Suche:jus nowhere

The last couple of years have seen a renaissance for West Coast singer-songwriters. LA-based youngsters such as Drugdealer and Sylvie have attracted considerable attention releasing warm and mellow records tonally reminiscent of the early 70s. Most fans of this new/old sound are unaware of Bart Davenport's early explorations in the same sonic territory. His now 20-year-old "Game Preserve"album should gain an appreciative new audience with its first ever vinyl release.

In the year 2000, Bay Area troubadour Bart Davenport and several other musicians were recruited by a major tech corporation in Seattle to work on an algorithm-based music matching/search engine. It was what looked like the beginning of a promising career. After a year, however, the project was shelved. Bart and his colleagues were laid off with a healthy severance package... on the 12th of September, 2001. Not only had the musician's life changed, so had the world. Rather than blow the money on a holiday or new car, Bart knew he had to make a record. A proper album that meant something.

Back in Oakland, he entered Wally Sound Studios with former Kinetics bandmate Jon Erickson at the controls, and a swathe of talented local musicians. "With Game Preserve," Bart explains, "Jon and I really wanted to knock it out of the park. I wanted to utilize people from my old bands like Loved Ones drummer John Kent. I also invited my newer indie-pop friends from Call & Response, and a young Nedelle Torrisi. Harmony singing by The Moore Brothers was an essential ingredient on Game Preserve as well."

Both Erickson and Davenport fondly recall growing up in households where the music of The Carpenters, Joni Mitchell and The Eagles soundtracked their young lives. By the early 00s they were ready to reconnect with what is often referred to as the "Laurel Canyon" sound. "I'd buy used tapes at garage sales and play them in the car. "Ladies Of The Canyon" by Joni and Jackson Browne's first album were both in heavy rotation. Jon Erickson was getting deeper into the Steely-Mac-Doobie yacht-rock sound in earnest. A certain amount of childhood nostalgia led a lot of us back to that part of the 70s. I'd flirted with classic soft-rock on my first album, but that record was pretty scattered esthetically. I wanted my next one to be more focused. Jon and I made some ground rules: no electric guitars (except on 'Bar-Code Trees'). No synths. Most importantly, all the songs have an air-tight, super dead, close mic'd drum sound. Putting these sorts of limitations on the sessions will give your record a specific quality. In the case of "Game Preserve"it's mostly about tight drums, acoustic instruments and analog production. We used a 24-track, two-inch tape machine for tracking, then ran the mixes through an analog board straight to a 1/4 inch master tape."

While the album's sonic palette may be firmly planted in 1970, Davenport's songwriting covers a sizable landscape of moods and reflections. From the quasi-flamenco intro of 'Sweetest Game' to the somber Wurlitzer of 'Nowhere Left To Go', to the 12-string shimmer of 'Intertwine', "Game Preserve" tells a story of young love, lost innocence and redemption, crossing borders and oceans along the way.

Released in 2003 on family-run Oakland label Antenna Farm, the ultra-analog sounding "Game Preserve" was only made available on digital formats, including CD. Copies were later pressed by labels in Germany and Spain; the latter being one country the album actually did well in, establishing Bart Davenport with a small but loyal fanbase he still enjoys today. Two European tours as support for Kings of Convenience also helped gain a foothold on the continent. Back in the US, however, Davenport and his sophomore album remained quite obscure.

Limited promotion meant it did little, but for the music lovers that heard it, the album undoubtedly remains a classic of the era, deserving far more. Twenty years on, it now finally receives its vinyl debut. "I personally think it holds up well," says Bart of the album two decades later. "The idea was to make something that could be an homage to late 60s/early 70s West Coast pop but hopefully timeless as well. Years on, I hear it as just that. It was a colorful and brief period of my life that felt at times like it could last forever. I discovered the joy of working in a proper studio with a perfect cast of characters. I'm still very close with all these people and still play music with many of them."

This band, and this album, function as critical missing links that takes one from The Fall to Yard Act, from Television and The Minutemen to Parquet Courts and Sleaford Mods, from punk as a sound to punk purely as an ethos. While any Van Pelt album is a stand alone album, the unique approach they take begs one to enter their world and dig deep in.

RELATED TO: The Lapse, Native Nod, St Vincent, Blonde Redhead, Enon, Jets to Brazil, Vague Angels, Ted Leo and the Pharmacists, American Football, Texas is the Reason.

‘The lines between post-hardcore, indie rock, and emo blurred on the two mid-’90s full-lengths from the Van Pelt.’ Pitchfork

‘New York City’s The Van Pelt are an influential, but too often overlooked indie rock band -- cult favorites for many an emo-inclined crate digger.’ Consequence of Sound

‘...should be mentioned a lot more than they are when you talk about the history of emo.’
Washed Up Emo

Back in the day there was this thing called an A&R guy. They would hang out at small venues looking to throw money at the next big thing. In the early 90s, everyone was looking for the next Nirvana of course. NYC's The Van Pelt had just released an album of anthems called "Stealing From Our Favorite Thieves" that seemed to be just that. The only thing is, they didn't want to sign. Legend has it $2 million was turned down over pierogies and coffee one Monday morning because The Van Pelt didn't want to risk crashing and burning. Instead, they were gunning for a long and stable stride even if that meant they would largely remain out of the public's eye forever.

Lack of willingness to play the game didn't mean people weren't waiting with baited breath for their follow up album though. In 1997 The Van Pelt released "Sultans of Sentiment", an album nearly devoid of the anthems and licks people were expecting. In fact, it's a complete bummer of an album that subjects the listener to the point on life's curve where the hubris of youth gives way to a cresting crashing defeat no kid with heart could ever have seen coming. Seeing as humanity are sick fuckers who revel in the misery of both themselves and others, the popularity of Sultans grew and grew and continues to win new loyal fans even today. It's for this classic album The Van Pelt has never fallen off the radar.

That being said, their swan song "The Speeding Train" was recorded while they were working on their third album. In any other age, in any other way, this song would have been a hit. The Van Pelt broke up mid-recording, released Speeding Train as a single, and the rest of the songs from that session didn't see the light of day until they were released in 2014 as the "Imaginary Third" lp.

Why are we here talking about them today in 2023? Because in preparation for the release of "Imaginary Third" The Van Pelt started playing some reunion shows. Soundchecks revealed to them that this band has a voice that was prematurely muted by their inability to see clearly in the thick of it. Returning to explore just what that is 25 years later has led to this first collection of 9 songs, "Artisans & Merchants". This is not a reunion album. This is vindication for that decision made over pierogies and coffee decades ago. The Van Pelt is a band in it for the long haul, free from whatever trappings the mayflies of trends and markets may bring.

For lovers of The Van Pelt, listening to "Artisans & Merchants" is like hearing the voice of a dear friend you haven't seen in years, a friend you used to share countless beers with over banter that went nowhere other than delivering a solid night. Your friend is older, they've changed. In some ways you're worried for them, looks like they might be teetering on the brink of something. In other ways it's the same old them, a nugget of a soul too unique to ever be altered. It's for those unfamiliar with The Van Pelt though for whom we should be truly jealous. This is a stand alone album, incredible vital song writing in and of itself regardless of the long history this band has. The climax of the single "Image of Health" perhaps describes the beautiful desperation best: "And you never felt more alive / Than when the priest came to read you your rites!"

First time on LP worldwide / New liner notes by Graham Parker / Includes the fan favourites "Blue Horizon," "I'll Never Play Jacksonville Again," and "Socks 'N' Sandals" / Packaged as an LP with bonus 7" single / Remastered for vinyl by the album's original co-producer and engineer, Dave Cook / Graham Parker has been pre-promoting this upcoming LP release from the stage/ Graham Parker's fifteenth studio album, Deepcut to Nowhere, was first released by the independent label Razor & Tie in 2001. Parker recalls, "Within weeks after the release date of Deepcut to Nowhere, I was up early driving from New York State to Boston on what seemed like the most beautiful day in the history of autumn, to rehearse with the Figgs for a festival in Oregon, slated for a few weeks later, followed by a tour to support the album. That day was September 11th, 2001." In the aftermath of the attacks, Parker comments, "The press members I spoke to could barely get past the first track on Deepcut to Nowhere, 'Dark Days,' asking me if I was some kind of 'seer,' or had a mysterious crystal ball. Followed by 'I'll Never Play Jacksonville Again,' the opening salvos of the album seemed to capture imminent trauma, but of course, I was just writing songs." As the 12-song set progresses, Parker's focus expands to include the nostalgic "Blue Horizon" ("as emotionally rich a song as I'll ever write"), a dark-humoured take on the evils of colonialism ("Syphilis and Religion"), and the indignity of wearing socks with sandals. Taken together, Deepcut to Nowhere is among Parker's finest and most varied collections of songs, several of which have gone on to become setlist staples. Deepcut to Nowhere, originally released on CD only, finally makes its worldwide LP debut.

In 2007, John Prine & bluegrass legend Mac Wiseman teamed up for a duet album of their favorite country, folk, and gospel songs.

Jonas Munk closes his ambient trilogy with mammoth drone pieces, multi-layered guitars and hymnal krautrock. "Mirror Phase" concludes a trilogy of minimal ambient albums in Munk's (Causa Sui) own name. These eight compositions, based on guitar and synthesizer loops, marks a return to the warmer sounds Munk is often associated with. Sonic structures that slowly and gradually evolves and changes, like cloud formations in the sky. The title track, "Mirror Phase", is Munk's most expansive drone opus so far. It's a carefully arranged piece where sounds that oscillates with the same interval, but at different phases, are continuously added, hence creating shifting patterns throughout the track's nearly 18 minute duration. Elsewhere, in "Transition", multi-layered guitars creates the sonic equivalent of waves gently splashing on the shore. "At a Distance" creates a haunting, and hypnotic, soundscape by using slightly out-of-tune analog synthesizers, summoning the transcendent krautrock of Popol Vuh. And "Rise", as well as the closing track, "Return to Nowhere", recalls the glistening sounds of his Manual releases. "Mirror Phase" might just be Munk's ambient oeuvre reaching its zenith. The CD edition comes with an extra CD with Jonas Munk's 2021 album, "Altered Light", which has previously only been released on digital download and streaming.

Lili Holland-Fricke and Sean Rogan’s debut album “dear alien” is a constellation of radiant improvised impulses, imagined in lucent fragments of cello, guitar and voice. Spacious, tender and glistening with rich electronic distortion, the record melds a spectrum of processed and natural sound as the artists invite listeners into their dreamlike world of synergetic introspections.

Cultivated through a shared spirit of resourcefulness and play, “dear alien” emerges as an organic meeting place in the compositional output of British-German experimental cellist Lili Holland-Fricke and Manchester-born guitarist and producer Sean Rogan. Having studied their respective instruments at the Royal Northern College of Music, both artists have flourished in eclectic solo and collaborative projects, creating intricate and intimate spheres of sound with a deep appreciation for songwriting and improvisation.

Holland-Fricke’s transition from the classical world to writing her own material, and later vastly expanding her palette with electronics, first converged with Rogan’s distinctive flair for production in 2022 on her EP “birdsong for breakfast” and single ‘draw on the walls’. Now, the duo present an album envisioned through true ‘50/50’ collaboration during the summer of 2023, written across two intensive weeks of improvising and experimenting at Rogan’s Greenwich home studio. A convergence of the artists’ sounds and influences, the music was fostered by the idea of making an album with ‘no plan’ and their shared recent discovery of Arthur Russell, to whom the final track is dedicated.

“dear alien” assembles eight compositions that emerged naturally as the duo created sketches with cello and pedals, guitar, tape loops and poetic vocal musings, forming songs that explore themes of waiting, circling back around, and glitchy communication. Moments of drifting through pillowy layers of sound contrast with saturated visions of electronic modification, where the record’s glowing instrumental contours are pushed to the extremes.

The plaintive shades of ‘half blue’ and meandering deliberations of ‘slow thing’ are teased by the friction of static signals and a sense of ever-mutating sonic mass – a sensibility most acutely realised in ‘dawning’, where cello-vocoder eruptions grow in magnitude, the absence of sound between them burdened with something sinister and unspoken. As the artists expand on this piece, ‘It’s the sound equivalent of squeezing your eyes shut to shield against the brightness of something you don’t want to see, only to find that each time you open them again the world is not softening but getting more relentlessly overwhelming, to the point of being totally blinding.’

Three tracks with lyrics – ‘at first’, ‘dear alien’ and ‘seem asleep’ – refract the album’s wistful and melancholic colours into poetic imagery and metaphors, ushering in reflections on relationship tensions and someone close feeling unknown, with hints towards wider unsettled feelings about climate change. In the spirit of lyrical improv, ‘seem asleep’ compiles lone lines from Holland-Fricke’s journals into a cut-and-paste collage around hopeful patience or futile lingering – either way conjuring a softness that welcomes the hazy ambience of ‘for a. r.’, the final composition which soundscapes the summer days spent making the album. As the artists describe of this track, ‘The music kind of leads somewhere, but then kind of leads nowhere, and just meanders around where it is, content to just be walking in a circle back to where it started.’

Ramkot is a wrecking ball from Ghent, Belgium, playing powerful yet danceable rock music. After two EP’s and building a reputation as one of the most exciting live bands around, the spring of 2023 sees the release of debut album In Between Borderlines, a razor-sharp 25-minute uppercut aiming for both head and hips. They tour extensively, playing a hefty 100 shows in just one year: from steamy venues and sun-drenched festival stages (Pinkpop, Down The Rabbit Hole) to even opening for Metallica in Amsterdam. For their sophomore album, instead of producing it themselves again, Ramkot enlist producer Alain Johannes (QOTSA, Eagles of Death Metal, Them Crooked Vultures), who invites them to the Joshua Tree desert. For three weeks, Ramkot reside in the legendary Rancho De La Luna studio, famous for QOTSA frontman Josh Homme’s The Desert Sessions. ‘We pulled out all the stops, not pushing our foot down on the accelerator all the time, which allows the music to breathe more. There’ll be a couple of softer songs the fans will not be expecting from us.’ But rest assured, every single note still sounds very much like Ramkot. The band will only play a handful of shows this year, including 2000 Trees (UK), Sziget (H), Pukkelpop and Lowlands.

How wild did things get in 1967? So wild that a label (Audio Fidelity) not particularly known for its hipness put out a record with an insert to send away for “psychedelic ornaments” so you, too, could throw an acid party! And the back cover offered “instructions” referencing everybody from Emmett Grogan of the Diggers to Albert Hofmann, the discoverer of LSD. But perhaps the most amazing thing about this album was that, despite its almost comical (though well- informed) attempt to cash in on the psychedelic craze, How to Blow Your Mind and Have a Freak-Out Party wound up being a charming and even entrancing psych-pop gem of a record, albeit one with its requisite share of Eastern-influenced mumbo-jumbo. For its first-ever American vinyl reissue, we’re pressing up just 500 copies in “orange sunshine” vinyl, complete with the insert (you can try sending it in, but don’t get your hopes up). Groovy, man!

Where would a painter paint if it were not on a white canvas? Where would a composer compose if it were not on the stave and the spaces in between the lines? How would a musician play his instrument if there were no melodies composed, written down, painted for him to follow?

The magic of art needs a frame, a somewhat solid container to hold the freedom that can only be found once we integrate some form of structure. And that also holds in every other area of life. We all need a frame, a structure, a rhythm, or else, we fall apart. This human form needs the body, and yet it transcends the limitations of the body - through art.

Consistency being one of them seems oftentimes less tangible, for it resides more in the act of doing, and showing up for the practice, for devoting energy and presence. Strangely, if we consistently show up for our practice, regardless of its form, the solid frame of the hour we devote to playing the instrument, learning a language, doing the sport, sitting silently for that meditation: It feels different every single time. It feels new every single time.

The repetitive consistency in being present again and again allows for nothing short of magic to happen. Magic feeds consistency. Consistency feeds magic. Consistency sets a foundation that strengthens over time. It allows us to slowly but surely develop any kind of skill, to find and hence to embody expertise. On the fertile grounds of such a solid foundation, creativity fosters, and innovation blossoms.

Establishing consistent rituals and routines can bring a sense of comfort and safety into every-day-life. For routine beholds repetition and its frame enables our experience within to change. In the familiar, we dare to explore, maybe even experiment, merely because a part of us remembers we depart from, and always return to, a safe space. We do not get lost. We do not fall apart. As we practice, again and again, we build resilience in overcoming obstacles or literally persevering through challenging situations and stretches of time.

While consistency gifts steadiness and stability, its overdose risks to result in what may appear as uniformity. It feels like constantly - consistently - dancing on the fine line of freedom within a structure. Life is filled with unexpected twists and turns, adjustments need to be made to accommodate change and avoid rigidity. By striking a balance between consistency and flexibility, we can create harmony in our lives, just like a beautiful melody that flows smoothly from one note to the next.

Within the magical waves of music, skills are needed, too. Consistency is key to show up and do the work. It frames the freedom of magic that resides beyond and only beyond effort. Learning to play an instrument, learning to sing, does never happen within the blink of the eye. It takes time. Time to show up for the practice, to do precisely that: practice. Again and again, every single time, again and again. Precision feeds perfection that falls apart inside the structure of a song, a line, a rhythm, dissolving into magic.

Consistency in practicing, in composing and sharing music with the world regardless of the form allows any musician to refine his style, to carve out his uniqueness. For any artistic expression is, after all: Unique. And this uniqueness is born inside the vessel of any structure, over and over again. Sharing music in the form of new releases and public performances nourishes the bond between artist and audience. And for that to unfold, both parties need to show up - while the underlying beat of this never-ending practice is presence fuelled by consistency.

The Zeros is a pioneer punk rock band formed in 1976 in Chula Vista, California. Comparisons with The Ramones are often made when describing the energetic and fierce guitar driven sound of the group. The first singles recorded by the band instantly catapulted The Zeros into a top draw on the local scene and have become legendary. Unfortunately, the band never cut an album during these days. Their debut single was released in 1977 on Greg Shaw's very own Bomp! Records. It included 'Don't Push Me Around' and 'Wimp', two of the greatest punk rock songs of all time, both written by Javier Escovedo. It was followed by another single in 1978, "Wild Weekend" and a third one in 1980, "They Say That (Everything's Alright)". This release compiles all their early singles, some rare tracks (including the previously unreleased 'Left to Right') and songs taken from a 1978 live show. Munste is thrilled to reissue this essential '80s power pop gem as part of a series of releases celebrating Bomp! 50th anniversary.

Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur's court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word "Camelot" accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of "utopia." In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson's 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python's 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armored knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys's profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy's White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle's extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle's Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one's own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. "Back in Camelot," she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, "I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry." The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping "in the unfinished basement," an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above "sirens and desert deities." If she questions her own agency_whether she is "wishing stones were standing" or just "pissing in the wind"_it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of "multi-felt dimensions" both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of "Camelot," with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to "Some Friends," an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises_"bright and beaming verses" versus hot curses_which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020's achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory "Earthsong," bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to _ a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?) Those whom "Trust" accuses of treacherous oaths spit through "gilded and golden tooth"_cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry_sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in "Louis": "What's that dance / and can it be done? What's that song / and can it be sung?" Answering affirmatively are "Lucky #8," an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the "tidal pools of pain" and the "theory of collapse," and "Full Moon in Leo," which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and "big hair." But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle's confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on "Lucky #8," special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle's beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia's FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad "Blowing Kisses"_Pallett's crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX's The Bear_Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer_and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: "No words to fumble with / I'm not a beggar to language any longer." Such rare moments of speechlessness_"I'm so fucking honoured," she bluntly proclaims_suggest a state "only a god could come up with." (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world_including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth_but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the "charts and diagrams" of "Lucky #8," a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in "Full Moon in Leo," the bloody invocations of the organ-stained "Mary Miracle," and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with "Fractal Canyon"'s repeated, exalted insistence that she's "not alone here." But where is here? The word "utopia" itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek "eutopia," or "good-place"_the facet most remembered today_and "outopia," or "no-place," a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary. Or as fellow Canadian songwriter Neil Young once sang, "Everyone knows this is nowhere." "Can you see how I'd be tempted," Castle asks out of nowhere, held in the mystery, "to pretend I'm not alone and let the memory bend?"

Razorlight were at the forefront of the indie-rock resurgence of the early 2000s, their biggest moments - ‘Golden Touch’, ‘Somewhere Else’, ‘In The Morning’, ‘America’ and ‘Wire To Wire’ - driving three Top 5 albums, nine Platinum album certifications, an NME Award, and live highlights including headlining the Reading Festival and performing at Live 8. After reuniting for live shows in 2021, the classic line-up - Johnny Borrell (vocals/guitar), Björn Ågren (guitar), Carl Dalemo (bass) and Andy Burrows (drums) - will release the new album ‘Planet Nowhere’ on October 25th, their first together since 2008. Razorlight preview the set by sharing its first single, ‘Scared Of Nothing’. Since reuniting, Razorlight have sold-out a headline tour which included a London show at the Eventim Apollo, and played shows as guests to Muse, Kaiser Chiefs and James. But as the ever ambitious Johnny challenged himself, “Who wants to be a greatest hits band?” So he hatched a plan, and late in 2023 booked a five-day session with the legendary producer Youth (The Verve, James) at his Space Mountain studio in Spain. Youth knew what they had to achieve, telling the band, “Razorlight’s quite simple isn’t it? Just a driving bassline, driving drums and a story.” For whatever reason, things weren’t that simple. After four days they had a stack of ideas, but nothing really worth pursuing. And then, as Johnny recalls, something remarkable emerged from out of nowhere. “I’d been down in the barranca, and came back up to find the studio empty. So I picked up this weird six-string bass/guitar hybrid I'd never seen before and wrote this thing. On our last night, I started playing it with the guys. The drums came in hard, the bass pounded. It sounded like shit. Absolute shit. But Youth was there, saying 'Can, Velvets, see where it takes you’ and 'Why don’t you try it like that?' But still, the track just wouldn't budge, locked in its own inertia. Youth says, 'You're getting there, just one more' and almost instantly the song came out, from nothing to something, like a statue coming up out of marble.” That song was ‘Scared of Nothing’ and listening back to the finished track, it’s easy to see why it resparked Razorlight’s mojo. Exuding taut, spiky post-punk energy in a way that’s instantly infectious - the very traits that attracted highfalutin praise from NME back when they started out (“More tunes than Franz, more spirit than The Strokes, and more balls than nearly every band out there”). And as ever, Johnny demonstrates the swaggering, high-intensity charisma that took him from being a figurehead of the Camden scene to rise to become a Vogue cover star. It was also the track which unlocked Razorlight’s creativity, leading the band to return to Spain with Youth for a second session earlier this year, during which they crafted an extensive catalogue of songs for the upcoming album. Other titles vying for inclusion include ‘Zombie Love’, ‘U Can Call Me’, ‘Dirty Luck’ and ‘Cool People’. Since returning, Razorlight have also looked back on their initial achievements, first releasing ‘Razorwhat? The Best of Razorlight’ (complete with the new song ‘You Are Entering The Human Heart’) and then last month issuing the 20th Anniversary Deluxe Edition of their breakthrough debut album ‘Up All Night’. Never a dull moment. Writing a new ending for themselves, Razorlight are back to cast out the boring in your life.

After a nine year hiatus SUN AND SAIL CLUB are back and they've come back swinging! This album is more aggressive than the previous album, as if that was even possible. Same line-up as before featuring Scott Reeder (FU MANCHU/SMILE) on drums, Scott Reeder (KYUSS/THE OBSESSED/FIREBALL MINISTRY) on bass, Bob Balch (FU MANCHU/SLOWER/BIG SCENIC NOWHERE/YAWNING BALCH) on guitar and Tony Adolescent (THE ADOLESCENTS) on vocals. The album starts with a mellow jazz guitar piece and then proceeds to rip your face off until the end of the album, which closes with another solo jazz guitar piece. "Shipwrecked" is their strongest album yet. Fully realized and to the point. Fast and dissonant. "This album is a compilation of riffs collected over a nine year period. Most of the songs were written last year but some of them have been floating around for a while. There is a general sense of unease throughout. I wanted to make an album that went one step further than "The Great White Dope." The songs are faster and more intense at times. It's basically the soundtrack of me beating the shit out of my guitar. Then you factor in Scott Reeder on drums, Scott Reeder on bass and Tony Adolescent on vocals and you've got something more than I could have imagined by myself. This album is raw and pummeling. If you're a glutton for punishment this might be your desert Island record." - Bob Balch Recorded at Jim Monroe's The Racket Room, Casa De Balch, and Scott Reeder's The Sanctuary

Red vinyl, limited to 300 copies. After a nine year hiatus SUN AND SAIL CLUB are back and they've come back swinging! This album is more aggressive than the previous album, as if that was even possible. Same line-up as before featuring Scott Reeder (FU MANCHU/SMILE) on drums, Scott Reeder (KYUSS/THE OBSESSED/FIREBALL MINISTRY) on bass, Bob Balch (FU MANCHU/SLOWER/BIG SCENIC NOWHERE/YAWNING BALCH) on guitar and Tony Adolescent (THE ADOLESCENTS) on vocals. The album starts with a mellow jazz guitar piece and then proceeds to rip your face off until the end of the album, which closes with another solo jazz guitar piece. "Shipwrecked" is their strongest album yet. Fully realized and to the point. Fast and dissonant. "This album is a compilation of riffs collected over a nine year period. Most of the songs were written last year but some of them have been floating around for a while. There is a general sense of unease throughout. I wanted to make an album that went one step further than "The Great White Dope." The songs are faster and more intense at times. It's basically the soundtrack of me beating the shit out of my guitar. Then you factor in Scott Reeder on drums, Scott Reeder on bass and Tony Adolescent on vocals and you've got something more than I could have imagined by myself. This album is raw and pummeling. If you're a glutton for punishment this might be your desert Island record." - Bob Balch Recorded at Jim Monroe's The Racket Room, Casa De Balch, and Scott Reeder's The Sanctuary

After seven years, Japandroids have returned with Fate and Alcohol, their fourth and final full-length. Written in part while the Vancouver duo-guitarist-vocalist Brian King and drummer-vocalist David Prowse-were touring behind their 2017 ANTI- debut, Near to the Wild Heart of Life, the album is at once a return to form and a thrilling step forward, testament to the sort of chemistry that they"ve honed over the course of 18 years and hundreds of shows side-by-side. Their aim was simply to write songs that they"d enjoy playing live, without sacrificing any of the nuance or ambition that marked their previous effort. Nowhere on this record is that more deeply felt than lead single "Chicago," a song whose sheer momentum feels inevitable and true-from the inherent romance of its opening chords to the series of snare-led explosions that see it through. Like the rest of Fate and Alcohol, it was recorded in Vancouver with longtime collaborator Jesse Gander, who also engineered 2009"s Post-Nothing and 2012"s Celebration Rock. "The very first demo we have of "Chicago" was recorded in our jam space on February 4th, 2020," King says, "and if you listen to that, it just sounds like a rough version of what you hear on the record. But it"s all there. That, in some ways, is the most ideal circumstance for a band like us: just having something that really rips in your jam space, something that feels good, something that you"re excited about."

To commemorate the 30th anniversary of Therapy?'s Troublegum album , this 2LP set contains the original album pressed on 180g silver vinyl plus a further 14 tracks rounding up B-sides and bonus tracks of the era pressed on 180g lavender vinyl. By the time Therapy? released Troublegum in 1994 they were already well established, but it was the first time many had encountered the group's intensely melodic blend of hard rock and indie, an arresting combination of old and new, striking in its immediacy. Formed by schoolfriends in Larne, Northern Ireland, Therapy? consistently pushed the rock trio to its limits, often saying that their use of feedback was their fourth instrument. Singer, guitarist and writer Andy Cairns, bassist Michael McKeegan and drummer Fyfe Ewing had been playing together since 1989, and were signed to indie label Wiiija the following year on the strength of their live reputation. After two albums with Wiiija, they were signed to A&M Records, and their 1992 album, Nurse, reached the UK Top 40. The group paired with Mission producer Chris Sheldon and went to Chipping Norton Studios to record a follow-up. The results were stunning. Lead single "Screamager" (on the Shortsharpshock EP) reached the UK Top 10 in March 1993; follow-up "Turn" made the Top 20. By the time Troublegum was released in February 1994, it contained both singles, plus "Nowhere" and "Trigger Inside", further hits from the album. Troublegum is warm and powerful, showing that grunge was not just the preserve of bands from the western seaboard of the US. Mixed without any discernible gaps between tracks, the album offers 45 minutes of attack. Amid the originals, the band's post punk roots are shown by their storming cover of Isolation by Joy Division. Widely acclaimed, Troublegum reached No 5 in the UK charts, went Gold and was nominated for the Mercury Music Prize. It sounds as fresh today as it did in 1994.

To commemorate the 30th anniversary of Therapy?'s Troublegum album , this 2LP set contains the original album pressed on 180g silver vinyl plus a further 14 tracks rounding up B-sides and bonus tracks of the era pressed on 180g lavender vinyl. By the time Therapy? released Troublegum in 1994 they were already well established, but it was the first time many had encountered the group's intensely melodic blend of hard rock and indie, an arresting combination of old and new, striking in its immediacy. Formed by schoolfriends in Larne, Northern Ireland, Therapy? consistently pushed the rock trio to its limits, often saying that their use of feedback was their fourth instrument. Singer, guitarist and writer Andy Cairns, bassist Michael McKeegan and drummer Fyfe Ewing had been playing together since 1989, and were signed to indie label Wiiija the following year on the strength of their live reputation. After two albums with Wiiija, they were signed to A&M Records, and their 1992 album, Nurse, reached the UK Top 40. The group paired with Mission producer Chris Sheldon and went to Chipping Norton Studios to record a follow-up. The results were stunning. Lead single "Screamager" (on the Shortsharpshock EP) reached the UK Top 10 in March 1993; follow-up "Turn" made the Top 20. By the time Troublegum was released in February 1994, it contained both singles, plus "Nowhere" and "Trigger Inside", further hits from the album. Troublegum is warm and powerful, showing that grunge was not just the preserve of bands from the western seaboard of the US. Mixed without any discernible gaps between tracks, the album offers 45 minutes of attack. Amid the originals, the band's post punk roots are shown by their storming cover of Isolation by Joy Division. Widely acclaimed, Troublegum reached No 5 in the UK charts, went Gold and was nominated for the Mercury Music Prize. It sounds as fresh today as it did in 1994.

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.

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.

On their fifth studio album, Mo Kenney embraces the textures of ambiguity and the rich blur of being, failing, and becoming. As they shift through lush arrangements that touch on dreamy folk, sparse alt-country, and warm, hazed-out lo-fi pop, everything is up for interpretation and nothing is fixed. In their lyrics, Kenney opts instead to defy definition, making room for non-linear and fragmentary sentiments that challenge their own feelings about personal growth, acknowledge the slippery and shadowy nature of memory, and build love songs that conjure the bonds of friendship just as much as they hint at romance.