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Today, chart-topping vocal powerhouse Teddy Swims releases four new surprise tracks on I’ve Tried Everything But Therapy (Part 1.5). The project includes his chart-conquering smash hit ‘Lose Control,’ which recently claimed the top spot on the Billboard Hot 100 chart, and has surpassed 1 billion streams across all platforms.

Among the four new tracks on I’ve Tried Everything But Therapy (Part 1.5) is ‘Hammer to the Heart,’ a moody anthem with a stirring, stadium-ready chorus, ‘Tell Me,’ an understated alt-leaning offering that explores loss and heartbreak, and ‘Apple Juice,’ the kind of soulful throwback that Swims does better than anyone. Another unforgettable highlight is ‘Growing Up Is Getting Old,’ an acoustic treasure that captures the Atlanta native’s magnetism like never before.

Who is Isabelle Lewis, anyway?

What kind of music does she make? Is she an opera singer? Does she write pop songs? Does she compose ethereal ambient soundscapes? Does she play chamber music on the violin? Is she producing dark, electronic beats?

Well… yes. But Isabelle Lewis is not so much a person as a project. Isabelle’s debut album, Greetings, credits a trio of composer–performers at its heart: producer Valgeir Sigurðsson, vocalist Benjamin Abel Meirhaeghe, and violinist Elisabeth Klinck. The sound of the elusive Isabelle Lewis is heard most clearly in the push and pull between them, the three-way tension that gives the album its musical and emotional drive.

Each of the three brings more to the collaboration than those epithets might imply. Elisabeth’s solo performance practice incorporates composition, improvisation, live electronics, and a close command of bowing and fingering techniques that make her fiddle sing, whisper or whistle as required. Benjamin is a self-taught countertenor - keening, crooning, and swelling to a voluptuous sensuality—but also an interdisciplinary stage director and performer. Well known for his work as a producer and studio collaborator, and as a composer of scores for film and stage, Valgeir’s solo discography interweaves meticulously crafted electronics, drones, noise, and other digital elements with acoustic instruments and vocals recorded with naked, unflinching clarity.

But the extravagant theatricality Benjamin brings to the aptly titled “Drama”—also featuring a heroic violin solo from Elisabeth—grapples against the thudding bass of the implacable digital backdrop. On “Mother, Shelter Me” Valgeir’s austere and detailed production throws the hushed violin and vocals into stark relief. The result is an exquisitely uncanny juxtaposition of past and present, human and mechanical, like a Rococo treasure viewed under cold fluorescent lights, or an 18th-century automaton slowly opening its clockwork eyes.

Even the lyrics seem somehow out of time. On “O Solitude,” Benjamin goes so far as to quote an entire song by the first great English opera composer, Henry Purcell, verbatim. No stranger to Purcell’s music, which has made its way into Benjamin’s theatrical productions as well, here Isabelle Lewis removes Purcell’s melodies and harmonies and sets the text, Katherine Phillips’s 17th century translation of a poem by Antoine Girard de Saint-Amant, to new music whose heightened, archaic character nevertheless seems haunted by Baroque ghosts.

Throughout the album, the outsized emotions and timeless archetypes of Benjamin’s lyrics feel like relics from some half-forgotten past—from the neatly rhymed couplets of “Fisherman,” a seemingly straightforward (but still somewhat askew) character study, to the abstraction of “Moonshell,” whose words seem like the fragments of some ancient, lost lament. It is just another of many ways in which Isabelle Lewis carefully distorts the listener’s notions of time. On a more micro level, time can stop for a moment of weightless, drifting ambience, and then plunge forward as the cloud of harmonies suddenly lock into tempo with the drop of the bass or the change of a chord. Or else that weightless moment is allowed to be, as in the aptly named prologue and epilogue to these Greetings (“Voicemail”/“…and farewell”), or in the interstitial tracks that bind the album together, connecting its dramatic peaks with expanses of meditative stasis.

The album as a whole is elegantly shaped, swelling from an intimate, interpersonal statement into something deeper and more spacious. The first half of the album leans slightly towards self-contained pop songcraft and ticking beats, while side B jumps off from “O Solitude” into the almost symphonic grandeur of songs like “Moonshell” or the instrumental “Not the water, air, or the dirt.”

But as it progresses, the contrasts only grow more sublime: antique and postmodern, human and machinelike. The ominous weight of the droning sub-bass and trombone (guest player Helgi Hrafn Jónsson) only makes the interplay between vocals and violins (guest player Daniel Pioro joining Elisabeth) seem more delicate and vulnerable. The ethereal string tremolos of “Moonshell” seem to pull against the heavy, shuddering electronics and layers of crooning vocals.

And that, in short, is where you will find Isabelle Lewis. Like an ancient stone archway, or a delicate house of cards, the architecture of Greetings is held together by the tension between opposing forces. Not just in Elisabeth’s playing, Benjamin’s singing, or Valgeir’s arrangements and production but in the conflict and contrast that generates the synergy between them.

Oh—Isabelle says hi, by the way. She’s looking forward to meeting you.

It's a pleasure to see MOY back on AF. Sure, Jonny doesn't invent anything, but everything he does sounds incredible and his tracks have the ability to grab you and never let go. He seems to say: "I know what you're here for". The particular way he executes hyperactive beats, acid basslines and melodies, makes the material very emotive and timeless, walking his influences around and elevating the machine's rhythms to new emotional levels. Jonny Moy always delivers, in fact, the brilliantly titled 'Supermassive EP' is not just a title but a statement of intent. These four tracks will stick in your head for a long time, for the club, nightdriving or home. What are you waiting for? Go on!

Beeinflusst von DC-Punk und der Politik, die Dischord, TeenBeat und die Riot Grrrl-Revolution inspirierten, stürzten Tsunami aus Arlington, Virginia in die 90er Jahre mit Witz, Verzerrung und einem scharfzüngigen feministischen Geist. Diese Box mit fünf LPs enthält Songs von elf Singles, 4-Track-Demos, die Alben "Deep End" von 1993, "The Heart's Tremolo" von 1994 sowie die allererste Vinyl-Pressung des gefeierten "A Brilliant Mistake" von 1997. Aus dem Kofferarchiv ihres eigenen Labels Simple Machines Records schöpfend, sind Tsunamis Ambitionen - von Kellerkonzerten bis hin zur zweiten Bühne des Lollapalooza - in Essays, Fotos und Ephemera festgehalten, die diesen Teil der DIY-Geschichte der alternativen Musikrevolution belegen.

Beeinflusst von DC-Punk und der Politik, die Dischord, TeenBeat und die Riot Grrrl-Revolution inspirierten, stürzten Tsunami aus Arlington, Virginia in die 90er Jahre mit Witz, Verzerrung und einem scharfzüngigen feministischen Geist. Diese Box mit fünf LPs enthält Songs von elf Singles, 4-Track-Demos, die Alben "Deep End" von 1993, "The Heart's Tremolo" von 1994 sowie die allererste Vinyl-Pressung des gefeierten "A Brilliant Mistake" von 1997. Aus dem Kofferarchiv ihres eigenen Labels Simple Machines Records schöpfend, sind Tsunamis Ambitionen - von Kellerkonzerten bis hin zur zweiten Bühne des Lollapalooza - in Essays, Fotos und Ephemera festgehalten, die diesen Teil der DIY-Geschichte der alternativen Musikrevolution belegen.

Something About Livingis an album of live recordings by experimental jazz composer/multi-instrumentalist Robert Stillman. The music was captured over the course of Stillman's time as the solo support act for The Smile (Thom Yorke, Jonny Greenwood, Tom Skinner). The album weaves excerpts from various theater and arena shows along the tour's North American routing into a seamless whole, creating a 40-minute program that represents an expanded version of Stillman's ever-transforming live set.

Something About Livingis the product of a steady, on-stage evolution that happened over the course of the nearly 60 shows opening for the Smile across the EU, UK, US, Canada and Mexico. However, the creative origins of the set began in relative isolation during the pandemic, through Stillman's work on projects like his multi-media installationUnseen Forcesand his monthly broadcast for Margate Radio, both of which drew upon solo improvisation using saxophone, cassettes, Yamaha DX7 synthesizer, and effects.

"At the time The Smile asked whether I'd like to open for them on their first tour, I felt like I'd already been preparing without really knowing it," says Stillman. "I'd been doing this music constantly, but always for a hypothetical audience" During the pandemic, Stillman's solo set-up served as the research lab where he worked on all the concepts he was interested in: solo improvisation, creating and manipulating cassettes, FM synthesis, analogue delays chains, no-input mixing, and non-metric rhythmic pulses. So when he was offered the first Smile tour, the idea was to bring "the lab" onto the stage.

What Stillman could not have prepared for was the experience of playing in venues with capacities of up to ten thousand listeners. "The first tour was in summer 2022, so not that long after the worst of the pandemic, when I had pretty much made peace with the idea that I might never be able to perform for an audience again. Then all of a sudden I found myself in front of huge numbers of people, and felt the massive responsibility of being with an audience, of this thing I'd done alone for so longactually being witnessed, and it was completely overwhelming!" On the flip-side, Stillman also recalls, was a new appreciation of how powerful the live performance was as a social phenomenon. "It's a cliche, but also true: the moment of making and hearing music in a shared time and space has a very specific meaning and power; there was a sense that everyone in the venue was necessary to make it real, regardless of what they were doing, or how they felt about it. There was an inevitability about it that I'd never fully appreciated."

Over the course of the tours that followed, Stillman transformed this appreciation of the shared moment into an ethic of spontaneity that guided the development of his live set. "An important reference for this set has always been an Animal Collective show I saw when I first moved to New York, probably in 2001 or so, that has always set the high-water mark for what I wanted to do live- they were improvising a lot, and out of what would seem to be absolute chaos they'd find their way to something structured, and then back out again into the unknown. It was so thrilling to witness".

ThoughSomething About Livingcompiles recordings from different dates along the tour, Stillman has edited and mixed them into a work that seeks to reflect the ebb and flow between 'chaos and control' that characterizes his live set. Among the compositions featured are some from previous album releases ("Time of Waves", "What I Owe", "What Does it Mean to Be American") as well as some new compositions ("The Dream of Waking", "Renaissance 2.0," and the title track, "Something About Living").

The album/track title "Something About Living" is a reference to a line from Stillman's favorite film,My Dinner With André: "André Gregory is explaining the value of life experiences that, as he says, are'to do with living'.That really struck me, the way he articulated it. I strongly believe live music situations can ask these kinds of questions, for performers and audiences. I hope that's reflected in this music."

[a] 01: Time of Waves (Live in Miami FL) [Live]
[b] 02: What Does It Mean to Be American (Live in Forest Hills NY) [Live]
[c] 03: The Dream of Waking (Live in St Augustine FL) [Live]
[d] 04: Something About Living (Live in Richmond VA) [Live]
[e] 05: What I Owe (Live in Chesterfield MO) [Live]
[f] 06: Renaissance 2.0 (Live in Chesterfield MO) [Live]

Permanent Parts is the second album released by visual artist Katharina Grosse (synthesizer) and musician Stefan Schneider (synthesizer; So Sner, To Rococo Rot). Grosse and Schneider were joined at Galerie Max Hetzler on 29 April 2023, performing as part of the Spectrum without Traces exhibition, by three artists who all generally work within improvised music – Carina Khorkhordina (trumpet), Tintin Patrone (trombone and electronics), and Billy Roisz (noise generator, piezo and mini cymbal). Permanent Parts is an extraordinary set of recordings that inhabits multiple zones at once: within its thirty-five minutes, we can hear the interactions of non-idiomatic collective music making, and the electronic glimmers of electro-acoustics, while, at the same time, the music remains untethered to genre.

This capacity to work within liminal zones makes perfect sense when thinking about both Grosse’s and Schneider’s prior work, whether the energetic diffusions and spatial explorations of Grosse’s artistic practice, or the slippery texturology of Schneider’s recent work with electronics. Khorkhordina, Patrone and Roisz all find their own ways into this dynamic, too, and Permanent Parts feels like an equal exchange of presence and contribution; there are no hierarchies here. This might explain the music’s curious sense of development, where several elements are allowed to exist alongside each other, not in direct contact but in a mode that’s somewhere between carefree layering and unconscious juxtaposition. The musicians are listening, but not just with their ears – their skin, their bodies are hearing, too.

When talking about Permanent Parts, Schneider is careful to place it within contexts that are specific, to some degree, but which allow for difference to blossom. “Although it was recorded live, it somehow was not meant to be a documentation of a live event in the first place. The five piece line up that appears on the record had met for the first time only a few hours before the concert took place.” While it might take a leap of faith for all parties to walk together, and so willingly, into a place of such freedom, of such risk, there is clear sympathy here between the musicians, and a shared appreciation of the immediacies of the situation.

It also throws some of our preconceptions about this music out of the window. “The record does not feel like a document of a performance as the music was not pre-composed and there was no reference,” Schneider continues. “Perhaps it was not even an improvisation?” For Grosse, her musical relationship with Schneider similarly shakes free from expectation: “My sound does not exist without Stefan’s. It is neither written down nor is it improvised. It is instantaneous.” When thinking about the five-piece exploration on Permanent Parts and asked to expand on what each musician brings to the table, she continues, “We all love the thrill of an unknown encounter and we seem to have a need for building connections through the thicket of our voices.”

There’s a curious phrase on the back cover of the album, before the artists are listed: “Wir sind eine Batterie / We are a battery.” This sums up the spirit of Permanent Parts. Schneider recalls that Grosse said this phrase to the musicians at the start of the performance. Grosse explains further, “The figure of the battery referred to our placement in the space building out a small circle facing one another from where the sound could spill into the impressive volume of the gallery.” The battery as an arrangement of similar devices; but I also think of charge, and the conversion of chemical energy, and of fortification. It’s a poetic metaphor that sums up much of the febrile pleasure of the music contained on these Permanent Parts.

– Jon Dale, Melbourne

Jade Hairpins waste no time fulfilling their second album's titular demand. From its harmony-drenched opening note to its baroque-anthemic conclusion, Get Me the Good Stuff is positively loaded with musical ideas, an absurdist buffet of sound and aesthetic that comes with one hell of a floorshow as the Hairpins stack those ideas higher and higher, almost daring them to crash to the floor. Instead, those elements - punksploitation, power pop, baggy, funk, and Italo disco are just some touchstones - are not only held aloft, they defy gravity and convention. These pyrotechnics are, in true Jade Hairpins fashion, something of a sleight of hand. While the music swaggers and gallops, Get Me the Good Stuff grapples with anxiety and self-doubt, obfuscating pain and alienation with sparkling wit and some straight-up ravers. Get Me the Good Stuff opens with one of those, "Let It Be Me," in which Jonah Falco shouts lyrics about being alone with one's shortcomings against guitars, synths, and harmonized vocals that are on the verge of closing in. The song is just over 90 seconds long, hitting with the gnarled-barb ferocity of punk and the gleeful insanity of theatrical art rock. It is, in other words, overwhelming. Or it would be if Jade Hairpins - Jonah Falco and Mike Haliechuk - weren't remarkably nimble in their ability to bring unity to sounds by placing them in competition against each other. When those sounds are adjacent, like the glam and disco that saturate "Drifting Superstition," the thrill of those universes colliding in the heat of an absolutely filthy clavichord line turns its lyrics, about the habit of solving personal problems by ignoring them, into a winner's anthem on the order of Bowie or Hot Chocolate. Get Me the Good Stuff arcs towards unequivocal joy as Falco, Jade Hairpins' primary lyricist, breaks these cycles and attempts to run away with his dreams. The arc is roughly analogous to how the album came to fruition. Four years removed from Harmony Avenue, an album of material that proved too strong to be contained within the narrative universe of Fucked Up's Dose Your Dreams, Jade Hairpins have gelled as a live act - with Tamsin M. Leach and Jack Goldstein centering them on stage - and planted their flag in the UK punk scene in which Falco has embedded himself. Working out new material live, Falco noticed that crowds were digging into his unfinished lyrics, and the album tightened around the anxieties of being in the spotlight, of being worthy of attention. At times, those songs are eager to please, like the album's title track in which a winking self-deprecation rubs up against the self-congratulatory bombast of Freddie Mercury, Falco simultaneously turning heads as a shooting star and a burning car. Elsewhere, as in "Better Here Than in Love," Jade Hairpins pitch themselves towards creating gorgeous soundscapes that exist nowhere else, channeling postpunk through the glimmering haze of '80s Japanese electronic music. Theatrical and personal, absurd and true-to-life, playful and serious, Get Me the Good Stuff is album of tremendous personal and artistic growth that signposts towards dozens of potential futures to come. It's not only worth the attention, it continuously rewards it.

Robyn Hitchcock is a rock’n’roll surrealist. Born in London on March 3rd, 1953 he describes his songs as “pictures you can listen to”. As much a child of Dali, De Chirico, and JG Ballard as of his 1960s musical heroes, he is a master of the absurd, reveling in the beauty of the unexpected. His first publicly visible band The Soft Boys (1976 - 81) has remained an influential art-rock touchstone for generations of musicians. “I just want to be an obscure cult fringe,” he told the NME in 1978; the NME didn’t believe him, but he’s been true to his ambition. Without ever breaking the surface of pop culture Hitchcock has floated at a tangent to the mainstream for nearly 5 decades. His songs have been performed by REM, The Replacements, Neko Case, Gillian Welch & David Rawlings, Lou Barlow, Grant Lee Phillips, Sparklehorse, and Suzanne Vega with the Grateful Dead among others. A confirmed outsider, he nonetheless has devoted listeners around the world who attend his concerts, and also tune into the online streaming shows Robyn seasonally does with his wife, the singer Emma Swift. In 1996 he was the subject of Jonathan Demme’s in-concert film, ‘Storefront Hitchcock’. Robyn Hitchcock came of age in the 1960s when he attended Winchester College, an eccentric hothouse boarding school in the south of England. This is the subject of “1967”, which is both a memoir and an album, due for release in June this year. The memoir is a book “1967: How I Got There And Why I Never Left”, describing how the music of Bob Dylan, The Beatles, Jimi Hendrix and others drastically transformed the direction of his life when he left home for this strange new world. The companion record album “1967: Vacations In The Past” is a selection of the (mostly) hit songs of that year, re-recorded acoustically by Robyn with the help of some friends in Cambridge, San Francisco, and Sydney. He is currently preparing new material to release in 2025. “I like to keep busy”, he says: “We have all eternity to not exist”.

Jade Hairpins waste no time fulfilling their second album's titular demand. From its harmony-drenched opening note to its baroque-anthemic conclusion, Get Me the Good Stuff is positively loaded with musical ideas, an absurdist buffet of sound and aesthetic that comes with one hell of a floorshow as the Hairpins stack those ideas higher and higher, almost daring them to crash to the floor. Instead, those elements_punksploitation, power pop, baggy, funk, and Italo disco are just some touchstones_are not only held aloft, they defy gravity and convention. These pyrotechnics are, in true Jade Hairpins fashion, something of a sleight of hand. While the music swaggers and gallops, Get Me the Good Stuff grapples with anxiety and self-doubt, obfuscating pain and alienation with sparkling wit and some straight-up ravers. Get Me the Good Stuff opens with one of those, "Let It Be Me," in which Jonah Falco shouts lyrics about being alone with one's shortcomings against guitars, synths, and harmonized vocals that are on the verge of closing in. The song is just over 90 seconds long, hitting with the gnarled-barb ferocity of punk and the gleeful insanity of theatrical art rock. It is, in other words, overwhelming. Or it would be if Jade Hairpins_Jonah Falco and Mike Haliechuk_weren't remarkably nimble in their ability to bring unity to sounds by placing them in competition against each other. When those sounds are adjacent, like the glam and disco that saturate "Drifting Superstition," the thrill of those universes colliding in the heat of an absolutely filthy clavichord line turns its lyrics, about the habit of solving personal problems by ignoring them, into a winner's anthem on the order of Bowie or Hot Chocolate. Get Me the Good Stuff arcs towards unequivocal joy as Falco, Jade Hairpins' primary lyricist, breaks these cycles and attempts to run away with his dreams. The arc is roughly analogous to how the album came to fruition. Four years removed from Harmony Avenue, an album of material that proved too strong to be contained within the narrative universe of Fucked Up's Dose Your Dreams, Jade Hairpins have gelled as a live act_with Tamsin M. Leach and Jack Goldstein centering them on stage_and planted their flag in the UK punk scene in which Falco has embedded himself. Working out new material live, Falco noticed that crowds were digging into his unfinished lyrics, and the album tightened around the anxieties of being in the spotlight, of being worthy of attention. At times, those songs are eager to please, like the album's title track in which a winking self-deprecation rubs up against the self-congratulatory bombast of Freddie Mercury, Falco simultaneously turning heads as a shooting star and a burning car. Elsewhere, as in "Better Here Than in Love," Jade Hairpins pitch themselves towards creating gorgeous soundscapes that exist nowhere else, channeling postpunk through the glimmering haze of '80s Japanese electronic music. Theatrical and personal, absurd and true-to-life, playful and serious, Get Me the Good Stuff is album of tremendous personal and artistic growth that signposts towards dozens of potential futures to come. It's not only worth the attention, it continuously rewards it.

ercury Rev take you on a swan dive into the mystic: a rapture of ballad-dreams and emotional memoir at the crossroads of The Dharma Bums, Pet Sounds and Side Three of Electric Ladyland. A profound, transcendant trip from the psychedelic explorers who brought you Deserter's Songs.
David Fricke In upstate New York, deep in the seam between the Catskills mountains and the Hudson Valley, a richly swelling, spellbound sound emerges, eddying and flowing like the local Esopus Creek, or in the slipstream of the grander Hudson river, carrying the flotsam and jetsam of our hopes, dreams, fears. A sound composed of organic and electronic; guitars, keys, brass, strings, woodwind, drums - and a voice of incantations, tapping streams of consciousness that similarly eddy and flow.
Spiritually, literally, psycho-geographically: where else does Mercury Rev’s ninth album Born Horses spring from? This cascade of gleaming, glistening psych-jazz-folk-baroque-ambient quest that searches its soul but can never truly know the answer? A sound and vision linked to their exalted past whilst quite unlike anything they have created before?
The answer is somewhere between the homes of founder members Jonathan Donahue (the hamlet of Mt Tremper) and Grasshopper (the town of Kingston), in their veins and brains of their now-legendary tapping of musical cosmology, and the vital presence of new permanent member Marion Genser (keys), plus long-term ally Jesse Chandler (keys) and guests Jeff Lipstein (drums), Martin Keith (double bass) and Jim Burgess (trumpet). A place that feeds off the levitating mood of their last album, 2019’s expansive tribute Bobbie Gentry's The Delta Sweete Revisited, and the instrumental psych explorations under the names of Harmony Rockets and Mercury Rev’s Clear Light Ensemble, and the spiritual guidance of avant-garde artist Tony Conrad and Beat poet Robert Creeley, to whom Born Horses is
dedicated.

Typically, a band's big indie label debut doesn't come 15 albums into its career, but with Constant Smiles' Paragons, here we are. Primary songwriter and sole "constant" member Ben Jones_who considers Constant Smiles a collective_sees its impressive output as a way to document the group's evolution. Since its live debut as a noise duo on Ben's home of Martha's Vineyard in 2009, Constant Smiles has grown to include contributions from 50 other members, all of whom have personal connections to the group's extended family. And while the collective has indulged an array of musical whims along the way - including Ben's penchant for penning a new set's worth of material for each live performance - Constant Smiles' sound has tightened up considerably over their past couple of albums, in large part as a result of Ben's working relationship with Mike Mackey, who has become his main creative partner. This increased focus manifests on Paragons in the band's most cohesive batch of songs to date, ranging from shimmering psych-pop excursions to bittersweet, piano and string-accented strummers, and an execution that feels like a massive step forward for the band. Through its recent forays into dream pop and shoegaze (Control) and synth-pop (John Waters), Constant Smiles has learned how to incorporate its experimental inclinations more fluidly into the mix. Artists like Yo La Tengo, and the more recent Rat Columns, are good touchstones for Constant Smiles' musical approach - tethering to an indie-pop core while perennially mining genres, always finding new ways to intrigue listeners and pursue a unique vision. Paragons was produced and engineered by Ben Greenberg in the last two weeks of December 2020 at Gary's Electric, with additional recording done by Ben Jones at his home studio, The Void, and his Aunt Leanne's house. The album was mixed at Circular Ruin Studio and mastered by Josh Bonati. The band on Paragons consists of Jai Berger (who performed "Introduction"), Spike Currier (bass and synth), Matthew Addison (drums), Emma Conley (violin), Nicky Wetherell (cello), Adam Lipsky (piano), and Ben Greenberg (guitar and Mellotron).

'Tape 1' is a cut & paste collection of original productions & edits by London's Samson A.K that navigates the gamut of outsider sounds whilst somehow remaining coherent. Apart from the rawness of the music the common thread seems to be its slightly unhinged quality and its irreverent take on the dystopia of modern life.

There's plenty of nods to the sub cultures that have informed Samson A.K along the way but plenty besides, and as moody as it is in places, it's certainly not taking itself too seriously. The genre thing doesn't really work when here but if you like skewed electronics & beats, but also go for antisocial guitar music this will probably connect.

Mastering by Miles Whittaker / Design by Jon K

The Circus is a place of lights and colors, but also of shadows, even darkness. Admittedly, it delights children and makes adults laugh. But you only need one rainy autumn evening near a circus tent and the smell of fodder to think of the sadness of the clowns, the endless training of the animals and the freaks who are hidden in some caravan... cinema, the essence of the circus – movement, light, danger and burlesque – will have been admirably rendered in Notes on the circus by Jonas Mekas (1966), one of the inventors of the filmed diary. With Cirque, Michèle Bokanowski does similar work, entirely dedicated to spinning, in the musical field.

She distinguished herself in particular in the composition of musique concrète, among others Tabou and Trois chambres d'inquiétudes, after having studied with Pierre Schaeffer and Éliane Radigue. The latter, great lady of drone and minimalism, fell under the spell of Cirque and wrote the booklet for the piece as a poem.

The piece, divided into five movements, is based on the handling and editing of recordings captured within one or more circuses (this is not specified and is of no importance) between 1988 and 1993. The initial allegro reveals the gallop of a horse joined gradually by other images. The idea of the circular space of the circus tent is immediatly and magnificently rendered and will be constantly recalled by an insistent use of the loop technique. Children's laughter, applause and drum rolls are thus sheared, repeated before being brutally interrupted. Accordion interludes and the distortion of sounds create a dreamlike atmosphere. This beautiful nightmare reminds us, to quote Éliane Radigue, the "Magic of childhood still living in the heart of man even beyond its abrupt end."

Words by Alexandre Galand, from the book “Field Recording – L’usage sonore du monde en 100 albums” (ed. Le mot et le reste, 2012)

Major member of the french musique concrète scene, Michèle Bokanowski was born on August 9, 1943 in Cannes, FR, to a musician mother and a writer father. She now lives and works in Paris.
Music lover since adolescence, it was relatively late, at the age of 22, that Michèle Bokanowski decided to study composition. Reading In Search of a Concrete Music by Pierre Schaeffer was decisive. After classical training on harmony, she met Michel Puig, a student of René Leibowitz, who taught her writing and analysis based on the Treatise of Schönberg. In September 1970 she began a two-year internship in the ORTF Research Department under the direction of Pierre Schaeffer. She takes part in the same time in a research group on sound synthesis, studies musical computing at the Faculty of Vincennes and electronic music with Éliane Radigue.
Her main works are intended for concert: Pour un pianiste, Trois chambres d’inquiétude, Tabou, Phone Variations, Cirque, L’étoile Absinthe, Chant d’Ombre, Enfance, Rhapsodia, Cadence, Elsewhere. She has also composed for theater (with Catherine Dasté), dance (with choreographers Hideyuki Yano, Marceline Lartigue, Bernardo Montet) and cinema: music for the short films of Patrick Bokanowski and his two feature films L'Ange ( 1982) and A Solar Dream (2016).

Steve Marion, the critically acclaimed-and completely wordless-songwriter and guitarist known as Delicate Steve, has unveiled a new album called Delicate Steve Sings. Is the album title a reference to the instantly recognizable "voice" of his guitar? Does he actually sing this time? Has he not been singing all along? That"s the crux of Sings-Marion is the rare guitarist where you can put on any of his records and know exactly who"s playing. In an indie rock landscape stuffed end-to-end with guitars and amplifiers, nobody else sounds like this. That unique voice has kept Steve busy in an unpredictable variety of settings. The sheer spread of his work outside his own records-collaborating with Miley Cyrus and Paul Simon, playing in Amen Dunes and the Black Keys, and being sampled by Kanye - doesn"t mean Steve"s a chameleon. It means he"s singular. Delicate Steve Sings is a record centered on channeling iconic voices with his guitar. In doing so, Marion is casting himself in the role of iconic singers like Willie who make standards their own. In the process, he reveals just how singular (dare we say iconic) that voice is. The guitar sings these songs-smoothly, sweetly, boldly, and on its own terms. Recorded with Jonathan Rado on bass, Kosta Galanopolous on drums, Renata Zeiguer providing strings, and co-writer Elliot Bergman, the album features both original songs with titles that suggest they might be new recordings of classics. "I"ll Be There" is smooth like a lost Bill Withers track; "Easy for You" isn"t the Elvis song of the same name, but there"s a hint of the king in there, in addition to Marion"s own takes onclassics such as the Emersons" "Baby," The Beatles" "Yesterday" and Otis Redding"s "These Arms of Mine." "You"re tapping into something universal and in the consciousness of pop music," Steve says-tacit permission for his guitar to drift into vocal expressions he"s internalized through years of close, repeated listening. Just like all the great singers.

LOS ANGELES—To celebrate the 40th anniversary of the celebrated Talking Heads and Jonathan Demme’s concert film Stop Making Sense, the set will be re-released as a 2LP and 2CD/Blu-ray set this summer.

Released last year, the sold-out Deluxe Edition of the soundtrack will return as a 2-LP black vinyl on Rhino and 2-LP crystal clear vinyl at retail. Both variants feature a 12-page booklet with liner notes from all four band members –Tina Weymouth, David Byrne, Chris Frantz, and Jerry Harrison—and band photos. The 2CD/Blu-ray version includes the entire 28-page booklet from last year’s Deluxe Edition and a Dolby Atmos mix of the complete concert, mixed by Jerry Harrison and E.T. Thorngren, who also mixed the original release. Both will be available on July 26. Pre-order now.

The band appeared together for a sold-out screening and Q&A last night at the Pantages Theater, the same theater at which Stop Making Sense was recorded. They were joined by Blondshell, who performed “Thank You For Sending Me an Angel.” Another special screening with the band will occur in Brooklyn at the King’s Theater on June 13, with the Q&A hosted by Questlove and The Linda Linda’s performing “Found a Job.” The two events cap off a banner year of celebrations for what many consider to be the best concert film of all time.

The inspiration for Stop Making Sense came when director Jonathan Demme saw Talking Heads perform during the band’s 1983 tour for Speaking in Tongues. Afterward, he approached them with the idea of making the show into a concert film. They agreed and worked together over the next few months to finalize the details. Ultimately, Demme filmed three shows at Hollywood’s Pantages Theater in December 1983 to create Stop Making Sense.

The concert film presents a retrospective of the band up to that point, with a performance that weaves together songs from all six of its studio albums. The show progresses methodically, opening with Byrne onstage performing “Psycho Killer” alone with a drum machine. After each song, he’s joined by a new band member until Weymouth, Frantz, and Harrison are all on stage with him. The group continues to grow throughout the concert as members of the stellar touring band are added: keyboardist Bernie Worrell, percussionist Steve Scales, guitarist Alex Weir, and backup singers Lynn Mabry and Ednah Holt.

The band performs 18 songs in Stop Making Sense, including its recent single at the time, “Burning Down The House.” That summer, the song was in heavy rotation on radio and MTV, helping the song become the band’s first top 10 hit in America. It was, however, a different song from Speaking in Tongues that was destined to deliver one of the film’s signature moments. Talking Heads would perform “Girlfriend Is Better” wearing the now iconic, oversized suit inspired by costumes worn in traditional Japanese theater. For good measure, a picture of David Byrne in the suit also graces the album cover.

Stop Making Sense focuses mainly on music by Talking Heads but does include a few songs recorded outside the band: “Genius Of Love” by Tom Tom Club, “What A Day That Was” and “Big Business” from Byrne’s 1981 album, The Catherine Wheel. Limited edition vinyl versions of both of these albums, along with Harrison’s The Red And The Black, were released for this year’s Record Store Day.

When it arrived in September 1984, Stop Making Sense was an artistic and commercial triumph. The film had people dancing in theatre aisles, and the soundtrack sold over two million copies. Just last year, the Library of Congress added Stop Making Sense to the National Film Registry in recognition of its cultural, historical, and aesthetic significance.

Weymouth praises Demme as a collaborator: “…Jonathan was a very enthusiastic, highly adaptive, and imaginative guy who was just as good a listener as he was a talker and collaborator. From the get-go you just got the impression he was as flexible as he was disciplined. Being team players, that boded well for a great relationship and a great film!”

Harrison says the film still holds up today: “To me, Stop Making Sense has remained relevant because the staging and lighting techniques could have been created in a much earlier time period. For example, Vari-Lights, lights with motors to re-aim them, had just come into vogue. Had we used them, there would have been a timestamp on the film, and it eventually would have felt dated...The absence of interviews, combined with the elegant and timeless lighting, created a film that can be watched over and over.”

Byrne says it’s interesting that this album was – for many people – an introduction to Talking Heads. “We had done a live album before this, but coupled with the film, and with the improved mixes and sound quality, this record reached a whole new audience. As often happens, the songs got an added energy when we performed them live and were inspired by having an audience. In many ways, these versions are more exciting than the studio recordings, so maybe that’s why a lot of folks discovered us via this record.”

Frantz recalls the sheer joy surrounding the entire Stop Making Sense experience. “I’m talking about real, conscious, transcendent joy… I’m talking about what the Southern gospel people call ‘getting happy,’ which means ‘to be filled with the Spirit.’ That is what happened to us onstage every night, and from my seat behind the drums, I recognized that this was happening to the audience too. Joy was visible in front of me and all around me every night.”

LOS ANGELES—To celebrate the 40th anniversary of the celebrated Talking Heads and Jonathan Demme’s concert film Stop Making Sense, the set will be re-released as a 2LP and 2CD/Blu-ray set this summer.

Released last year, the sold-out Deluxe Edition of the soundtrack will return as a 2-LP black vinyl on Rhino and 2-LP crystal clear vinyl at retail. Both variants feature a 12-page booklet with liner notes from all four band members –Tina Weymouth, David Byrne, Chris Frantz, and Jerry Harrison—and band photos. The 2CD/Blu-ray version includes the entire 28-page booklet from last year’s Deluxe Edition and a Dolby Atmos mix of the complete concert, mixed by Jerry Harrison and E.T. Thorngren, who also mixed the original release. Both will be available on July 26. Pre-order now.

The band appeared together for a sold-out screening and Q&A last night at the Pantages Theater, the same theater at which Stop Making Sense was recorded. They were joined by Blondshell, who performed “Thank You For Sending Me an Angel.” Another special screening with the band will occur in Brooklyn at the King’s Theater on June 13, with the Q&A hosted by Questlove and The Linda Linda’s performing “Found a Job.” The two events cap off a banner year of celebrations for what many consider to be the best concert film of all time.

The inspiration for Stop Making Sense came when director Jonathan Demme saw Talking Heads perform during the band’s 1983 tour for Speaking in Tongues. Afterward, he approached them with the idea of making the show into a concert film. They agreed and worked together over the next few months to finalize the details. Ultimately, Demme filmed three shows at Hollywood’s Pantages Theater in December 1983 to create Stop Making Sense.

The concert film presents a retrospective of the band up to that point, with a performance that weaves together songs from all six of its studio albums. The show progresses methodically, opening with Byrne onstage performing “Psycho Killer” alone with a drum machine. After each song, he’s joined by a new band member until Weymouth, Frantz, and Harrison are all on stage with him. The group continues to grow throughout the concert as members of the stellar touring band are added: keyboardist Bernie Worrell, percussionist Steve Scales, guitarist Alex Weir, and backup singers Lynn Mabry and Ednah Holt.

The band performs 18 songs in Stop Making Sense, including its recent single at the time, “Burning Down The House.” That summer, the song was in heavy rotation on radio and MTV, helping the song become the band’s first top 10 hit in America. It was, however, a different song from Speaking in Tongues that was destined to deliver one of the film’s signature moments. Talking Heads would perform “Girlfriend Is Better” wearing the now iconic, oversized suit inspired by costumes worn in traditional Japanese theater. For good measure, a picture of David Byrne in the suit also graces the album cover.

Stop Making Sense focuses mainly on music by Talking Heads but does include a few songs recorded outside the band: “Genius Of Love” by Tom Tom Club, “What A Day That Was” and “Big Business” from Byrne’s 1981 album, The Catherine Wheel. Limited edition vinyl versions of both of these albums, along with Harrison’s The Red And The Black, were released for this year’s Record Store Day.

When it arrived in September 1984, Stop Making Sense was an artistic and commercial triumph. The film had people dancing in theatre aisles, and the soundtrack sold over two million copies. Just last year, the Library of Congress added Stop Making Sense to the National Film Registry in recognition of its cultural, historical, and aesthetic significance.

Weymouth praises Demme as a collaborator: “…Jonathan was a very enthusiastic, highly adaptive, and imaginative guy who was just as good a listener as he was a talker and collaborator. From the get-go you just got the impression he was as flexible as he was disciplined. Being team players, that boded well for a great relationship and a great film!”

Harrison says the film still holds up today: “To me, Stop Making Sense has remained relevant because the staging and lighting techniques could have been created in a much earlier time period. For example, Vari-Lights, lights with motors to re-aim them, had just come into vogue. Had we used them, there would have been a timestamp on the film, and it eventually would have felt dated...The absence of interviews, combined with the elegant and timeless lighting, created a film that can be watched over and over.”

Byrne says it’s interesting that this album was – for many people – an introduction to Talking Heads. “We had done a live album before this, but coupled with the film, and with the improved mixes and sound quality, this record reached a whole new audience. As often happens, the songs got an added energy when we performed them live and were inspired by having an audience. In many ways, these versions are more exciting than the studio recordings, so maybe that’s why a lot of folks discovered us via this record.”

Frantz recalls the sheer joy surrounding the entire Stop Making Sense experience. “I’m talking about real, conscious, transcendent joy… I’m talking about what the Southern gospel people call ‘getting happy,’ which means ‘to be filled with the Spirit.’ That is what happened to us onstage every night, and from my seat behind the drums, I recognized that this was happening to the audience too. Joy was visible in front of me and all around me every night.”

Repress!

The 25th of September will see two of house and techno’s most-established talents collaborate on their debut release together, as Hot Creations head Jamie Jones teams up with Mood Records boss Nicole Moudaber on Pepper Shake.

Short, sweet and with no filler involved, Pepper Shake gets us underway swiftly, and the name certainly does the track justice. Up-tempo hats whistle beside a driving bassline, before a female vocal reels in and out. The styles of both artists are present throughout, with Jamie’s signature groove providing the foundation and Nicole’s deeper techno style coming through in the synths. Bubble Ride completes the release. Dark, gritty and harder-edged than its predecessor, this is a stripped-back peak-time club cut, with a penetrating bassline and hard-hitting kick patterns. The occasional pulse of an atmospheric sample further enhances the body of the track, to form something that’s built solely for the dancefloor.

As a world-renowned DJ and producer, head of Hot Creations and founder of the global Paradise event series, Jamie Jones has etched out a legacy in electronic music that few others can attest to. His personally curated Paradise series offers an international showcase of house and techno’s most recognisable artists, whilst his flagship label, Hot Creations, continues to pioneer a contemporary house sound. At the forefront of the MOOD brand, with offshoots including a record label (Mood Records), warehouse parties (MoodRAW), festival stages (MoodZONE) and a renowned global radio show (In the MOOD), Nicole Moudaber has rightfully established herself as a worldwide techno mainstay.

"Remembering is not the opposite of forgetting," Casey MQ sings at the start of Later that day, the day before, or the day before that, his new LP and Ghostly International debut. It's a phrase fittingly misremembered from something the LA-based, Canadian-born composer came upon as he spiraled into unconscious and subconscious-led writing sessions at the piano. Casey's known for his 2020 breakthrough release babycasey, which gave voice to songs seen through the lens of childhood, various film score work and collaborations with artists such as Oklou (who returns here), Eartheater, and Vagabon. His gifts as a producer and songwriter are rooted in textural world-building and the excavation of personal truth. With Later that day... he questions what is true entirely, understanding our mind's tendency to bend and project onto pictures of the past. Across vivid, baroque pop balladry, Casey MQ reorients his recording project and point of view under the notion that memories are malleable. All the joy, pain, love, and loss housed within remembrance is open to interpretation and deconstruction, which he does deftly, with curiosity and complete artistic freedom. "It's a memory album," Casey puts it simply, winding up for the deeper unpacking, "and it might be a breakup album, too_there are more questions than answers." Engaging his dreams and sitting with sheet music at his newly acquired piano, he looked to new and old inspirations including the works of Claude Debussy, Joni Mitchell, and Joe Hisaishi's beloved Studio Ghibli film scores. "Since I was young, I always wanted to write a piano album." babycasey's studied electronic sound isn't wholly abandoned on Later that day... instead, it comes through like an atmosphere, giving Casey's more spacious, minimal arrangements a distinct luster and sheen. The textures and tones shift from song to song as if mirroring the way our minds constantly recontextualize, remember, and forget. Cathartic opener "Grey Gardens" _ its title derived from a dream abstractly related to the Toronto restaurant, but not the 1975 film, which he cites as another coincidental false memory _ presents the record's plaintive, haunted feeling. "Even if not reading into lyrics, sonically I wanted it to feel like you're being pulled into a universe. Not fantasy or otherworldly per se, something more tangible, of the body and mind," Casey says. "Hearing it back, I realized this track was the key to unlocking it." His tender falsetto hovers above ambient washes and echoed keys, each word falling carefully in the crevices. "Asleep At The Wheel" unfolds on arpeggiated synth before a burst of symphonic color; the synth returns inverted to harmonize with the outro, "I love a car crash, I love a story, I love a memory, I swear it's real..." Casey leans into digital imagination on the warm, introspective "Me I Think I Found It." Subdued, stuttered percussion underscores the singer as he cycles through pixelated imagery _ screenshots, smiles, streetlights _ searching for higher meaning through love. Built on ascendent chord distortions, "Dying Til I'm Born" gives the record one of its boldest pulses of emotion. The back half stretches out; "Is This Only Water" is sparse and foggy, "Baby Voice" is intimate and desperate for something to remain. "Words For Love" grooves on guitar, and "Tennisman9" aches in heartbreak. French musician Marylou Mayniel, aka Oklou, appears as the collection's only guest for the closing duet, "The Make Believe," a bright and buoyant send-off that gives Later that day... both a sense of resolve and cyclical-motion. "We are young, under the sun," they sing together, a parting image brimming with lightness.