Search:in camera

Editia de Camera returns with its first limited vinyl release. A conceptual space designed by Alin Crihan, the label focuses on the interdependence of creative mediums, from spoken word to canvas. The first release centers on works by Sebastian Hosu, a Romanian-born, Leipzig-based artist with exhibitions around the world, from Hong Kong to Bucharest, as well as his first publication, entitled Ballad for Space Lovers. Across the four selected pieces, Crihan explores the synergy of Sebastian’s brushstrokes, combining a rhythmic sense of forward motion with ethereal soundscapes that build and collapse, push and pull, toward an inherent sense of inertia that complements each other’s color palette—both on canvas and in sound.

What happens when you combine SUMAC: a band that uses the volume, distortion, and guitar-centric approach of metal to make music that has the malleability of jazz and textural exploration of noise with Moor Mother: a poet and sound artist that has deconstructed hip hop to a point where it"s less about rhyme and rhythm (though obviously both are present in her work) and more about oratorical cadence and power.

The Film is an album that takes attributes of both artists" work and finds common ground in shifting musical patterns, and expressive force. The record is a musical thumbing of their noses at the more traditional approaches of their respective fields, an innovative, powerhouse of an album. The Film"s moniker speaks to the fact that it is conceived and delivered as a complete album, a full story or narrative. Moor Mother puts it best: "The idea is to create a moment outside of the convention. This is a work of art.

Thinking about the work as a Film, instead of an album or a collection of songs. This task is impossible in an industry that wants to force everything into a box of consumption. You won"t understand or get the full picture until the artwork is completed. This work is developing and is requesting more agency within the creative process." The Film is just such a work, a nebulitic collaboration between SUMAC and Moor Mother.

• The Hidden Cameras melden sich 2025 mit ihrer lang erwarteten, hymnischen neuen Single »How Do You Love?« zurück

• Über einer pumpenden Bassline, gefühlvollen Klavierakkorden und melancholischen Streicherarrangements (gespielt und arrangiert von langjährigen musikalischen Partner Owen Pallett) trifft Joel Gibb genau den Punkt zwischen Euphorie und Schmerz, an dem die Seele der Disco sitzt!

• Die Pet Shop Boys verwandeln »How Do You Love?« in einen emotionalen Disco-Banger – inklusive bombastischer Streicherflächen und fröhlicher House-Pianos

Over three years in the making, Needle Mythology Records is delighted to announce a super deluxe, expanded remastered reissue of The Lilac Time’s 1991 masterpiece, Astronauts. Released as a triple vinyl, triple CD or single vinyl, only 1000 copies of each format will be produced, there will be no further pressings. Both the 3LP and 3CD editions will come with an extensive 11,000 word oral history of Astronauts and liner notes by Needle Mythology co-founder and longtime Stephen Duffy fan, Pete Paphides.

All three albums including a 2024 remaster, a collection of works in progress entitled‘Softened By Rain The Making Of Astronauts’ and a live compilation ‘Any Road Up The Lilac Time Live 1990/91’ have been mastered for vinyl by Miles Showell at Abbey Roadand will be housed in a triple gatefold sleeve with a colour inner sleeve and new artwork for each disc, which has been especially created by designer Mike Storey. The main sleeve for Astronauts itself will replicate the original artwork but with the four distinctive “blobs” rendered in a red “foil” texture. In addition to these three disc sets, 1000 single vinyl remastered copies of Astronauts will also be made available, in a cherry red vinyl edition to match the outer sleeve.

With the shoegaze and baggy movements at their zenith, The Lilac Time’s fourth album was released at a moment when the left-field music zeitgeist was shaped by the nascent shoegaze, baggy and grunge movements. Whilst Astronauts conformed to none of those trends, neither was it the record Stephen had in his head when he finally finished working on it. We’ll never know how that record would have sounded, but it’s hard to imagine a better version of the album he did end up making. The songwriter who brought ‘A Taste of Honey’ and ‘Hats Off, Here Comes The Girl’ into the world envisaged the sort of choruses that would jump from the single speaker of your favourite transistor and lodge themselves into the collective memory bank.

But while he really was writing some of his most beautiful melodies, Astronauts is a family of songs that demands to be kept together in the sundazed cloud of inspiration that created it. It constitutes a partial retreat from the outwardfacing utopianism of its predecessors, choosing instead to dwell on the journey taken to get to this point. That this is an audibly different band to the pastoral expeditionaries of the group’s previous releases is almost entirely down to the departure of Nick Duffy and the arrival of Sagat Guirey. Suddenly, accordions, banjos and mandolins are out; jazz guitar is in. Sagat’s filigree work on the outro of ‘A Taste for Honey’ acts as a sublime parting shot to a lyric which acts as a wiser, wistful companion piece to Stephen’s 1985 solo hit ‘Kiss Me’, something tantamount to the camera retreating to reveal the years elapsed between the time depicted and the present day. The distance between the carefree youth of pop stardom and the first intimations of mortality can be measured between the first and second verses of the quietly devastating ‘Madresfield’; from the depiction of the deserted cricket pavilion obscured by fresh snowfall to the sudden shift in perspective from subject to protagonist: ‘No one ever told me/That killing time is harmful/For time cannot recover/What soon the ground will offer.’ For all of that, however, the resulting album didn’t correspond to the vision its creator had for it. At a loss as to what to do with it, Stephen surrendered Astronauts to Creation with no plans to promote or draw attention to it. The consciousness shift of which Stephen had hoped The Lilac Time might be a precursor hadn’t happened. Or, rather, it had – but it had happened elsewhere, in the Haçienda and Shoom and in Ibiza. Not on the hills of Herefordshire. In a nod to that sea change, Stephen handed over one song, ‘Dreaming’ to Hypnotone, who

September 26th, 1994 - Jamiroquai released a song that still to this day sounds futuristic. Blending electronic, funk, jazz, soul & pop.

The record was then famously remixed by the legendary David Morales, taking the song to a whole new audience and anthem level… giving the band their first ever Billboard Dance #1.

The iconic music video was directed by Vaughan Arnell & Anthea Benton, and features Jay Kay dancing around a blue room with multiple versions of him and the other band members appearing and disappearing. The use of motion control photography allowed for a seemingly continuous shot as the camera pans around the room.

2024, Michael Gray delivers a modern club interpretation of the classic Jamiroquai anthem on his Sultra Records imprint.

Keeping the original funk, soul undertones of Jamiroquai, he takes us on a housey ride of funky disco rhythms laden with hi-pitched synths, a soul oozing chord melody and grooving drum pattern that sits relaxed allowing the emphasis on Jay Kay’s vocal and new worked bass line to do it’s thing. A lovely alternative to the dance floor classic we all know and love.

Debut LP from House On The Strand whose production sensibilities fall somewhere akin to Boards of Canada, Toxe, Fourtet, Khotin & Croatian Amor.

House on the Strand’s debut full length release is a playful, wide eyed and vivid collection of songs that echo the simplicity and nostalgia of 00’s childhood. A collection of colourful and vivid synth tones, fragmented beats and samples across 35mins dance like shapes and colours behind closed eye lids or like imperfect early digital camera footage of summers lost to memory. Sonically, 'Heroine’'s tones and production sensibilities fall somewhere akin to Boards of Canada, Toxe, Fourtet, Khotin & Croatian Amor.

Ever since he made his first trip to Japan to DJ, Optimo Music founder JD Twitch has been bewitched by Japanese music, and particularly the vibrant, imaginative, and often far-sighted sounds which emerged from the island nation during the 1980s. Now he’s put years of digging in Japanese record shops to good use on Polyphonic Cosmos, the latest release on his compilation-focused Cease & Desist imprint.

Subtitled ‘A Beginners Guide to Japan In The ‘80s’, the collection offers a personal selection of Japanese gems recorded and released between 1981 and ’86 – a period when advances in recording and musical technology offered the nation’s artists and producers a whole new tool kit to employ. When combined with the unique musical culture of Japan, where local traditions are frequently fused with Western styles to create timeless, off-kilter aural fusions, this embrace of locally pioneered music technology had spectacular, often unusual results.

Eight years in the making, Polyphonic Cosmos provides an endlessly entertaining musical snapshot of Japanese music of the early-to-mid ‘80s with all of the open-minded eclecticism and sonic twists that you would expect from the Glasgow-based DJ.

Compare and contrast, for example, the gently breezy, morning-fresh folk-plus-electronics bliss of ‘ばら二曲 Baranikyoku (Fellini&Rota)’ by World Standard – the most familiar alias of long-serving musician/producer Sohichiro Suzuki – and the hallucinatory, slow-motion tribal rhythms, post-punk rhythms and tape delay-laden electronics of Imitation’s ‘Exotic Dance’. Or, for that matter, the tipsy mid-‘80s electronic reggae of Pecker’s ‘Sha La La’, the grungy but melodic post-punk strut of ‘You Go On Natural’ by Earthling (a track Twitch accurately describes as “sheer unrelenting groove”), and the unearthly, swirling sonics, new age instrumentation and flotation tank vocals of prolific (and seemingly mysterious) act Geinoh Yamashirogumi’s ‘Rimme Kohkyogaku Meiki’.

It’s a credit to JD Twitch’s curatorial skills that the quality never dips, and sonic surprises lurk around every corner. Consider for a moment the hard to describe, far-sighted audio immersion of D-Day’s ‘Ki-Ra’ – all languid post-pop guitar, enveloping chords, spoken word vocals, shuffling 808 beats and marimba melodies – and the two contributions from video games soundtrack specialist (and driving instrumental synth-pop specialist) Hiroyuki Namba.

The collection naturally includes some selections that have long been favourites in Twitch’s DJ sets – see Masumi Hara’s ‘Your Dream’ – as well as a handful of tracks from artists who may be more recognisable to those with only rudimentary knowledge of Japanese musical culture. The great Yasuaki Shimizu, whose work as Mariah has become far better known in recent years thanks to reissues of some of his most magical albums, is represented via ‘The Crow’, a picturesque chunk of horizontal, hard-to-define jazz-not-jazz smokiness, while the collection fittingly concludes with a sublimely funky, oddball electronic workout from Yellow Magic Orchestra legend Ryuichi Sakamoto (the frankly incredible ‘Wongga Dance Song’).

Matt Anniss

Following his debut EP ‘En clair-obscur’ and a series of singles earlier this year cementing his place as a rising name in the world of cinematic soul & funk, Hamburg’s finest cinematic soul artist ‘The Offline’ announces his debut album 'La couleur de la mer'.

Reminiscent of film scores from the 60s and 70s, The Offline worked with co-producer Tim Liztenberger to channel the influence of film composers such as Francois de Roubaix and Brian Bennet, creating his own soundtrack on ‘La couleur de la mer’. Inducing images of manorial, fog-swept villas at the sea's edge, silhouetted sailing boats and cigar-chomping villains attempting to thwart the mission of an imaginary hero, the record is a masterfully composed sonic journey. Experimenting with themes and atypical song structures, the music moves from dramatic cues to fragile romanticism. It incorporates psychedelic spaciness, retro soul and hip-hop sensibilities informed by The Offline’s extensive record collection and crate-digger status.

“Ever since I was a child, I was fascinated by the soundtracks from the 60s and 70s, and I always wanted to make an album in the film score direction. I wrote about 30 demos, kicked half of it and stuck to the ones that felt right in the dramaturgical structure of the ‘movie'. Interestingly the main theme was set early on while writing the album, which made the writing process much easier.”

Aptly named, ‘Thème de la couleur de la mer’ opens proceedings, establishing the core motifs of the record. Haunting flutes and xylophones lead the way into Khruangbin-esque guitar lines, which sit against a hip-hop canvas that returns on boom-bap head boppers like ‘Quelque chose reste’. Retro soul revival takes precedence on deep cuts like ‘Un bout de chemin’, with wah-gated guitars interacting with emotive cello lines and symphonic string & horn sections.

The Offline came to life when composer and photographer Felix Müller travelled the Atlantic coastline in the south of France with his analogue camera, capturing beach life on film. After coming back to Hamburg, he started writing songs as the sonic counterpart to the analogue visuals. His Debut EP ‘En Clair-Obscur’ includes five tracks that capture the essence of his journey and the feeling of a cool summer soundtrack.

Coral Morphologic and Nick León’s Projections of a Coral City marks a series of collisions between distant
worlds: the organic and the artificial, the Eocene and the Anthropocene, sea and cement—and even, perhaps, ambient music and activism.

Coral Morphologic are the Miami duo of marine biologist Colin Foord and musician J.D. McKay; since 2007, they have used a variety of multimedia projects to generate environmental awareness of marine biodiversity—most notably Coral City Camera, an underwater webcam streaming live from an urban reef ecosystem in PortMiami.

Their citymate Nick León is a linchpin of South Florida’s contemporary leftfield electronic scene, with releases for Tra Tra Trax, Future Times, and NAAFI, and credits on records by Rosalía, GAIKA, and Iceboy Violet, among others.

This collaborative project dates back to 2022, when Coral Morphologic mounted a monumental projection-
mapping installation on Biscayne Boulevard. For five nights in late November and early December, macroscopic films of corals played out across the exterior of Knight Concert Hall. The installation was, on the one hand, a glimpse into a possible future, imagining how the city’s skyline might appear if unchecked global warming and rising seas led coral reefs to colonize the built environment. But it also represented a look back into the deep past, a reminder that Miami is literally built from marine limestone mined from the Everglades. Its concrete foundations began life, eons ago, as a marine ecosystem—the same ecosystem that may one day reclaim them. As above, so below.

As an album, Projections of a Coral City is a suite of interconnected movements spread across two sides of vinyl. The tones are watery, the mood elegiac, the colors a washed-out pastel. Forms that appear static on the surface gradually open up to reveal hidden depths teeming with microscopic movement. You might detect resonances with other aquatically minded works—Jürgen Müller’s Science of the Sea, Harold Budd’s liquid piano compositions, even the slow-moving melancholy of Dr. Roger Payne’s Songs of the Humpback Whale. But ultimately Projections of a Coral City creates the impression of a world unto itself—a hauntingly beautiful space at the meeting point between sorrow and hope.

——-
Balmat is a label with a cloudy outline. Jointly shepherded by Albert Salinas and Philip Sherburne, two friends living in Cardedeu, Catalonia, and on the Balearic island of Menorca, Balmat grew out of Lapsus Radio, a weekly show born almost ten years ago. Balmat’s mission is simple: to foster new ideas, expand upon personal obsessions, and put enveloping sounds out into the world.

“Balmat” means “empty” or “void” in Catalan. But quite apart from any negative connotations, we prefer to think of it in terms of possibility: a space waiting to be filled.

Tiella Sound is a project born in 2019 from the mind of Italian DJ Luca Bigote that started as a radio show currently airing on French LYL Radio, and now debuting in the record label ecosystem with its first official release, pressed in a limited edition of only 200 copies.

The vision and mission of the entire project are quite clear and based on the principle of musical eclecticism. Luca Bigote, in fact, from the very beginning has never wanted to set boundaries to his creature, which, following an open-minded approach, flirts with the most disparate sounds, not exclusively club-oriented ones, focusing on the quality and research that have always distinguished his path.

For its first release, Tiella Sound has chosen Perugia-born DJ and producer Daniele Tomassini, already known for his records under the Feel Fly moniker, who presents us with the first LP from his alter ego VAISA.
This work consists of unreleased tracks composed between 2014 and 2016, during the intense creative period that saw him involved in more experimental and alternative projects such as Palenque Pacal trio and Wunder Camera duo. This material finally sees the light, a few years after the inspiring live performance during the second edition of Esperimenti (January 2017), the music festival curated by Luca himself together with his friend and colleague Matteo Lieto in Gaeta, Italy.

“VAISA is a dense, raw, evocative project. A lo-fi maelstrom of field recordings, sound collage, mysterious vocal samples from ancient cultures, obscure rhythms and layered tribal percussions, ambient clouds, dub echoes, with the martial tolling of the kick drum beating out the slow electronic ritual” (Caveargento): a deep and timeless journey, ready to drive all the lovers of the most abstract and primitive sounds into ecstasy.

Like every record Superchunk has made over the last thirty-some years, Wild Loneliness is unskippably excellent and infectious. It’s a blend of stripped-down and lush, electric and acoustic, highs and lows, and I love it all. On Wild Loneliness I hear echoes of Come Pick Me Up, Here’s to Shutting Up, and Majesty Shredding. After the (ahem, completely justifiable) anger of What a Time to Be Alive, this new record is less about what we’ve lost in these harrowing times and more about what we have to be thankful for. (I know something about gratitude.

I’ve been a huge Superchunk fan since the 1990s, around the same time I first found my way to poetry, so the fact that I’m writing these words feels like a minor miracle.) On Wild Loneliness, it feels like the band is refocusing on possibility, and possibility is built into the songs themselves, in the sweet surprises tucked inside them. I say all the time that what makes a good poem the “secret ingredient” is surprise. Perhaps the same is

true of songs. Like when the sax comes in on the title track, played by Wye Oak’s Andy Stack, adding a completely new texture to the song. Or when Owen Pallett’s strings come in on “This Night.” But my favorite surprise on Wild Loneliness is when the harmonies of Norman Blake and Raymond McGinley of Teenage Fanclub kick in on “Endless Summer.”

It’s as perfect a pop song as you’ll ever hear sweet, bright, flat-out gorgeous and yet it grapples with the depressing reality of climate change: “Is this the year the leaves don’t lose their color / and hummingbirds, they don’t come back to hover / I don’t mean to be a giant bummer but / I’m not ready / for an endless summer, no / I’m not ready for an endless summer.” I love how the music acts as a kind of counterweight to the lyrics.

Because of COVID, Mac, Laura, Jim, and Jon each recorded separately, but a silver lining is that this method made other long-distance contributions possible, from R.E.M.’s Mike Mills, Sharon Van Etten, Franklin Bruno, and Tracyanne Campbell of Camera Obscura, among others. Some of the songs for the record were written before the pandemic hit, but others, like “Wild Loneliness,” were written from and about isolation.

I’ve been thinking of songs as memory machines. Every time we play a record, we remember when we heard it before, and where we were, and who we were. Music crystallizes memories so well: listening to “Detroit Has a Skyline,” suddenly I’m shout1singing along with it at a show in Detroit twenty years ago; listening to Overflows,” I’m transported back to whisper-singing a slowed-down version of it to my young son, that year it was his most-requested lullaby.

Wild Loneliness is becoming part of my life, part of my memories, too. And it will be part of yours. I can picture people in 20, 50, or 100 years listening to this record and marveling at what these artists created together beauty, possibility, surprise during this alarming (and alarmingly isolated) time. But why wait? Let’s marvel now. - Maggie Smith