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Gatefold LP Reissue in Crystal Blue Persuasion. Back in 1999 when David Byrne originally compiled this retrospective - making it the first in our critically acclaimed World Psychedelic Classics series - the idea of doing a psychedelic album from outside the U.S. or Europe was a total surprise. More than twenty years since this anthology first hit the shelves, the mutants are back in stock with their electric guitars, cans of bug spray, and deviant, freaky psychedelia.

In 1979, the Soviet label Melodiya released a record that immediately stood apart from most Soviet jazz of its time and perhaps for that very reason never became widely known. Oriental Suite by Oleg Gotskosik Quintet is a rare example of jazz, Eastern musical tradition, and compositional thinking coming together not as an exotic stylization but as a fully formed artistic statement.

This is not “Oriental colour” used as decoration, nor folklore treated as an ornament. Oriental Suite grows from within another musical tradition, with its monody, modal logic, slow unfolding of form, and focus on inner states rather than outward effect. The music is calm and concentrated. It does not try to impress, but gradually draws the listener into its own space.
Oleg Gotskozik was born in Tashkent in 1951, a city where Eastern music was part of everyday life rather than something distant or exotic. That may explain why his engagement with traditional material sounds so natural. He does not quote or stylize; he thinks in the same musical categories. By temperament, he was closer to a composer than to a jazz musician in the conventional sense. For him, jazz was not a style but a way of working with form and improvisation.There is no standard “theme and solos” logic in Oriental Suite. Improvisation is woven into the fabric of the music itself and unfolds in the same way as in oral traditions, gradually, with rising tension and a clear sense of arrival. Individual sections refer to traditional Uzbek genres such as lullabies, lyrical songs, and funeral laments, but these are not genre sketches. They are states of being. The music unfolds slowly, avoiding familiar harmonic drama and relying instead on modal scales and subtle internal movement.

A special role is played by trumpeter Yuri Parfyonov. His approach, with delayed vibrato, micro-glissandi, and melismatic phrasing, sounded unexpected at the end of the 1970s and still feels remarkably fresh today. This is not expressive jazz virtuosity but a focused, almost meditative voice, where improvisation becomes a form of inner speech.
It is also important to note that the original recording was not without technical flaws. Like many Soviet jazz releases of the time, Oriental Suite was captured under far from ideal conditions, and the master contained audible imperfections that were never part of the music itself. For this edition, the restoration was approached with great care and respect, working through the recording moment by moment to remove unwanted artifacts while preserving the character and atmosphere of the original. The aim was simple: to make sure nothing stands in the way of fully experiencing the music.

In the early 1980s, Oleg Gotskozik left the Soviet Union, and after that his name virtually disappeared from Soviet music journalism and literature. There were no official bans or public statements. He was simply no longer mentioned. Oriental Suite continued to exist on its own, without an author and without context. The record never entered the canon, received no continuation, and was never officially reissued. It seemed to fall out of time.
The original vinyl pressing was released in a run of around 32,000 copies, but most of them remained within the republic and never reached wide circulation. Today, original copies are hard to find and have long become objects of interest for collectors. There have been no official reissues, only attempts that never went beyond test pressings.
Today, Oriental Suite sounds surprisingly contemporary. It is music that can be described as deep ethno-jazz and even, in a certain sense, spiritual jazz. There is no exoticism here, no decorative borrowing, only a complete immersion in another musical way of thinking. It does not require explanations and does not need to be justified by its time.
This is not a forgotten curiosity revived for collectors’ sake. It is music that simply waited for the moment when it could be heard without ideological filters or genre expectations. Now it is returning quietly, without noise or hype, but with the clear sense that this is not an artifact of an era, but a living and genuinely rare artistic statement.

ISKRA is the debut album by Polish multi-instrumentalist and composer Olga Anna Markowska. Starting at “Dawn” and ending at “Dusk”, it is a journey of melancholic depth and true beauty filled with warm memories from what was & what could be.

Using zither, cello, electronics and occasional wordless voice, Olga weaves together something so affecting and under the skin beautiful that it is hard to shake, bringing to mind classics from artists like Jacaszek and William Basinski, or the films of Kieslowski. However, there’s a personal touch in her playing and compositions that stands out. Olga explains: “the cello pieces, in particular, were born from a desire to reconnect with the instrument I’ve known intimately since childhood. However, I had to step away from it for two years to gain perspective and find a fresh approach when I returned.” She continues : “ISKRA is an album about "ignition" — a gradual shift in how I think about music and a search for new values. It also marks the closing of a chapter, blending archival recordings with the dawn of new ideas.”

The album feels deeply personal from the first note, and bridges the difficult point between classical and ambient music in a truly natural way, leaving any typical tropes far off, instead demanding your full attention. Olga uses plenty of loops throughout, which together with the cello and zither builds a transcendent atmosphere. Standouts contain amongst others the stunning “Train Ride Home” - a 7 minute piece with zither as main focal point; “Fever Dream” - a plunge into warm static noise and deep plucks, as well as the beautiful “Helix”, which sounds like a washed out dream with its minimal tape loops and ambient vocal washes. Overall the album connects very well with Olga’s subjects of identity, memory of the places and human relations with nature. There is a deep humanity burrowed within these 40 minutes of music which feels immensely appropriate in these contemporary times.

ISKRA was recorded in different times and places from 2017 to 2022 and lands with perfection on Miasmah - connecting the dots from the early years while reaching into the stars.

The album is a powerful reaffirmation of human creativity: "My music has always been about connection, bringing enduring old stories into conversation with contemporary life," Portman says. "This album is a collective, entirely human-made effort, and it's richer because of it." Renowned for her luminous songwriting and distinctive voice in contemporary folk, Portman steps into bold new territory with an album that charts a heroine's midlife journey through dark woods in search of wonder. Drawing on ballads and folktales, Dominion of Spells explores themes of burnout, misogyny, motherhood, miscarriage and personal transformation, weaving lived experience with mythic imagery and traditional folk narratives. The title track, Dominion of Spells , reclaims a 17th- century phrase once used to diagnose women as "disordered", drawing on the myth of the wandering womb and the long history of medical misogyny. Portman transforms these ideas into a vision of a freer, fairer realm where women's bodies are understood rather than feared. The first single, Turn Again , is a tender meditation on parenthood, inspired by her young son's imaginative shapeshifting games and echoing the Tam Lin ballad, where steadfast love breaks a powerful spell. Elsewhere, the album explores women's right to move safely after dark, genderswapped retellings of heroic quests, miscarriage, phone addiction and the restorative power of creative practice.

Based in Manchester but individually from all over the UK, the five piece's debut is intelligent, political and acutely aware of what it means to be in a band in 2026. Built around driving guitars and wiry rhythms, tracks like 'Too Much Fun' and 'The Seeds' brim with the tangible energy of their live shows. These are songs written with the energy of a packed room in mind. Having built their reputation the old fashioned way; relentless rehearsals, constant gigging and self releasing music wherever they could afford to, Martial Arts' dedication has shaped both the band's identity and their sound. Across the Craig Silvey-produced (Arctic Monkeys, R.E.M., Florence & The Machine) EP, Martial Arts balance personal reflection with broader political ideas, often turning the lens back on themselves as much as the world around them. The result is a band that combines the urgency of the UK's current guitar underground with a selfawareness and critical thought that feels increasingly rare.

Shape of the Moon is the California based duo of Benjamin Burke and Bear Glass that explores existential headspaces beyond mundane frames of thought. Following streams of consciousness that contemplate the stardust that forms us to the very first human sound that reverberated through a cave, Shape of the Moon intertwines language and music into ambient dream-weaving narratives.

When the land is laid bare forms a collection of recordings composed of Burke reciting his introspective poems and Glass improvising gripping modular synth and string patterns. Burke brings a wealth of experience working between an impressively vast range of written and visual mediums to Glass’s live electronics and acoustic instrumentation mirroring the spoken word. The pieces on the album consist of excerpts from live outdoor performances under the night sky in the Mojave desert as well as sessions in Glass’s off-grid solar powered studio. Burke drapes vivid vocal narration over deeply immersive textures and melodies conjured up by Glass on Buchla, bass and sitar, painting peaks and valleys that live score the storytelling. The duo tread their own path fusing poetry with undulating electroacoustic instrumentals, arriving at meditative and ASMR territories that draw inspiration from ambient and electronica. Often joined on stage by guest musicians playing anything from Rhodes, percussion, jaw harp and saxophone, the recordings edge towards blues and spiritual jazz.

Benjamin Burke is a poet, writer, performer, and visual artist who spends his time lending a hand to unusual artistic expeditions around the world. Most recently, he helped to launch Dhun and Dhun School, a humanist eco-township and progressive education center on a 500 acre biopreserve in Rajasthan, India. He has written and performed countless unusual shows, experimenting widely and, through that, witnessing firsthand what makes ideas resonate for his audiences. This work evolved over time into an approach he refers to as Applied Poetics which he employs to help communities set intentions, scientists present their findings, and humanitarian organizations find their footing.

Bear Glass is a sound artist, multi-instrumentalist, music teacher, live sound engineer, and founding member of Mobius Acoustics who build innovative sound systems and host events on the West Coast (utilizing a quadraphonic setup for live performances and immersive drone bath sessions). Glass is involved in various collaborative projects with a couple of releases under different pseudonyms as well as a solo tape featuring a track with prolific producer Carlos Niño. For most of the year, Glass lives sustainably off-grid with his family on a plot of land outside Joshua Tree, a mini utopia infamous for his well curated private campouts and artist residencies. Wide skies, magnificent climates, and being surrounded by the love of family and friends inform Bear’s musical output and artistic practice.

Shape of the Moon present their debut album for Marionette’s 30th title, channeling an inquisitive yet playful state of mind that marvels at the mysteries of the universe.

From a spontaneous moment in a hotel room in Kuruman to a fully realised body of work, Ngiyasaba is a testament to organic creativity, brotherhood and the power of music to move without limits.
What started as a late-night moment with Sanele Phakathi who was too scared to sleep in Kuruman — turned into something none of us could have planned. In that space, music took over. Ideas flowed freely and the energy grew so strong it literally reached next door… waking up the legendary Vinny Da Vinci, who walked in and said he wanted to be part of it. From that moment, everything changed.
Ngiyasaba (translated as “I’m scared”) is more than just an EP – it captures a feeling. That “wonderful state which makes art inevitable.” It’s the sound of pure collaboration, where instinct leads and the music follows.
From that room in Kuruman… to now being in your hands.

Ital Tek's new album 'Mind Abandon' takes a different direction from his recent run of releases, embracing a more human touch in contrast to the dense, world-building drone of his previous albums and film work. This time, he set out to compose away from the computer as much as possible _ working more instinctively and allowing himself to get lost in the music. Alan found the most natural starting point was his own voice, processing vocals into shifting pads and textures. His guitar sits at the centre of much of the record, joined by live, hand-played percussion and effects, often captured in quick, spontaneous performances. The result is an album of spacious, contrasting dynamics, with textures pressing against each other and rhythmic elements fighting to surface from glutinous, layered sound. "It feels like a very introspective record for me," Alan says. "Losing my sense of identity/self as part of the process - the increasing effort to calm my mind and embrace humanity/imperfection in the music. This path made sense as a jumping off point for a lot of the music to be vocal or guitar experiments - singing in ideas and then processing to become less identifiable." The album feels carved and three-dimensional, weaving industrial and shoegaze influences with the darker edges of post-rock. Subtly embedded in its architecture are traces of dubstep dynamics _ a sound that remains part of Alan's DNA. Opening track "The Ice Is Thin" is driven almost entirely by live guitar and keyboard, awash in reverb. On "A Hidden Path," everything apart from the drums stems from processed vocals and guitar, with a fleeting appearance from his daughter's toy ukulele. It unfolds like the beginning of a journey _ vast and cinematic _ nodding to the widescreen tension of Ennio Morricone before building into a towering wall of noise. "Killswitch" disorients with pounding kick drums crafted from twanging acoustic guitar, pushing through layers of static-charged chords. "Undertow" spirals outward on looping guitar figures set against a pulsing Rhodes. "Misted," built around a rare four-to-the-floor beat, uses guitar as a driving rhythmic device, opening with a bassline that wouldn't feel out of place on a The Cure record. "Imagined Landscape" introduces icy keyboard textures that foreshadow the dark closer, "The Pull," where an arpeggiated bassline reminiscent of DAF underpins unnerving, internalised sound design that feels as though it's scratching from within. Mind Abandon closes on a heavy, stalking note _ fresh sounds drawn from the body and the heart.

Sometimes the title of an album tells you everything you need to know. Laurence Pike’s Possible Utopias for Jazz Quintet is like that: The music within represents a search for freedom, potentiality—liberatory strategies that transcend the ego and the solitary, atomized figure.

But in this case, the album title is also a red herring, because there is no jazz quintet here—just Pike, his drums, and his machines, not so much an ersatz ensemble as a purely notional one, a thought experiment equipped with drumsticks, circuitry, and the desire to go beyond hardwired limits.

And the results, strictly speaking, aren’t really jazz, though they incorporate the vocabulary of jazz, along with that of ambient, electronica, and post-rock. They are some other thing, cognizant of genre but never beholden to it. Again, we’re talking about a search for freedom here.

The Sydney-based musician has a long history of coloring outside the lines, not just in his solo recordings—including four albums for the Leaf label between 2018 and 2024—but also in the trio Pivot (later PVT); Szun Waves (alongside saxophonist Jack Wyllie and Border Community’s Luke Abbott); Triosk, which recorded an album with Jan Jelinek in 2003; and even post-punk titans Liars, whom he joined in late 2018.

Of his first album for Balmat, Pike says, “My loose concept was: What does music sound like when the expectations of late capitalism are removed from it? How might a jazz musician from an idealised culture of the future, or even another world, utilise musical language when the conventions of style and marketing are no longer a factor in music making?”

That inquiry, he says, connects to his “guiding principle: that the purpose of music is to access something bigger than the individual, and reveal a sense of possibility and freedom in the world to the listener. To create an understanding that the future can be something other than what we imagined or expect, even unconsciously.”

Heady ideas, but plug into his stream-of-metaconsciousness flow and you may start to intuit what motivates him. There is a deeply lyrical expression in these pieces—in the ruminative piano of opener “Guardians of Memory,” for example—but also a sense of exploded perspective, of ideas approached from more angles than any one mind could dream up. Of a collectivized consciousness, of mycelial networks branching across tone and rhythm and timbre, of ideas articulated in distributed fashion, nodal points dancing across drum heads.

Pike’s imaginary quintet is hardly without precedent; it’s a continuation of concepts floated across Jan Jelinek’s Loop-Finding-Jazz-Records, Burnt Friedman’s many guises, and much of the recombinant improv of the International Anthem roster, not to mention the far corners of ECM’s catalog in the late 1970s and 1980s, which Pike says have been integral to his development since he was a teenager. Possible Utopias for Jazz Quintet is a point in a continuum, a voice in a conversation, a question with no obvious answer: How can the search for otherness in music manifest something true about ourselves?

Collaboration is key to the practices of both musicians. Both Rimbaud and De Waard exhibit long histories of collaborating with others from very different fields. They both understand that the ability to exchange and share ideas is crucial, and how these collaborations allow both parties to work as both negatives and positives of each other, recognising spaces within the work fields and ideas. It teaches the respect of space and the relevance of context and extension of one to the other.

Very limited numbers, orders will need to be confirmed.

For his new album, Irreparable Parables, Andrew Wasylyk felt a strong desire to write a set of songs featuring an element hitherto rare in his work: the human voice. Equally strong was the conviction that he did not want to sing them himself.

The Scottish multi-instrumentalist and composer set about assembling a group of guest singers, sending out the songs to wherever they were in the world. The vocals were recorded remotely and then, like migrating birds, winged their way back to Scotland. The result is an album of great beauty which, perhaps preeminently in Wasylyk’s work, expresses the vulnerability and resilience of the human spirit.

Six singers appear on the record, represented by six songbirds illustrated on the sleeve by Clay Pipe Music’s Frances Castle. The cuckoo is a nod to Belle and Sebastian’s 2004 single ‘I’m A Cuckoo’, that band’s Stuart Murdoch being the first voice you hear on the new album. When the vocal for ‘Private Symphony #2’ arrived, says Wasylyk, “it was everything that I was looking for and more. But this is Stuart Murdoch. Of course he’s going to make something incredibly beautiful and thoughtful.”

The song lyrics were, for the most part, written by the singers. The music is Wasylyk’s creation. He navigates a sound world that lies somewhere beyond the borders of classical and jazz, ambient and abstract. It is difficult to describe, but easy to understand, which is to say to feel. That is the way Wasylyk’s work is experienced: as a feeling. It takes you back to childhood, perhaps, to feelings of comfort and safety, or to memories of walks at sunrise and sunset, or to the way a shadow falls on a particular field in a particular place at a particular time in your life. This is consoling music. That is why, though pretty, it is not merely pretty. These are songs to shore up the soul.

Wasylyk writes in a room, in his native Dundee, full of “half broken” instruments. He picks these up, plays a little, seeking an idea, a feeling, a door that lies ajar. The musical palette of Irreparable Parables includes brass and woodwind, a six-piece string section, guitar, bass, drums, vibraphone, Mellotron, Fender Rhodes, tape loops, synthesisers and percussion. The strings were arranged by the cellist Pete Harvey, a long-term collaborator.

Among the other guest vocalists are Gruff Rhys of the Super Furry Animals, Saya Ueno from Japan’s Tenniscoats and Peter Brewis from Field Music. Wasylyk himself takes the lead vocal on the title track, though a throat infection and touch of pitch-shifting have altered his singing in a way that even he, having fallen out of love with his own voice, finds acceptable.

The heart of the record can, arguably, be found in two tracks, ‘Love Is A Life That Lasts Forever’ and ‘Spectators In The Absence of God’, sung respectively by Molly Linen and Kathryn Joseph. The former, bright with trumpets, was inspired by the writing of Derek Jarman. “I was feeling deeply upset about the world and wanted to try and write some- thing that was obviously hopeful,” Wasylyk says.

‘Spectators …’ offers an emotional counterpoint. It is an “apocalyptic hymn” that seems to grapple with watching human suffering from afar, too distant to be at physical risk, but experiencing the psychological wounding, and feelings of helplessness, even complicity, that come with constant awareness of other people’s pain. “Kathryn’s a pal, I love her dearly, and she’s a brilliant artist who really feels what she writes,” Wasylyk says. “The cracked tenderness of her voice is spellbinding.”

The album closes with an instrumental piece, ‘Soul Enters The Ocean Sun Climbs Out Of The Sea’, all piano and strings, that offers a sense of resolution and ascension. A good moment, too, for Wasylyk to reflect upon the artistic companionship that he enjoyed while making this record – the songbirds that answered his call: “These humans are incredible at what they do. I’m deeply grateful and feel so lucky. It blows my mind.”

Somewhere close to Manchester’s ever changing city centre, as the sun fades and peeks through the newest glass facade, you’ll find Shaking Hand. One part in shadow, the other basking in prisms of light as they sketch out their own sonic landscapes in the dusty redbrick mill they call home. One that is just about clinging on from the encroaching developments that surround them.

Against this back-drop where buildings are constantly torn down & built back again, the three piece craft away. Pulling from early post-rock, and 90s US alternative rock, crafting their own brand of Northwest-emo. Assembling something new, yet nostalgic. Looking ahead towards the transforming horizon. Shaking Hand’s music is built on tension and release – quiets that stretch, louds that overwhelm. Repetition that feels both hypnotic and destabilising.

The band’s musical DNA runs through experimental guitar outfits like Women, Slint, Sonic Youth, Pavement, and Ulrika Spacek, balanced with the melodic sensibility of Big Thief and the dynamic intimacy of Yo La Tengo. Their compositions push against structure: sudden jolts of tempo, polyrhythms that almost fall apart, and riffs that unravel into something fragile or ecstatic. Yet, as Ellis notes, there’s an underlying warmth too: “Like walking through an empty city late at night but catching flickers of life in the buildings you pass.”

Early ideas like ‘Night Owl’ and ‘Sundance’ grew out of George’s lockdown “bedroom years,” where new tunings (open E, drop D, and stranger Pavement-inspired set-ups) opened up uncharted textures. Later, in grim rehearsal rooms, the murky epic ‘Cable Ties’ and the hypnotic ‘Mantras’ absorbed the gloom and grit of the band’s surroundings.

The album was recorded with producer David Pye (Wild Beasts, Teenage Fanclub) at Nave Studios in Leeds, housed in a converted church. “The live room was huge and perfect for capturing our sound,” says George. Determined to bottle their onstage energy, the band tracked the foundations live, layering vocals and guitars later. Soviet-era microphones, odd mic placements, and even phone-recorded demos fed into the mix. “You’ve got to watch out for David though,” Freddie laughs. “He made me play four tambourines in one hand, really hurt, man.”

Lyrically, the record drifts between abstraction and lived moments. George’s words often spill out instinctively, words falling into place before their meaning becomes clear. “A lot of the lyrics look like they’re buried in abstraction,” he says, “but when I look back I can see what they were about — whether that’s an emotional response at the time or just an observation of what was happening around me”. There’s contrast at the heart of it all – optimism vs. doubt, the lightness of youth vs. the monotony of work, a city in constant redevelopment vs. the people drifting through it.

The album artwork is taken from unused plans for the 1970s redevelopment of Los Angeles by architect Ray Kappe, entitled ‘People Movers’. Hypothetical buildings for real people, it feels a complement to the band’s own constructions. One thing’s for sure, Shaking Hand’s debut is built to last.

Brånd is one weird/post black metal act from the Upper Austrian town of Linz.

Started off in 2015 as a solo act by Vritra (also in Kringa and Weathered Crest) with the need for a form of expression free from perfection or boundaries, over the past ten years the ever-evolving project ventured into various soundscapes, from crude black metal to lo-fi ambient and from ferocious post-punk to psych downer rock, all while splitting releases with extreme underground torchbearers like Absolute Key, Calvary and Rosa Nebel.

Joined by musicians to evolve old and new ideas, Brånd debut full-length album grew from 4-track demos gathered over the last decade to become an album of richly arranged songs from all over the fields of interest, breaking from their lo-fi tradition to new horizons.

To describe thoroughly “Tåg & Nåcht” is possibly the hardest task to do, given all the influences that are skilfully intertwined and perfectly balanced. In this witches’ brew the most schooled listeners will hear some angular post-punk à la Gang Of Four sustaining pagan declamations in the vein of Fenriz folk metal excursus Isengard. Straight forward dark anarcho punk assaults are mitigated by almost new age juxtapositions. Traces of 70’s German krautrock like La Düsseldorf are melted into a heavy metal cast, while wind instrument raids that are equally James Chance and Death In June seem to drop when least expected.

The sound is crunchy and surprisingly warm, contrary to what one might expect of a band emerging from a black metal background. But right now, Brånd is so much more than this: they can master a wide range of sounds that span from 70’s space rock, passing through 80’s post-punk and UK82, reaching 90’s black metal and 2000’s blackgaze, all in one incredibly coherent album. If this sounds too good to be true, suit yourself and press Play.
Split released with Tour De Garde in US/CA.

Maybe it was inevitable that Vilhelm Bromander and Fredrik Rasten would find each other. A symbiotic musical alliance of suggestive combinatory magic that stretches back to the interstitial two day space that separates their dates of birth and manifests here as the movement between ‘perfect’ or ‘just’ intonation and the ragged, psychoactive energy of the slippages from and towards that togetherness that render otherwise simple patterns or generally understood repetitions as wildly other and alive.

Astral Twins shares ‘twin’ works by each composer. The patiently unfolding real time retuning of Fredrik Rasten’s guitars on the a-side’s Sojourns and Vilhelm Bromander’s quickened steps and spry looping melodies on the flip’s Partially Dancing.

Both artists have history of going deep into the aesthetic and acoustic impact of intonation (how you think about what is ‘in tune’). Where their first LP (...for some reason that escapes us, 2019, Differ Records) shared a gorgeous set of sustained tone colour fields, this time they lean more explicitly into the folk music traditions of Scandinavia and further afield, whilst echoing the zoned minimalist atmosphere of Arthur Russell’s classic Instrumentals.

Recorded up close and in real time at Fylkingen’s soon-to-be-abandoned temporary location in Stockholm’s southern suburb of Bredäng, Astral Twins sings with the possibility that one plus one can equal more than two.

Fredrik Rasten:
 Sojourns explores the live retuning of guitar and double bass in a sequence of just intonation harmonies. A guitar ostinato runs throughout the piece where the retuning becomes an integral part of the composition. The slow pace reveals every detail in the transition from one harmonic arpeggio to another — how interfering waves emerge and disappear as the tonal interactions settle in electric clarity. The double bass shadows the guitar's process and comments with occasional pizzicato tones and register jumps, at times providing a low foundation for the sound and sometimes soaring together with the guitar. This is music that is deeply listening; experimental and at the same time humbly inviting many kinds of being with sound.

Vilhelm Bromander: 
As the title suggests, this song has a partially dancing character. The title also has a double meaning with reference to the partials and harmonics that dance together. The basic idea was to write music in just intonation that instead of being drone-based is reminiscent of a lightly dancing folk music, where the joyous feeling of just being in the music — “musicking" — is allowed to lead the way.

The double bass plays repeated overtone double stops in an open harmonic progression with subtle modulations that is inspired in equal parts by Steve Lacy's persistent repetition of phrases as east-asian khaen music. The guitars and mandolin have a freer role, with plucked retuned strings that enhance the bass's modulations and provide forward movement. The music invites to both melodic and spectral listening, suddenly halting so that other focal points can reveal themselves. For example, a chord sequence suddenly transitions to a more spectral part where Fredrik is playing a bowed guitar with a chain, several plucking guitars, voices, and pitch pipes. I wanted to make something ‘orchestral’ with just two people and no overdubs: a dance of overtones and open resonant strings, where we seamlessly take turns standing in the foreground.

Reissued! Transcendence through repetition beamed via an aesthetic vision steeped in mystery: welcome to the world of Newcastle-Upon-Tyne's Smote, an entity opening up uncanny new psychic pathways. `Genog' - the outfit's second release on Rocket Recordings following 2021's eerie transmission `Drommon' - shows that Smote's elliptical casting of bleak magick is only growing more powerful as it gathers momentum. The brainchild of Daniel Foggin, Smote has evolved seemingly of its own volition. "I had the idea for years" he relates, "I love Pärson Sound, Träd, Gräs Och Stenar, Traditional Irish Folk and all sorts of different Drone and Folk music. It was simply finding the opportunity to sit down and get recording. A very heavy influence that affects Smote is fantasy as a genre, and the atmosphere that can be created via story-telling." The musical approach of Smote may have started out as a resolutely DIY one, yet from the humble origins of bedroom and rehearsal room recordings, the band has now become a full-fledged and powerful live band, whose appearances at festivals like Roadburn, Le Guess Who and Brave Exhibitions have already caused a considerable stir.The five vivid extrapolations on Genog conjure differing spiritual realms, yet combine and coalesce to offer one unified vision, building furious momentum in a manner that unites the pastoral with the arcane and otherworldy. Earthy, ritualistic and richly cinematic in aspect, Genog is an avatar guiding the listener to dark and beguiling imaginary landscapes. 2026 bone colour vinyl repress

35th ANNIVERSARY EDITION OF THE GENRE-DEFINING OPUS OF ATMOSPHERIC DEATH/DOOM
FROM THE UK METAL LEGENDS. ON LIMITED CORONA VINYL WITH
ADDITIONAL 4 PAGE BOOKLET & REMASTERED AUDIO

Paradise Lost formed in 1988 in West Yorkshire, UK, when vocalist Nick Holmes & guitarist Gregor Mackintosh came together with the idea of taking metal beyond the conventional styles of the time. They were influenced by acts such as Candlemass, Celtic Frost & Morbid Angel, & concocted a unique atmosphere of their own as a result. This was already apparent when their debut album ‘Lost Paradise’ appeared on Peaceville Records in 1990, & blended death metal with doom & some melodic elements, but it wasn’t until their follow-up album, ‘Gothic’, that the band truly made its mark.

Recorded in late 1990/early 1991 at the renowned Academy Studios in Yorkshire (responsible for classic albums from bands such as My Dying Bride, Anathema, Cradle of Filth, among many others), ‘Gothic’ was the album responsible for a whole sub-genre: Gothic Doom Metal, upon its release in 1991. Creating a more sombre & atmospheric form of dark extremity, with the introduction of Gregor Mackintosh’s highly distinctive & unmistakable lead guitar melodies, Paradise Lost established themselves as among the pioneering UK bands of the early nineties, becoming highly influential to a generation of subsequent greats.

This new edition of ‘Gothic’, marking the album’s 35th anniversary, is presented on limited corona vinyl, with remastered audio courtesy of Jaime Gomez Arellano at Orgone Studios. The release also includes a four page booklet containing recollections from the band on the period & the shaping of the album, as originally featured in 2021’s ‘The Lost & The Painless’.

Full colour sleeve with rare use of the Italian only movie artwork.

A few years ago I issued the soundtrack to Virgin Witch, the score to an underground 1971
kinky British London / posh stately home horror that seemed more like an excuse to show as
many racy cars and devilish nude scenes as possible. This fleapit film was written by Hazel
Adair - the writer of legendary long-running TV series Crossroads, and her business partner at
the time Ken Walton (yes, the wrestling commentator). Virgin Witch was cheap and successful
enough to allow the whole team another go at the sexploitation game through their newly
formed production company Pyramid Films. Sex Clinic was the quick follow up; I say Sex Clinic,
the initial cinematic title was Clinic Xclusive, which was also called With These Hands, which
was also called La Masseuse Perverse. This film also came out in 1971 and they used the
musical services of Ted Dicks once again. Dicks had originally met Adair in 1960 through a cast
member performing in his first musical, Look Who’s Here.

If you are not aware of the great Ted Dicks, his quick bio reads as follows: born London 1928,
was educated through both grammar and art school and after National Service flirted with both
art and music. He worked with a series of very talented song writers - including Barry Cryer -
finally sparking properly with writer Myles Rudge. Together “Dicks and Rudge” had a hit with
their musical And Another Thing which starred Lionel Blair and Bernard Cribbins. Their talents
were spotted by producer George Martin and they followed this show success up with a series
of truly classic novelty pop chart hits, again with Cribbins - “Hole In The Ground” and “Right Said
Fred”. If you are not aware of the classic A Combination Of Cribbins LP they wrote, go and find
it. It includes “Gossip Calypso”, a triumph of novelty song writing that somehow manages to
squeeze in the lyric “Oxy-aceteline welder”, and is possibly the only song ever to do so. They
wrote further hits (winning an Ivor Novello for “A Windmill In Old Amsterdam”) and were in
constant demand throughout the 1960s and 1970s, working with artists such as Petula Clark,
Matt Munro, Bruce Forsyth, Topol and Kenneth Williams.

By the late 1960s Ted had also penned a handful of instrumental library cues including the
classic “Busy Boy” for the Standard Library company that got picked up as the theme for the
brilliant TV kids fantasy show Catweazle in 1970. It’s a light, kooky, hummable tune that lodged
its way deep in the mind of any child under 12 over the following decade.

When I first got the reels for Sex Clinic I’m not sure what I was sonically expecting - much of
Dicks’ music blends musical hall with jazz and some brilliant novelty - and maybe I was also
imagining a different kind of film to the one that was actually made. Turns out Sex Clinic is more
like a sleazy drama than an erotic adventure - I’ve read reviews that call it “nothing more than a
naked Crossroads”. Even knowing this I had no idea what the music was going to sound like. So
I was thrilled when it was almost the musical opposite of what I imagined. We have here a great,
easy jazz score. Not a proggy, wild or free jazz score, this is lightish, vibes-led, bluesy and really
charming, which gets slightly more lively when the naked pool party sequence kicks off, and
drifts effortlessly into more seductive midnight moods as and when required. And having now
seen the film, musically it’s unusually at odds with the on screen nudity, blackmail and revenge.

But like most of Ted’s work, the music sticks in your mind. Unlike the film. Which I suggest you
try and avoid unless you like watching plump randy middle aged men with terrible hair pursue
women half their age.

TRACKLISTING: There were no notes or titles to any of the cues on the reels. So I have just simply labeled the sides as per the reels that came in:

SCOTTISH TRUMPETER MALCOLM STRACHAN RETURNS WITH HIS MOST UPLIFTING AND GROOVE-DRIVEN ALBUM YET – “LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE”

On Look On The Bright Side, Malcolm Strachan sounds more open than ever. His third solo album moves effortlessly between soul-jazz, Latin grooves and Afrobeat touches, anchored by the warm, cinematic feel of 1970s jazz but driven by a clear sense of forward motion.

Released on 22 May 2026 via Haggis Records, the album sees Strachan stepping further into his role as a composer and bandleader, drawing together the threads of a career spanning more than two decades at the heart of the UK’s jazz, funk and soul scene.

Where his debut About Time (2020) channelled the spirit of classic Blue Note recordings and Point Of No Return (2023) leaned into the groove-heavy CTI era, Look On The Bright Side feels broader in scope – still rooted in groove, but more open to outside influences and a more consciously uplifting tone.

“I wanted the music to feel upbeat and positive,” says Strachan. “I start at the piano, working through chord ideas until I find something that feels right. Once the harmony is there, the melodies tend to come naturally.” That approach gives the album its fluidity, with tracks evolving from feel as much as structure and arrangements that leave room for interplay and movement.

Ten years ago, Anderson .Paak didn't just release an album; he staged a full-scale takeover of the soul and hip-hop landscape. Released on January 15, 2016, Malibu served as the definitive arrival of an artist who had spent years grinding in the underground before a star-making turn on Dr. Dre’s Compton. While his previous work hinted at his potential, Malibu was the moment the world met the "Cheeky Andy" persona in full—a virtuosic drummer, a raspy-voiced crooner, and a sharp-witted rapper all rolled into one. The album is a sprawling, sun-drenched journey through the Southern California coast, blending 1970s funk, church-reared gospel, and gritty boom-bap into something that feels both nostalgic and entirely futuristic. With a heavyweight production lineup including 9th Wonder, Madlib, Kaytranada, and Hi-Tek, the record maintains a warm, analog texture that was a breath of fresh air in an increasingly digital era. It’s an album that breathes, full of intentional imperfections and the kind of "in-the-pocket" groove that can only come from a seasoned live performer. Beyond the infectious, dance-floor-ready energy of tracks like "Am I Wrong" and "Come Down," the album is a deeply autobiographical masterwork. .Paak uses the 65-minute runtime to unpack his life story with startling clarity, touching on his mother’s gambling addiction, his father’s incarceration, and his own brushes with homelessness with a sense of resilience that never feels heavy-handed. He weaves these heavy themes through a lens of triumph, grounded by vintage surfing documentary samples that give the project its cinematic, coastal atmosphere. It’s a celebratory record born out of struggle, anchored by his impeccable technicality on the drums and a guest list—featuring ScHoolboy Q, Rapsody, and The Game—that feels hand-picked to complement his specific brand of West Coast swagger. A decade later, Malibu stands as a modern classic and the blueprint for the soulful revivalism that would eventually lead .Paak to global superstardom and Grammy-winning heights. It remains a testament to the idea that the most profound music often comes from the most personal places, proving ten years on that the best way to move forward is to stay rooted in the groove.