissolve into breath-carried architectures of sound, where "the original remains in a constant dialogue with its transformation." This is not mere arrangement but ontological metamorphosis - an alchemical process through which crystalline harmonies are reborn as atmospheric phenomena.

The metaphysical dimensions of this transformation become clear through detailed analysis of the musical result. Where Frey's original compositions operate through what he calls "basic confidence in the clear and restricted material," Zurria's interpretation activates entirely new perceptual territories. Space holds almost atomic sense of weight against the airy punctuations of timbres, textures, and tones, creating "suspensions of time within which questions and identities posed by instrumentation fade." The Extended Circular Music pieces - each comprising "a small number of bars to be repeated an undetermined number of times" - become organizations of sound that defy being definitive or fixed. Originally scored for different combinations of violin, viola, cello, and piano, these works now exist as pure phenomena of breath and resonance, where "hanging, breath-length utterances dance and intertwine amongst complex harmonic clusters and conjunctions."

The philosophical implications of this transformation illuminate a lineage of composers who have moved "away from abstraction and responding to the need to create" something beyond mere technique. Drawing parallels to Morton Feldman's understanding of non-functional harmony, Zurria's approach represents "a transformative form of experimentalism" that activates what Frey calls the "thaumaturgic power" of music - its capacity to heal and transform consciousness itself. The result is "a radical reimagining of ambience: sprawling sonorities and resonances adrift in space, carrying the liberated traces of the work's former incarnations and their truths." In Zurria's interpretation, Frey's String Quartet n.3 becomes something approaching "an organ played in slow motion, its seals leaking," while the Extended Circular Music pieces transform into "glacial chords from a diverse palette of voicings, harmonies, timbres, and tones."

Performed by Manuel Zurria. Recorded and mixed by Zurria at BigCardo, Catania between 2022-2024, with mastering by Bruno Germano at Vacuumstudio, Bologna, this Blume release represents a profound exploration of musical transformation.

This new "Experimental Chapter" by DJ Narciso comes as no surprise, really. Autonomous in the motorization of his music, pushing for progress within the framework of an undeniable (inescapable?) heritage. Twisting and bending sound every step of the way, Narciso definitely keeps in touch with the dancefloor, offering the always much needed transcendence through distinctive, non-linear melodies and patterns. The artist pursues a direct link with bodies in motion but seldom in the expected, institutionalized way club culture is being largely promoted.

This is challenging dance music, proud statements of difference. Narciso's previous record was named "Diferenciado". Now we get "Dificuldades", a track that simultaneously carries the weight of being somewhat odd and the difficulties of life. Check how the piano is venting, freestyle, communicating a feeling, and then lets itself get stuck in a loop, but that's exactly when the groove really starts flowing. And then another layer. It's like direct speech.

A common assertion of pride is found in the origin of the artists. The ghetto as a place where any transformation projects more power precisely because of... inherent difficulties. As others (including himself) did in more or less obvious ways, Narciso clearly states "I come from the ghetto" ( "Não Sabes" ). Twice the value. At least. Almost every segment of music in this album ends up sounding heavily emotional, reaffirming what may be - perversely - a well-known characteristic of Portuguese music: melancholy.

"Não Quero" begins side B as a march maybe more significant than a thousand words, such is the ominous tone of its texture. Next track is another lunar tarraxo, pulling down the shades. Then, "Dor de Barriga" lets things loose again, steering clearly off road, shouting this way and that until a peaceful resolution comes. In "Livra-me Desta", vocal snippets blend into synth snippets, disembodied voices abandon all traces of humanity and finally mutate into different entities that, towards the end, again sound vaguely human but now we find ourselves doubting. Closer "Bob" is a rather classic percussion track with plenty of echo, reverb and an unconscious nod to dodecaphonic music. Unlikely? No, the structural ADN of this music is made up of elements western and eastern, southern and northern. To say all-over-the-place is usually not flattering but in this case the expression translates as wonder, surprise, The Unexpected, and reveals Narciso perfectly at ease inside the nucleus of creation.

Alanis Morissette Delivers the Equivalent of a Spiritual Awakening on Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie:
Introspective Themes and Compassionate Emotions on Eastern-Tinged Album Have Grown More Relevant
1998 Smash Plays with Enhanced Detail, Rich Textures, and Sharp Focus on Mobile Fidelity’s 180g 33RPM 2LP Set:
First-Ever Audiophile Edition Strictly Limited to 3,000 Numbered Copies
1/2" / 30 IPS analogue master to DSD 256 to analogue console to lathe

Alanis Morissette refuses to adhere to convention on Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie. While most artists follow-up their breakthrough with an album that closely parallels the approaches that helped make them famous, the maverick singer-songwriter stayed true to herself and drew inspiration from travel to India before she began the recording sessions. As much as the preceding Jagged Little Pill put her on the global radar, Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie confirmed her role as a vital generational voice — and proved her blockbuster success was no fluke. Having set a mark for most sales of an LP in its debut week by a female artist, the 1998 smash remains a pop-rock staple.

Sourced from the original master tapes, strictly limited to 3,000 numbered copies, housed in a Stoughton jacket, and pressed at Fidelity Record Pressing, Mobile Fidelity’s 180g 33RPM 2LP set of Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie presents the triple-platinum LP in audiophile sound for the first time. Benefitting from defined grooves that befit the album’s nearly 72-minute length, this pressing plays with enhanced detail, refined clarity, sharper focus, and broader dynamics than prior versions.

Those traits are key given Morissette’s use of more textured and atmospheric soundscapes, not to mention her evolution into a more nuanced and controlled singer. Similarly, the scale and reach of David Campbell’s string arrangements come across as orchestrations should. Ditto the synth-based architecture shaped by producer and principal Morissette collaborator Glen Ballard. All in all, Mobile Fidelity’s collectible edition simply delivers more information via transparent means.

Notable for its balance, sophistication, and richness, Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie at heart finds Morissette pausing, taking a breath, and learning how to navigate life in a healthy manner after enduring one of the most exhausting and rocket-to-fame stretches any musician ever experienced. It’s the sonic equivalent of a spiritual awakening, a call to betterment, a brave assessment of the self and humanity as a whole. As such, the tunes on her second international (and fourth Canadian) release teem with gratitude, compassion, love, empathy — emotions that lend themselves to the largely mellow, contoured scope and Eastern-tinged melodies of the songs themselves.

“How ‘bout how good it feels to finally forgive you,” Morissette sings on the lead single “Thank U.” “How ‘bout grieving it all one at a time.” Those sentiments, and the vocalist’s embrace of concepts such as divinity and acceptance, not only provide a foundation on which Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie rests. They also reflect the personal maturation she gained from her embrace of Buddhist culture in India and a mindset bent toward notions of reconciliation, peace, and sensuality that were nearly absent in popular music in the late ‘90s.

Those themes continue on “That I Would Be Good,” a confident reflection that takes stock of one’s mental, physical, and emotional state in the face of both changing and unpleasant circumstances — and concludes with Morissette performing a flute solo, further exposing the raw intimacy of the introspective tune. She channels relatable simplicity and joy on “So Pure,” with her invocations of “dance” and “freestyle” speaking to the freedom of expression that courses throughout Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie. And perhaps no song finds Morissette showcasing her refreshed attitude toward life and opening up more than the relationship-themed “Unsent,” whose unconventional structures and lack of a chorus only add to its directness.

Akin to many albums that were ahead of their time, and despite the critical and commercial accolades afforded it upon release, Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie attracted new appreciation and perspective as it got older. Issued during an era where its ideas of serenity, absolution, tranquility, and contentment seemed largely alien, the record — akin to the ways its predecessor foreshadowed a movement — now functions as a visionary beacon that foretells of way to maintain sanity, dignity, and goodness amid a contemporary landscape filled with constant distractions, polarizing views, and incessant calls to purchase, promote, and produce without questioning the what-for purpose.

Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie dares to ask the questions and, at its best, supplies meaningful answers and alternatives that lead to longed-for enlightenment, healing, and laughter. For these reasons alone, it’s a record that never goes out of style.

With this new EP called "Last Night A Bassline Saved My Life", again released on Unsure, Stefan Schwander further refines the philosophy and sound of his latest concept While My Sequencer Gently Bleeps. Following his idea of reduction Schwander used only the Elektron Monomachine to shape four amazing tracks, beautifully balanced, searching for the perfect groove, stripped of all unnecessary.
"Compromise", the first track, may even be a reminiscence to Schwanders legendary releases as Antonelli Electr, supertransparent and supercrisp, yet still warm, deep and human, an understated wonder of a track! "Persona" and the title track got those dubby chords and effective synths, an inimitable tightness and basslines that can save your life indeed. And on "Escalator" Schwander comes up with extraordinary rolling and twisting rhythms and some sonic essentials that only the master of the sequencer can deliver. Distinguished.

Named after the old district where Jesse lived during one of the most vibrant years of his life, La Pavonia EP captures the warmth, unpredictability, and deep musical curiosity that define him. Drawing from memories of joy, love, and discovery—and echoing the floral name linked to Runas' Spanish roots—the EP unfolds across four distinctive cuts.

“Crystal Swamp” opens the journey with eerie pads, buzzing synths, and a groove shaped by introspective winter days. “Body Blaster” follows with a raw, body-moving rhythm, born from a shift between Electro and Progressive moods and anchored by a punchy TX-81Z bassline. On the flip, “Warp” plays with imperfection and transformation, turning a single synth and stretched percussion sample into something strangely human. The EP closes with a remix of “Warp” by Belgian-Peruvian producer DC Salas who transforms Warp into a slow-burning, groove-heavy trip, layering thick basslines, subtle percussive shifts, and a progressive pulse. It's a hypnotic rework that keeps the original’s raw textures while opening it up for late-night floors and deeper moments.

‘Moiré’ is the second album by French musician and singer Charlotte Leclerc. Charlotte's songs are like those little details of everyday life that you discover when you slow down the pace of your busy day. She uses the sound of her machines to tell us about human relationships. Relationships between two people and universal relationships. The ones that connect us all and make this planet run a little more smoothly.

Demdike Stare & Cherrystones unveil a long-in-the-making darkside fantasy weaving atmospheric and loose-limbed cuts recorded at labs in London and Manchester, brilliantly shaking a bush of ghostly trig points ranging from the Mars rehearsal tapes to Minimal Man, Randy Greif’s cut-ups, Conrad Schnitzler’s industrial prototypes and ‘70s ECM sides – with vocal contributions from Ssabae’s mesmerising Laura Lippie.

In dazed pursuit of styles heard on Cherrystones’ DDS tape ‘Peregrinations in SHQ (Super High Quality)’, the renowned London digger properly hexes sonic leylines with his label bosses on 10 wickedly grubby and hazed sound experiments. They tumble down the rabbit hole like some sixth sense-guided call-and-response, resulting in an exquisite unfolding of psychoacoustic spaces familiar to their mutually spirited sounds.

Honestly it's some of the dirtiest and most esoteric gear we've heard from Demdike; you can sense a lifetime of incessant digging drip through every loop and crack; grotty no-wave, industrial noise, DIY psych, proto-techno and gnarled concrète, further bolstered by Cherrystones’ perpendicular, equally insatiable and fathoms-deep areas of interest. With a focus on scrappy, feral cuts and hastily recorded edits, the trio roughly re-draw wordless chants and hyper-compressed knocks over a vortex of found sounds that curdle in rhythmic heat. Never staying sill for long, the trio get drowned by watery ambience, then shredded loops, Technoid shrapnel and electric bass prangs dancing into the aether.

The crankiest spirit perfuses the whole thing, evoking states of unravel and psychic distress as they pit a near-peerless collective knowledge into the void. Laura Lippie acts as human ligature to sanity, a fleeting constant found smudged into the hip hop chops of ‘Familiar Unfamiliarity’, spectral incantations of ‘Prophet in View’, or a channelling of Ozzy in ‘Thee Oath’, among more deranged tongues on ‘Observing the Crux’.

It’s the missing link between ECM, Earth and Dilloway we didn’t know we needed - up there with some of the most satisfyingly deep and frazzled gear this century.

Bebedera takes the style of Tarraxo to a heightened awareness of its sexual nature. Tight, wicked layers of percussion, a suggestive ID ("Drinking is his life"), a slow pace that's not only perceptively slow, it sounds charged with intent, even malice, dissolution. Letting go of morality may be the big attraction in the music, permission to get down, this time in a heavy, conspicuous manner instead of a spiritual, breezy floatation. One has to recognize the impulse in ourselves. Once at peace with this rough nature, there are sublime grooves to follow, mind-boggling arrangements, a freedom from judgement in connecting with what may seem to be at first a very masculine take on dancefloor sensuality but which is in fact only human. Just with less filters.

In other ways, an aural combination of metal and flesh produces this notion of a cyborg, a very expressive physical body making its weight known to everybody around, a sort of walking fortress as in the "Moderan" group of sci-fi short stories. A glorious rattle of lata percussion, scraps from the junkyard. A sense of unease, even slight danger starts a flow of adrenalin. According to DJ Marfox, it's not the only thing flowing, there's also a strong desire for intercourse when a Bebedera tarraxo is playing. His very distinctive style has been a cult favourite for years. Accordingly, it took years to make contact, to reach an agreement, and the result is a set of classics that stretch as far back as 2014. Still the same punch, still the feeling no one has really stepped into this territory with such force.

Flipping the construct on its head, there's two Bebedera house tracks, we'd say almost an oddity, an abrupt change from the previous density of atmosphere, though they retain all the percussive bounce. Sensual, sure, a different tempo also letting through a romantic disposition other than the sheer physical attraction. One of the titles sums up the aesthetical power at play: "I Will Beat The Top High". As in reaching further out, further up. Wanting to. Time freezes - 2014 and 2016 (production years of these two tracks), fold up and melt into the Present. Where it matters.

Vice Squad are 100% DIY and record everything in their home studio with guitarist/riffmaster Paul Rooney engineering and mixing. There is nothing sloppy here; the whole album is concise and intelligent with lightning-speed diction, passion, and intent. The glorious ‘If I Knew What I Know Now’ and ‘The World Is Wrong’ are examples of Vice Squad’s ability to write instantly catchy, witty songs, and the more gut-wrenching material from their last album, ‘Battle of Britain’, showcases some enormous riffs and a voice that is a million decibels from Beki's untried teen vocals. The album opens with the deliciously effervescent ‘If I Knew What I Know Now’, followed by the sparkling old-school tongue-twister ‘Out of Reach’. Next up is the visceral ‘Get A Life’, an angry anti-suicide note to the desperate, originally the title track from their 1998 comeback album. This is followed by a shimmering version of Vice Squad's old-school classic ‘Resurrection’. While the treatment of the old songs remains true to the original teenage renditions, the upgraded versions pack more of a punch with detuned guitars and growling bass. The tribal tom-toms of ‘Allergy’ underpin just over two minutes of punk protest about the delights of pollution and asthma. Then comes the sublime ‘Sniffing Glue’, a near-perfect punk love song that would be a huge hit if not for its subject matter. ‘Ordinary Girl’ is punk-pop perfection brimming with hook lines and harmonies, warmly mocking the life that could have been chosen instead of the grindstone at the sharp end of the music industry. ‘The World Is Wrong’ is anthemic, joyous, and wonderfully contrary, and one would expect nothing less from a band that has soldiered on and grown through the decades. It’s always great when bands lead by example. In these increasingly tough times where our survival is threatened by the gargantuan greed of a few individuals, it's important to continuously stick two fingers up to the grabbers and spoilers. 'The World Is Wrong' does just that in an impassioned, melodic, and optimistic style. 'Hold your head up, stand your ground, and don't let the bastards grind you down.' Then we roar into the final single Beki wrote with original and now sadly deceased guitarist Dave Bateman, ‘Citizen’, and continue with another teenage opus, the quite brutal ‘Scarred For Life’. ‘Voice of the People’ is a bulldozer of a song, all swagger and ballsy riffs, and the chorus, ‘Freedom of speech is against the law; now we’re all criminals,’ snarls its derision at red-handed red tape. ‘Punk Police’ sneers over a catchy-as-COVID guitar riff, and the lyrics, ‘Regulation cut, you must measure up, down on the street, PR companies, monied families, running the scene,’ call out the hierarchies that now permeate Punk. Baritone guitars add extra darkness to one of the first-ever animal rights songs, ‘Humane’, and I’m struck by how relevant the older songs are. Chocks away, and the awesome ’Spitfire’ takes flight like Motörhead on extra amphetamines. Merlin engines fade into ‘Born In A War’, the second in the triumvirate of conflict-themed songs, an absolute stonker with huge muscular riffs and lyrics that roar pure outrage. Then comes the ominous Last Rockers, with all the angst of the original plus added depth and resonance. Beki: ' "Last Rockers" is a typically depressive adolescent song about nuclear war and being too young to die but too late to live. I believed Punks were the ‘Last Rockers’, the final youth cult before the Apocalypse. I was obsessed with punk, and all I wanted to do was sing in a band and be part of the movement, so I would often romanticise the idea of punk in my lyrics.' The four bonus CD tracks kick off with ‘Coward’, another teen Bateman/Bond composition. ‘No You Don’t’ is just over two minutes of vocal acrobatics over a Dexedrine-driven Devo-esque chord sequence, and the frantically brilliant ‘I Dare To Breathe’ from ‘Battle of Britain’ continues the aural assault. Then the final sombre entreaty of ‘You Can’t Buy Back The Dead’ warns us that ‘Enough’s never enough; absolute power will corrupt; the war machine still rumbles on’ before fading into the future.

Best of' albums are invariably repackaged collections of old recordings, so Vice Squad's `Punk Rockers' is a breath of fresh air The songs have been lovingly recorded and remastered, keeping all the original fire and adding decades of experience gained from punishing tours and continuous songwriting Beki is the original architect of the songs and the Vice Squad name, and she is the sole surviving member of the original lineup to have continued as a full-time musician Vice Squad are 100% DIY and record everything in their home studio with guitarist/riffmaster Paul Rooney engineering and mixing. There is nothing sloppy here; the whole album is concise and intelligent with lightning-speed diction, passion, and intent. The glorious `If I Knew What I Know Now' and `The World Is Wrong' are examples of Vice Squad's ability to write instantly catchy, witty songs, and the more gut-wrenching material from their last album, `Battle of Britain', showcases some enormous riffs and a voice that is a million decibels from Beki's untried teen vocals. The album opens with the deliciously effervescent `If I Knew What I Know Now', followed by the sparkling old-school tongue-twister `Out of Reach'. Next up is the visceral `Get A Life', an angry anti-suicide note to the desperate, originally the title track from their 1998 comeback album. This is followed by a shimmering version of Vice Squad's old-school classic `Resurrection'. While the treatment of the old songs remains true to the original teenage renditions, the upgraded versions pack more of a punch with detuned guitars and growling bass. The tribal tom-toms of `Allergy' underpin just over two minutes of punk protest about the delights of pollution and asthma. Then comes the sublime `Sniffing Glue', a near-perfect punk love song that would be a huge hit if not for its subject matter. `Ordinary Girl' is punk-pop perfection brimming with hook lines and harmonies, warmly mocking the life that could have been chosen instead of the grindstone at the sharp end of the music industry. `The World Is Wrong' is anthemic, joyous, and wonderfully contrary, and one would expect nothing less from a band that has soldiered on and grown through the decades. It's always great when bands lead by example. In these increasingly tough times where our survival is threatened by the gargantuan greed of a few individuals, it's important to continuously stick two fingers up to the grabbers and spoilers. 'The World Is Wrong' does just that in an impassioned, melodic, and optimistic style. 'Hold your head up, stand your ground, and don't let the bastards grind you down.' Then we roar into the final single Beki wrote with original and now sadly deceased guitarist Dave Bateman, `Citizen', and continue with another teenage opus, the quite brutal `Scarred For Life'. `Voice of the People' is a bulldozer of a song, all swagger and ballsy riffs, and the chorus, `Freedom of speech is against the law; now we're all criminals,' snarls its derision at red-handed red tape. `Punk Police' sneers over a catchy-as-COVID guitar riff, and the lyrics, `Regulation cut, you must measure up, down on the street, PR companies, monied families, running the scene,' call out the hierarchies that now permeate Punk. Baritone guitars add extra darkness to one of the first-ever animal rights songs, `Humane', and I'm struck by how relevant the older songs are. Chocks away, and the awesome 'Spitfire' takes flight like Motörhead on extra amphetamines. Merlin engines fade into `Born In A War', the second in the triumvirate of conflict-themed songs, an absolute stonker with huge muscular riffs and lyrics that roar pure outrage. Then comes the ominous Last Rockers, with all the angst of the original plus added depth and resonance. Beki: ' "Last Rockers" is a typically depressive adolescent song about nuclear war and being too young to die but too late to live. I believed Punks were the `Last Rockers', the final youth cult before the Apocalypse. I was obsessed with punk, and all I wanted to do was sing in a band and be part of the movement, so I would often romanticise the idea of punk in my lyrics.'

Best of' albums are invariably repackaged collections of old recordings, so Vice Squad's `Punk Rockers' is a breath of fresh air The songs have been lovingly recorded and remastered, keeping all the original fire and adding decades of experience gained from punishing tours and continuous songwriting Beki is the original architect of the songs and the Vice Squad name, and she is the sole surviving member of the original lineup to have continued as a full-time musician Vice Squad are 100% DIY and record everything in their home studio with guitarist/riffmaster Paul Rooney engineering and mixing. There is nothing sloppy here; the whole album is concise and intelligent with lightning-speed diction, passion, and intent. The glorious `If I Knew What I Know Now' and `The World Is Wrong' are examples of Vice Squad's ability to write instantly catchy, witty songs, and the more gut-wrenching material from their last album, `Battle of Britain', showcases some enormous riffs and a voice that is a million decibels from Beki's untried teen vocals. The album opens with the deliciously effervescent `If I Knew What I Know Now', followed by the sparkling old-school tongue-twister `Out of Reach'. Next up is the visceral `Get A Life', an angry anti-suicide note to the desperate, originally the title track from their 1998 comeback album. This is followed by a shimmering version of Vice Squad's old-school classic `Resurrection'. While the treatment of the old songs remains true to the original teenage renditions, the upgraded versions pack more of a punch with detuned guitars and growling bass. The tribal tom-toms of `Allergy' underpin just over two minutes of punk protest about the delights of pollution and asthma. Then comes the sublime `Sniffing Glue', a near-perfect punk love song that would be a huge hit if not for its subject matter. `Ordinary Girl' is punk-pop perfection brimming with hook lines and harmonies, warmly mocking the life that could have been chosen instead of the grindstone at the sharp end of the music industry. `The World Is Wrong' is anthemic, joyous, and wonderfully contrary, and one would expect nothing less from a band that has soldiered on and grown through the decades. It's always great when bands lead by example. In these increasingly tough times where our survival is threatened by the gargantuan greed of a few individuals, it's important to continuously stick two fingers up to the grabbers and spoilers. 'The World Is Wrong' does just that in an impassioned, melodic, and optimistic style. 'Hold your head up, stand your ground, and don't let the bastards grind you down.' Then we roar into the final single Beki wrote with original and now sadly deceased guitarist Dave Bateman, `Citizen', and continue with another teenage opus, the quite brutal `Scarred For Life'. `Voice of the People' is a bulldozer of a song, all swagger and ballsy riffs, and the chorus, `Freedom of speech is against the law; now we're all criminals,' snarls its derision at red-handed red tape. `Punk Police' sneers over a catchy-as-COVID guitar riff, and the lyrics, `Regulation cut, you must measure up, down on the street, PR companies, monied families, running the scene,' call out the hierarchies that now permeate Punk. Baritone guitars add extra darkness to one of the first-ever animal rights songs, `Humane', and I'm struck by how relevant the older songs are. Chocks away, and the awesome 'Spitfire' takes flight like Motörhead on extra amphetamines. Merlin engines fade into `Born In A War', the second in the triumvirate of conflict-themed songs, an absolute stonker with huge muscular riffs and lyrics that roar pure outrage. Then comes the ominous Last Rockers, with all the angst of the original plus added depth and resonance. Beki: ' "Last Rockers" is a typically depressive adolescent song about nuclear war and being too young to die but too late to live. I believed Punks were the `Last Rockers', the final youth cult before the Apocalypse. I was obsessed with punk, and all I wanted to do was sing in a band and be part of the movement, so I would often romanticise the idea of punk in my lyrics.'

“My hero’s back,” Madeline Kenney sings on the second track of her newest effort, Kiss from the Balcony. In a sense, she means herself; made with friends Ben Sloan and Stephen Patota across just a few in-person studio sessions in Oakland, these tracks represent a culmination of Madeline’s musings on growth and resilience reaching back years, brought to life through this generative and vibrant collaboration. Close listeners can hear the breadth of stylistic elements and themes carried through from various eras of her work, which all come together in a cohesive and timeless record.

In two week-long intensive sessions, the three collaborators grew these nine songs from fragments, sketches, and seeds. With a background in experimental percussion and sound design, Ben Sloan brings an electronic sound to Kenney’s writing; Stephen Patota provides ingenious guitar melodies throughout and grounds the project in acoustic elements. Kiss from the Balcony was originally intended to be an EP, but the sessions brought forth such fruitful ideation and play that the project was expanded to a full length album. It sits in Madeline’s discography as a thematic and musical progression that sees her iterate on ideas about love and explore new sonic motifs through her work with Patota and Sloan.

Much of Kiss from the Balcony is a meditation on modern relationships, a feminist and utterly human contemplation of power and who holds it. “Hereditary backward leaning,” she describes in ‘Slap,’ of the female condition; “But no-one ever likes to see the girls break down / So they keep it to the bathroom floor” she sings in the rapturous opener, ‘Scoop.’ While the songs are shrouded in metaphor, the ubiquity of heartbreak and resilience decode much of the internal conflict Kenney depicts. The album sees her recognize the precarity and peculiarity of life and take it by the horns, realizing she controls her own narrative:


She explores the relationships between joy and suffering, choosing to see them as inseparable, two sides of a single coin. “It’s never over / When will they love me?” Kenney asks on ‘They Go Wide,’ describing her positionality both as a woman in relationship and as an indie artist in the modern music industry.

A playful hopefulness pervades the record, providing a sense of revelation in the journey throughout, Kenney’s radical acceptance of life as it is like a lyrical tongue out at the absurd.

The debut album from Addy Weitzman, ‘Light Months Will Fly Over Us’ explores new-wave, romantic pop and art rock with elegance and ambition, drawing from Weitzman’s scattered network of collaborators, as well as a “frighteningly vast” personal archive of compositions. Sequenced by Seth Troxler and released on his Slacker 85 label, it represents a pivot in musical direction for the imprint, and a showcase for the songwriting craft Weitzman honed as a member of cult electro duo Footprintz, and Montreal synth-pop projects The Beat Escape and Dawn to Dawn.

The title Light Months Will Fly Over Us is derived from a line in a poem by the Russian writer Anna Ahkmatova. Weitzman was immediately struck by its “hopefulness, its mystery… it gives the feeling of being suspended, hanging in a dream-like state”. This interpretation has been translated to the album, rich in memorable songwriting that nonetheless invites the listener to lean in further. Delicately mixed by engineer Pierre Guerineau, known for his work alongside Marie Davidson, each of the eight tracks gently interrogates life’s greater mysteries; fear, love and salvation, each defining and revealing the human soul.

Opener ‘End of The Line’ invites us into an immediately lush space of lounge lizard existentialism, soft brass and piano helping Weitzman introduce “where the journey begins and the fantasy dies”. Across orchestral arrangements arranged by Adam Wilcox, whose sensitive, ambitious compositions are weaved throughout the album, ‘Beyond The Speed of Life’ brings to mind the laments of Scott Walker. Navigating vulnerability via grandeur, Weitzman’s earnest vocals flourish in wide-eyed call-and-response with the object of a transcendent love affair.

Alongside collaborator, Richard Lamb, the next chapter of the LP plunges into contrasting machine-driven moods; the wry, bubbling ‘Entertainment Is All I Wanted (And I Found It)’ is imbued with the playfulness and experimentation of 80s electronic pioneers such as Fad Gadget, while the tougher, icier ‘Stranger To Your Kind’ shifts in a more instrumental direction, recalling Weitzman’s dancefloor experience, as well as contemporaries such as Matthew Dear.

Album centerpiece and striking first single ‘Running & Returning’ is the first of a suite of three tracks in collaboration with Weitzman’s The Beat Escape and Dawn to Dawn bandmate, Patrick Boivin. Blending lush saxophones and angular guitars with a wistful melodic touch and lyrics, its irresistible art-rock rhythm provides the foundation for one of Weitzman’s most involving vocal performances.

It’s followed by an anthem for existential absurdity: ‘Ice Cream Candle’ provides a driving acceptance that “the more and more you learn, the less you understand”; Weitzman submits to this uncertainty with equal grace on ‘No Man’s Land’, as baroque invocations of “words swept through the fields” and meeting “where the water lilies grow” give way to a blistering guitar solo, humbly riding hypnotic percussion.

For the compassionate finale of Light Months Will Fly Over Us, Weitzman narrates the experience of ‘Gabrielle’, a woman slipping between rooms between shuttered blinds in the towering city, “where cigarettes and roses fill the air.”

As lyrically delicate as it is musically ambitious, Light Months Will Fly Over Us is a sublime debut album, enriched with care, love and much-needed enchantment.

Pelican has always been a band that's not just from Chicago, but distinctly of Chicago. Formed in 2000 by guitarists Trevor Shelley de Brauw and Laurent Schroeder-Lebec alongside brothers Bryan and Larry Herweg on bass and drums respectively, Pelican's foundation was built upon the rule-free, genre-agnostic scene synonymous with the Fireside Bowl. "The `90s in Chicago was a free-for-all. Everyone was just coming from a place of pure creativity," says Shelley de Brauw. With Schroeder-Lebec returning to the band following Dallas Thomas' departure in 2022, this reunified version of Pelican allowed the band to tap back into the spirit of their formative era and build something distinctly new with Flickering Resonance. While longtime Pelican fans will recognize the album as an update to the band's ethos_one that's been constantly evolving since their very first EP_their new partnership with Run For Cover Records emphasizes something that's always been implicit to the Pelican formula. These songs take as much inspiration from titanic `90s post-hardcore, space-rock, and emo as they do traditional metal, showing that though Godflesh and Goatsnake records occupied the shelves of Pelican's songwriters, so too did Quicksand, Christie Front Drive, and Hum. "A lot of people didn't hear it at first," says Schroeder-Lebec. "I was like, well, I guess the metal world is where we fit. But now, we're more willing to acknowledge all the suits we're wearing."On Flickering Resonance, Pelican doesn't attempt to reinvent itself as much as emphasize the elements that were so often overlooked. Though Pelican's thick sonic backbone remains intact, the songs on Flickering Resonance show a more humanistic side of the band. Tracks like "Evergreen" and "Indelible" tease Pelican's doom-metal roots, but these songs feel equally, ebullient and truthful, playing like Texas Is The Reason songs transmuted into a post-rock landscape. Recorded with longtime musical compatriot Sanford Parker, who recorded their first EP, Pelican begins this new chapter of their career with an album that's neither full reinvention nor back-to-roots revivalism. After so much time apart, and with so much life having been lived between the original Pelican lineup's last recording sessions together, the band approached it with renewed vigor and a more communal spirit."There was more room for openness and critique with the understanding that we're all trying to craft the best song possible and that every suggestion is valid until it's proven invalid," says Shelley de Brauw. That process allowed everyone to embrace the material with a shared vision. "We didn't move forward unless we all wanted to move forward, and that felt like real community building," says Schroeder-Lebec of this unified approach. "I went from seeing it as my art and my craft to our craft that we were shaping together."In doing so, Pelican allowed themselves to look at their music less as a means of hard-earned catharsis and more as an appreciation for the glimmers of joy that occur even in the bleakest landscapes. Songs like "Cascading Crescent" and "Indelible" don't languish in what's been lost, these tracks see the band embracing what remains in their hands instead of lamenting what's slipped through their fingers. It's a concept that's mirrored in the artwork of Christian Degn that graces the cover of Flickering Resonance. It's a piece built off the concept of flame meditation, and how the smallest flames can often bring about the biggest transformations. A song like "Flickering Stillness" exemplifies this feeling through its sonic expanse, putting the band's sonic density and hyper-focused clarity on display, but with an emphasis on the profound human connections that have kept Pelican going all these years. "When Laurent left and we were able to carry it through, there became a real sense of gratitude for the fact we still have this artistic outlet and a community of people who want to be a part of it" That feeling of deep, grounded appreciation isn't just one that's within the band members, it's expressed in every track on Flickering Resonance. Because at the very core of Pelican, are four individuals who have grown both separately and together, and always will.Like a distant light faintly glowing in the darkest night, Flickering Resonance is a reminder of all that has passed us by, but also all that is still to come.

"World of Pooh immensely brightened the dark corners of San Francisco, California during the years 1983-1990, with their most recognized guise being the MMF trio that existed & thrived during the years 1986-1990. This is the lineup you’ll hear documented on this exceptional collection of 45s, compilation tracks and assorted ephemera. The band has ranged from being a footnote for some (“is that the band Barbara Manning was once in?”) to a fondly-regarded memory for others (“the Land of Thirst album is a forgotten classic”) to a turnstile, door-opening band for still others — like me. They arrived in my life as they were slowly exiting theirs, and I eagerly attended a half-dozen shows of theirs circa 1989-90 around San Francisco moments after I moved there. They were instantly my favorite local band, one I was instantly duty-bound to see whenever & wherever they played. Their jagged and discombobulated take on underground pop music was exceptionally fertile, feral and fetching, and it served as a personal gateway drug that flowered my own appreciation for many different kinds of subtle musical tension.
I also spent at least five glorious years watching Jay Paget, who drummed for World of Pooh and later the Thinking Fellers Union Local 282, ply his rhythmic trade with much aplomb. He was always a steady hand behind the musical wheel of innovative bands who often threatened to careen off course. And I’ll admit to an untoward admiration of (and fascination with) World of Pooh founder, guitarist and singer Brandan Kearney from the moment I met the guy. Not only was he exceptionally friendly and welcoming to a carpetbagging interloper quickly trying to horn in on his scene (me), he was at once one of the most quick-witted, self-deprecating, highly intelligent & musically conversant people I’d ever met. Everything he and his band were doing, along with the mind-boggling DIY gunk he was pushing through his record label, Nuf Sed, and via his multiple other bands (among them: Caroliner & Archipelago Brewing Company, with several more to follow), made me extremely curious and not a tiny bit jealous about these wiser, weirder and musically more daring freaks who were making art, love & war in the relatively grittier & non-gentrified San Francisco of the day.
What I’ve learned in the 35 years since the band broke up is just how highly regarded they were (and remain) by not only those who saw them, but by a now-considerably larger group of humans who’ve subsequently heard & loved their records. I know that their place in the late 1980s was a small but special one, and I’ve seen plenty of online clamoring for more, more, more about this ephemeral and poorly-documented band. And rightly, here it is, lovingly assembled: their two hard-to-come-by 45s, a handful of comp tracks, and a quartet of phenomenal songs just coming to light for the first time, including that Half Japanese cover that dimly existed in my memory as a live song they naturally pulled off with sangfroid, from a time and space when we were all a little younger. - Jay Hinman"