Cerca:just cris

Googling “paradise house”, the first results to pop up are an endless list of European b&b’s with whitewashed lime façades, all of them promising “…an unmatched travel experience a few steps from the sea”. Next, a little further down, are the institutional websites of a few select semi-luxury retirement homes (no photos shown, but lots of stock images of smiling nurses with reassuring looks). To find the “paradise house” we’re after, we have to scroll even further down. Much further down.

It feels like yesterday, and at the same time it seems like a million years ago. The Eighties had just ended, and it was still unclear what to expect from the Nineties. Mobile phones that were not the size of a briefcase and did not cost as much as a car? A frightening economic crisis? The guitar-rock revival?! Certainly, the best place to observe that moment of transition was the dancefloor. Truly epochal transformations were happening there. From America, within a short distance one from the other, two revolutionary new musical styles had arrived: the first one sounded a bit like an “on a budget” version of the best Seventies disco-music – Philly sound made with a set of piano-bar keyboards! – the other was even more sparse, futuristic and extraterrestrial. It was a music with a quite distinct “physical” component, which at the same time, to be fully grasped, seemed to call for the knotty theories of certain French post-modern philosophers: Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, Paul Virilio... Both those genres – we would learn shortly after – were born in the black communities of Chicago and Detroit, although listening to those vinyl 12” (often wrapped in generic white covers, and with little indication in the label) you could not easily guess whether behind them there was a black boy from somewhere in the Usa, or a girl from Berlin, or a pale kid from a Cornish coastal town.

Quickly, similar sounds began to show up from all corners of Europe. A thousand variations of the same intuition: leaner, less lean, happier, slightly less intoxicated, more broken, slower, faster, much faster... Boom! From the dancefloors – the London ones at least, whose chronicles we eagerly read every month in the pages of The Face and i-D – came tales of a new generation of clubbers who had completely stopped “dressing up” to go dancing; of hot tempered hooligans bursting into tears and hugging everyone under the strobe lights as the notes of Strings of Life rose up through the fumes of dry ice (certain “smiling” pills were also involved, sure). At this point, however, we must move on to Switzerland.

In Switzerland, in the quiet and diligent town of Lugano, between the 1980s and 1990s there was a club called “Morandi”. Its hot night was on Wednesdays, when the audience also came from Milan, Como, Varese and Zurich. Legend goes that, one night, none less than Prince and Sheila E were spotted hiding among the sofas, on a day-off of the Italian dates of the Nude Tour… The Wednesday resident and superstar was an Italian dj with an exotic name: Don Carlos. The soundtrack he devised was a mixture of Chicago, Detroit, the most progressive R&B and certain forgotten classics of old disco music: practically, what the Paradise Garage in New York might have sounded like had it not closed in 1987. In between, Don Carlos also managed to squeeze in some tracks he had worked on in his studio on Lago Maggiore. One in particular: a track that was rather slow compared to the BPM in fashion at the time, but which was a perfect bridge between house and R&B. The title was Alone: Don Carlos would explain years later that it had to be intended both in the English meaning of “by itself” and like the Italian word meaning “halo”. That wasn’t the only double entendre about the song, anyway. Its own very deep nature was, indeed, double. On the one hand, Alone was built around an angelic keyboard pattern and a romantic piano riff that took you straight to heaven; on the other, it showcased enough electronic squelches (plus a sax part that sounded like it had been dissolved by acid rain) to pigeonhole the tune into the “junk modernity” section, aka the hallmark of all the most innovative sounds of the time: music that sounded like it was hand-crafted from the scraps of glittering overground pop.

No one knows who was the first to call it “paradise house”, nor when it happened. Alternative definitions on the same topic one happened to hear included “ambient house”, “dream house”, “Mediterranean progressive”… but of course none were as good (and alluring) as “paradise house”. What is certain is that such inclination for sounds that were in equal measure angelic and neurotic, romantic and unaffective, quickly became the trademark of the second generation of Italian house. Music that seemed shyly equidistant from all the rhythmic and electronic revolutions that had happened up to that moment (“Music perfectly adept at going nowhere slowly” as noted by English journalist Craig McLean in a legendary field report for Blah Blah Blah magazine). Music that to a inattentive ear might have sounded as anonymous as a snapshot of a random group of passers-by at 10AM in the centre of any major city, but perfectly described the (slow) awakening in the real world after the universal love binge of the so-called Second Summer of Love.

For a brief but unforgettable season, in Italy “paradise house” was the official soundtrack of interminable weekends spent inside the car, darting from one club to another, cutting the peninsula from North to centre, from East to West coast in pursuit of the latest after-hours disco, trading kilometres per hour with beats per minute: practically, a new New Year’s Eve every Friday and Saturday night. This too was no small transformation, as well as a shock for an adult Italy that was encountering for the first time – thanks to its sons and daughters – the wild side of industrial modernity. The clubbers of the so-called “fuoriorario” scene were the balls gone mad in the pinball machine most feared by newspapers, magazines and TV pundits. What they did each and every weekend, apart from going crazy to the sound of the current white labels, was linking distant geographical points and non-places (thank you Marc Augé!) – old dance halls, farmhouses and business centres – transformed for one night into house music heaven. As Marco D’Eramo wrote in his 1995 essay on Chicago, Il maiale e il grattacielo: “Four-wheeled capitalism distorts our age-old image of the city, it allows the suburbs to be connected to each other, whereas before they were connected only by the centre (…) It makes possible a metropolitan area without a metropolis, without a city centre, without downtown. The periphery is no longer a periphery of any centre, but is self-centred”.

“Paradise house” perfectly understood all of this and turned it into a sort of cyber-blues that didn’t even need words, and unexpectedly brought back a drop of melancholic (post?)-humanity within a world that by then – as we would wholly realise in the decades to come – was fully inhuman and heartless. A world where we were all alone, and surrounded by a sinister yellowish halo, like a neon at the end of its life cycle. But, for one night at least, happy."

SC returns with a full length LP showcasing his vast armoury of musical ability in a controlled, contemplative reflection of his inner self, laid bare in breaks-driven form for the enjoyment of Spatial fans new and old - continuing the ongoing celebration and evolution of classic atmospheric drum & bass.

A1 - Fear of the Deep

Curious, high twinkling bells cautiously introduce Fear of the Deep, reminiscent of classic sci-fi movies building atmosphere and intrigue, before the hi-hat heavy, snappy break previously used in Spatial classic Essence (also by ASC) makes a welcome return. The 2-step - occasionally broken - beat pattern drives the track along with a darkly, investigative energy, while a typically deep bassline rumbles beneath, setting the scene perfectly.

A2 - Concentric Circles

A change of pace for ASC here with Concentric Circles, exploring a jazzier spectrum of influences not often broached in his production adventures, with broken scattershot beats toying and playing around a wealth of reverberating brass samples to create a minimal yet quietly imposing undertone. Double bass props up the composition wonderfully, completing an exquisitely quirky entry to the LP.

B1 - Say It

Opening with rousing strings and quietly ominous effects, ASC utilises a unique fusion of melancholic atmospherics, jazzy basslines and a classic old-school breakbeat to form Say It. Dense, purposeful kicks stomp across the mix as the strings and synthwork wash in the foreground, developing a sombre, contemplative tone to the track throughout, before a wonderful outro ending with those delightful strings.

B2 - Virtual World

Filtered Hot Pants breaks gently ease their way to the forefront of a beautifully constructed intro to Virtual World, trademark crispness and intricacy etched onto the beats effortlessly, as we've come to expect from ASC. Delicately nuanced vocal samples combine with an intense concoction of synths and micro-melodies, dancing over the sharp breaks and a suitably earthy undertone bassline.

C1 - Eons

The classic, intense atmospherics continue with Eons, a spacey piece introduced by a memorable melody, tinged with purpose and allure. This melody continues through sci-fi computer FX reminiscent of early 720, and persistent backdrop synths as we are treated to a gentle flurry of perfectly edited amens leaping and falling over subtle, juddering basslines creating that elusive blend of both headphone and dancefloor appeal.

C2 - Timeslides

ASC flexes the timeless Hot Pants break again - crisply edited with a sharpness in the mix which is simply to die for - in Timeslides, a track which continues the brooding, introspective tone of the LP. Utilising a varied array of samples and effects which will transport you straight back to that unmistakable era of 90's atmospheric heaven with several nods to forefathers of this wonderful sound - just how we like it at Spatial.

D1 - Lightspeed

Take a moment to appreciate the bells tolling, glimmering and colliding during an enchanting intro, freely crafting layered melodies without a care as ASC presents us with an immensely memorable piece in Lightspeed. Long, elongated vocals drift and swirl through the airy soundscape, all punctuated by finely tuned and arranged Circles breaks, energetically deployed for the discerning breakbeat aficionado.

D2 - Nightvision

Intensity is dialled up to 11 in Nightvision, a deeply atmospheric track which showcases a perfect, symbiotic combination of melancholy, drama and raw energy. The lively breaks take center stage over a heavy, consistent 808 bassline with enveloping masses of atmospherics circling, gripping your attention, joined by dreamy vocal samples deployed subtly in an ever-changing tone to close the LP in style.

Words by Chris Hayes (Spatial / Red Mist)

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Bárbara Salazar aka Barbarelle is an experimental multidisciplinary artist from Buenos Aires, known for her conceptual work as a DJ, creative director, and curator.

‘Celesta’ marks Barbarelle first foray into composing and producing her own music; a debut that reveals the intimate, heartfelt territories of her creative universe. The culmination of years of composing for herself - ‘behind closed doors’ - ‘Celesta’ is a deeply personal, self-guided masterstroke of beguiling, free-flowing ambient soundscapes and DIY electronics. With ‘Celesta’, Barbarelle artfully transitions from ardent music aficionado to fully-fledged artist, unveiling an enchanting sonic world that has quietly matured over time.

‘Celesta’ is an exquisite odyssey of sound, assembled from fifteen tracks recorded between 2022 and 2024 in Buenos Aires and Los Angeles. Conceived as spontaneous and intuitive explorations, many of these tracks were recorded in one take without technically-minded premeditation. The product of organic experimentation rather than concrete intention, ‘Celesta’ is an authentic, candid record of emotions, memories, and profound interiorities.

Over time, the pieces in this tapestry found a common thread: a conversation with the ethereal, defined by emotional intensities and softly spoken utterances. ‘Celesta’ is an invitation to immerse yourself in soundscapes that merge to the point of dissolution, evoking the transparency of water and the lightness of a dreamlike world that transcends matter. Like the song of a siren, the voice becomes just another instrument, beyond language yet full of significance. A collection of songs that feels like opening a secret diary; a direct pathway to the centre of the heart.

In addition to her work as an artist, Barbarelle is the founder of Atlas, a platform dedicated to active listening through radio, live performances, listening sessions and more. She is also known for her radio show of the same name on Dublab, where she shares her unique approach to sound with eclectic selections and interviews with the likes of Air, BADBADNOTGOOD, Lucrecia Dalt, Juana Molina & more.

Carrying the torch of psychedelic cumbia, with a healthy dose
of surf guitar and Amazonian dancefloor flourishes from Peru
and Brazil alike, Fiesta en la Jungla by Los Dexter’s de Uchiza
is the first release from the newly formed London-label Ritmo
del Barrio. Originally released in 1982, it captures the finest
cumbia being made in Peru at the time, decked out with
frenetic surf-rock guitar riffs, rhythms floating on crisp
cumbia percussion and occasionally punctuated by carimbó
breakdowns native to the Pará region of north-eastern Brazil.
The album is filled with energy, a gem that was always
intended to animate any dancefloor. Peruvian cumbia came to national attention in the late 60s
through the recordings of Juaneco y su Combo, Los Destellos
and Los Wembler’s de Iquitos, but it’s had many revivals, and
Fiesta en la Jungla arrived when the style was going through a
major transition. In 1977, a passenger plane carrying most of
the members of Juaneco y su Combo crashed, killing everyone
on board. In 1980, Los Destellos retired, and Los Wembler’s
released their tenth and final record, they were ready for a
break. This left a big void in Peruvian music. Wasting no time,
Los Dexter’s Emerson Ruiz Mosquera took the opportunity and
gave his band new life, filling the band’s ranks with young and
energetic musicians who were hungry for success. He built the
new band around a solid base of dexterous guitars, a dynamite
rhythm section, and added oodles of percussion and an electric
organ, giving them a powerful psychedelic sound that called
back to the sounds of the original chichamasters, but added a
new sheen. Along with bands like Los Shapis and Los Walkers
de Huánuco, Peruvian cumbia was reborn as chicha in the
1980s, and was now the sound of Peru’s barrios up and down
the country.
Based in the city of Uchiza, on the edges of the Amazon basin,
Los Dexter’s were uniquely located in central Peru, closer to the
largest urban centres of the country than Amazonian outposts
like Pucallpa or Iquitos, and therefore better positioned to
travel to the furthest reaches of the country with ease. In a
sense, Los Dexter’s were a bridge between the Amazon and the
rest of Peru, a bridge over which the sounds of Amazonian
cumbia could travel to the rest of the country on their way to
becoming one of the most ubiquitous elements of Peru’s musical
identity. Fiesta en la Jungla represents Los Dexter’s in their third
iteration. Led by Emerson Ruiz Mosquera, who was just a
young boy in 1970 when his older brother founded the group
with four of his friends, the ensemble by the time of Fiesta en la
Jungla included Orlando Abad on the timbales and lead vocals,
Lucho Bendezú on lead guitar, Javier Quiroz as second
guitarist, Alejandro Almeira on bass, Rufino Bustamante on
keyboard, Ramon Siu on bongos and bells, Ivan Rios on conga,
and Emerson as musical director and composer. Remarkably,
most of the group’s members helped to write at least one
track, Los Dexter’s were a collective endeavour.
Reissued on vinyl for the first time by Ritmo del Barrio, this
record is essential for any collector of Peruvian cumbia.
Showcasing the unique sound of Los Dexter’s, it carries hits
like “Fuga en la Selva” and “El Shiringuero”, which are sure to
set any dancefloor on fire, combined with slower, carimbó-
infused cumbias like “Fiesta en la Jungla,”and “Agua de
Cachilde.” Its closing track, “Tragedia en Uchiza'', is a key
piece of local history and tells of the flooding of the
Chontayacu River in 1982, a mortal tragedy that affected
thousands of people. Despite the subject matter, the album
maintains a joyful vibe throughout, with high energy riffs and
irresistible rhythms, contrasted with terse love ballads, like “A
Jhenny.” It is both a piece of musical history, and a sure-fire
tool for the dance floor.
Los Dexter’s became a fixture of festivals and celebrations in
the provinces of San Martin and Huánuco, and from expanded
across the country, taking Amazonian cumbia from the
Peruvian Amazon, to the heights of the Peruvian sierra, the
coastal plains, and the capital city of Lima.

After a quarter century Filmmaker are finally willing to admit they were/are an emo band. Formed in 1999 on the Great Plains of Saskatchewan, the group released an EP, an LP, and a smattering of singles and demos before quietly stepping away from the project.

During their brief tenure Filmmaker crisscrossed the country dozens of times without a phone, credit card, map, or clue. “We were just kids figuring out how to be a band in real time.” They shared the stage with the likes of Samiam, SNFU, Kevin Divine, and Propagandhi and spent countless nights sleeping in vans, on floors, and occasionally in hospitals.

Their lone album, An Invitation To An Accident, is now being released by the for the first time ever on vinyl and streaming services via Record Record Label.

The album was made at the legendary Factory Studios in Vancouver, BC with Blair Callibaba (Odds, By A Thread, Gob, Nomeansno). An Invitation To An Accident was recorded to 2” tape and contains only one edit, which was performed surgically with a razor blade. The album was originally released on July 2, 2002 by Farway Records and later in Germany on April 14, 2003 by TFR Music.

f11 FLRNTN, Benjamin Duchenne - "Last Man Standing" (feat Sivan) (1:08)
f12 Nicholas Gunn & Harshil Kamdar - "Here I Am" (feat Alina Renae - Richard Durand remix) (1:08)
f13 DJ TH X TH3 ONE X Sue McLaren - "Everything To Me" (1:08)
f14 Matty Ralph - "Te Adoro" (1:08)
f15 Armin Van Buuren & Vini Vici - "Sarabande" (feat Anna Timofei) (1:08)
f16 Lilly Palmer - "Hare Ram" (1:08)
f17 David Forbes - "Techno Is My Only Drug" (1:08)
f18 Armin Van Buuren - "Blah Blah Blah" (Lilly Palmer remix) (1:08)
f19 Armin Van Buuren - "The Road To Your Destination" (A State Of Trance Year mix 2024 outro) (1:14)

Volume 1 of this expertly curated project of 90s Italian House - put together by Don Carlos.

If Paradise was half as nice… by Fabio De Luca.

Googling “paradise house”, the first results to pop up are an endless list of European b&b’s with whitewashed lime façades, all of them promising “…an unmatched travel experience a few steps from the sea”. Next, a little further down, are the institutional websites of a few select semi-luxury retirement homes (no photos shown, but lots of stock images of smiling nurses with reassuring looks). To find the “paradise house” we’re after, we have to scroll even further down. Much further down.

It feels like yesterday, and at the same time it seems like a million years ago. The Eighties had just ended, and it was still unclear what to expect from the Nineties. Mobile phones that were not the size of a briefcase and did not cost as much as a car? A frightening economic crisis? The guitar-rock revival?! Certainly, the best place to observe that moment of transition was the dancefloor. Truly epochal transformations were happening there. From America, within a short distance one from the other, two revolutionary new musical styles had arrived: the first one sounded a bit like an “on a budget” version of the best Seventies disco-music – Philly sound made with a set of piano-bar keyboards! – the other was even more sparse, futuristic and extraterrestrial. It was a music with a quite distinct “physical” component, which at the same time, to be fully grasped, seemed to call for the knotty theories of certain French post-modern philosophers: Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, Paul Virilio... Both those genres – we would learn shortly after – were born in the black communities of Chicago and Detroit, although listening to those vinyl 12” (often wrapped in generic white covers, and with little indication in the label) you could not easily guess whether behind them there was a black boy from somewhere in the Usa, or a girl from Berlin, or a pale kid from a Cornish coastal town.

Quickly, similar sounds began to show up from all corners of Europe. A thousand variations of the same intuition: leaner, less lean, happier, slightly less intoxicated, more broken, slower, faster, much faster... Boom! From the dancefloors – the London ones at least, whose chronicles we eagerly read every month in the pages of The Face and i-D – came tales of a new generation of clubbers who had completely stopped “dressing up” to go dancing; of hot tempered hooligans bursting into tears and hugging everyone under the strobe lights as the notes of Strings of Life rose up through the fumes of dry ice (certain “smiling” pills were also involved, sure). At this point, however, we must move on to Switzerland.

In Switzerland, in the quiet and diligent town of Lugano, between the 1980s and 1990s there was a club called “Morandi”. Its hot night was on Wednesdays, when the audience also came from Milan, Como, Varese and Zurich. Legend goes that, one night, none less than Prince and Sheila E were spotted hiding among the sofas, on a day-off of the Italian dates of the Nude Tour… The Wednesday resident and superstar was an Italian dj with an exotic name: Don Carlos. The soundtrack he devised was a mixture of Chicago, Detroit, the most progressive R&B and certain forgotten classics of old disco music: practically, what the Paradise Garage in New York might have sounded like had it not closed in 1987. In between, Don Carlos also managed to squeeze in some tracks he had worked on in his studio on Lago Maggiore. One in particular: a track that was rather slow compared to the BPM in fashion at the time, but which was a perfect bridge between house and R&B. The title was Alone: Don Carlos would explain years later that it had to be intended both in the English meaning of “by itself” and like the Italian word meaning “halo”. That wasn’t the only double entendre about the song, anyway. Its own very deep nature was, indeed, double. On the one hand, Alone was built around an angelic keyboard pattern and a romantic piano riff that took you straight to heaven; on the other, it showcased enough electronic squelches (plus a sax part that sounded like it had been dissolved by acid rain) to pigeonhole the tune into the “junk modernity” section, aka the hallmark of all the most innovative sounds of the time: music that sounded like it was hand-crafted from the scraps of glittering overground pop.

No one knows who was the first to call it “paradise house”, nor when it happened. Alternative definitions on the same topic one happened to hear included “ambient house”, “dream house”, “Mediterranean progressive”… but of course none were as good (and alluring) as “paradise house”. What is certain is that such inclination for sounds that were in equal measure angelic and neurotic, romantic and unaffective, quickly became the trademark of the second generation of Italian house. Music that seemed shyly equidistant from all the rhythmic and electronic revolutions that had happened up to that moment (“Music perfectly adept at going nowhere slowly” as noted by English journalist Craig McLean in a legendary field report for Blah Blah Blah magazine). Music that to a inattentive ear might have sounded as anonymous as a snapshot of a random group of passers-by at 10AM in the centre of any major city, but perfectly described the (slow) awakening in the real world after the universal love binge of the so-called Second Summer of Love.

For a brief but unforgettable season, in Italy “paradise house” was the official soundtrack of interminable weekends spent inside the car, darting from one club to another, cutting the peninsula from North to centre, from East to West coast in pursuit of the latest after-hours disco, trading kilometres per hour with beats per minute: practically, a new New Year’s Eve every Friday and Saturday night. This too was no small transformation, as well as a shock for an adult Italy that was encountering for the first time – thanks to its sons and daughters – the wild side of industrial modernity. The clubbers of the so-called “fuoriorario” scene were the balls gone mad in the pinball machine most feared by newspapers, magazines and TV pundits. What they did each and every weekend, apart from going crazy to the sound of the current white labels, was linking distant geographical points and non-places (thank you Marc Augé!) – old dance halls, farmhouses and business centres – transformed for one night into house music heaven. As Marco D’Eramo wrote in his 1995 essay on Chicago, Il maiale e il grattacielo: “Four-wheeled capitalism distorts our age-old image of the city, it allows the suburbs to be connected to each other, whereas before they were connected only by the centre (…) It makes possible a metropolitan area without a metropolis, without a city centre, without downtown. The periphery is no longer a periphery of any centre, but is self-centred”.

“Paradise house” perfectly understood all of this and turned it into a sort of cyber-blues that didn’t even need words, and unexpectedly brought back a drop of melancholic (post?)-humanity within a world that by then – as we would wholly realise in the decades to come – was fully inhuman and heartless. A world where we were all alone, and surrounded by a sinister yellowish halo, like a neon at the end of its life cycle. But, for one night at least, happy.

Seattle's Chastity Belt and Austin's Holy Wave split a dreamy 7-inch for Suicide Squeeze Records. Chastity Belt's offering, "That Guy," rings with the band's signature laid-back-yet-precise style. Jangly, intricate guitarwork plays off easy rhythms; an upbeat tranquility buoys wistful riffs. The lyrics are honest and introspective as Julia Shapiro admits to being "that kind of guy"_the type who just wants to feel alive, despite the pull of screentime, and the tendency to hold onto something until the life has been sucked out of it. "Maybe quitting is okay, but I don't like giving things away," she sings, backed by warm vocal harmonies. "I'd rather hold on for too long, until all the feeling's gone." For their side, Holy Wave contribute the lush and hypnotic slow burner "Time Crisis Too." Smears of warped synth over meticulous percussion and guitar form a dense tapestry of sound; melodic vibraphone perfects the cinematic nostalgia while the lyrics lament the too-hurried passage of time. Microdoses of experimentation tucked into the layers_seaside waves, swells of distortion, a disembodied second vocal_add intrigue and enhance the vibe.

The follow up release to last years Times & Places Volume 1, which sold out in super quick time has the same four artists, each bringing their own style of old skool rave goodness to the table.
Gridzone gets us off and running with beautiful pads and an oh so familiar soothing female vocal sample. But don’t let this fool you, the harsh amens are just round the corner and when they drop, you will know about it.
Midlife Crisis has similar energy levels in their offering, the breaks are more chopped and more in a jungle vein.
On the flip is the highlight of this EP. NewKiller drops a jungle-techno stormer. 4/4 kicks with high speed breaks, hoover sounds and horror film samples. Its like 1993 all over again. Finally the EP ends with a ragga tinged rudeboy of a stepper from Gold Soundz.

‘Dynamic Movements - Music for Exercise & Relaxation’ is the new album by the Swedish electronic music producer/remix duo of Johan Agebjörn and Mikael Ögren, lovingly released on Ltd. cassette via Lo Recordings.

Back in the 1980’s there was an exercise craze, people wore lycra bodysuits and headbands. All over the world people were making ‘Dynamic Movements’, determined to change the flow, turn their lives around and step into a bright new future. At the same time the New Age movement was blossoming and meditation was the way forward. Meditation and deep relaxation with maybe some crystals and Unicorns, just for fun.

Inspired by these exercise tapes of the 70s/80s and in tribute to those times and movements, Johan and Mikael worked with producers from around the world to create an album of diverse interpretations, bringing us an album of deep sonic nourishment. Sometimes throbbing and at other times gently lapping at your toes, the result is a lavish cassette contrasting ‘music for exercise’ on side A and ‘music for relaxation’ on side B.

Kicking off side one is the duo’s own ‘Dynamo Dance’, a resonant, pulsating slice of electronic pleasure, which gives way to tracks by acclaimed collaborators like the crisp, cruise control groove of Causeway, the dub chug delight of Jarle Brathen and the irrepressible majesty of ‘Lovelock’ (Steve Moore), before Johan and Mikael return with a tribute to the late great Florian Schneider of Kraftwerk.

Side two’s sumptuous drift into a world of soft pads, rippling arpeggios and sultry saxophone (all the saxophone on the album is by the aforementioned Steve Moore) is initiated by Seahawks, with their lysergic ‘Phase Induction’ leading to the extended Cafe Del Mar beach bar ambience of the legendary Fax records maestro Dr Atmo, continuing with the impossibly lush shimmer of Mary Yalex, the gravity defying drift of One Million Eyes and the divine dream world of Patricia Wolf.

Hitch debuts on Just Waxx for its second release, presenting four dancefloor-focused tracks, with a remix by Belgian artist Innershades on A2.

The EP draws inspiration from samples that marked the Catalan producer's childhood, adding a unique and nostalgic touch to each composition.

A1, "Gran Torino," featuring samples from Starsky & Hutch, stands out as the highlight of the release, capturing immediate attention with its unmistakable character.

A2, the "Gran Torino Innershades Remix," takes a deeper, moodier turn. Innershades reworks the original with a brooding bassline and textured layers, infusing the track with a hypnotic, atmospheric quality.

On the B-side, B1, "Hannibal," incorporates samples from Hannibal Smith of The A-Team. The track’s crisp drums and subtle effects create a laid-back yet rhythmic groove, enhanced by intricate layers that bring a sense of progression.

B2, "Delorean," inspired by Back to the Future, rounds off the EP with its futuristic synths and retro influences, seamlessly blending nostalgia and forward-

As Odysee celebrates its 30th anniversary, the label’s original founder Atila Kemal (T-Mirage) steps up to deliver this jaw-dropping E.P.

In 1994, Tilla was just 17 years old, and an integral part of the original St Albans collective that comprised Jim Baker & Phil Aslett (Source Direct) and Rupert Parkes (Photek), when he set up the Odysee imprint and released the first Source Direct record (Future London/Shimmer). With a follow-up release from Photek (Phaze 1/Try A Style) and a second from Source Direct, the profile of the label began to grow exponentially.

It was the 3 Mirage releases however that really put the label on the map. These tracks were engineered by Jim Baker but heavily co-produced by Tilla himself with a major focus on his keen ear for dark 70’s Noire samples and eerie abstract electronica pitted against soulful R&B vocals. In hindsight, the impact of this rather different soundscape on the Source Direct material that followed is unmistakable.

The A side track Dark Rhodes is a showcase of T-Mirage’s production skillsets. From the opening atmosphere of utter menace and spacious percussion, to the trademark call and response between the different breaks and speaker shaking subs; this track will take the listener straight back to that infamous dark 1995/6 sound that emerged from both the Odysee & Source Direct studios. What is particularly noticeable is the distinctive pairing of sets of samples to form unique sections within the piece, whilst maintaining the consistent rolling energy of the drums & bass. This was a clear stylistic trait the earlier tracks like Feel My Dreams, and is very much on display in Dark Rhodes; leaving us in no doubt that we are listening to the work of one of the OG St Albans Jungle masters!

One of the most important aspects of each Odysee release was to demonstrate versatility on the B side tunes. As a label that was an important part of the mid 90’s Atmospheric scene, it would be remiss not to revisit that style on this seminal E.P. The first of the two B-side tracks is the incredible Existence.

Everything about this piece is a pure distillation of Tilla’s musical style; from the intricacy of the break work and the depth of the subs, to the masterful dovetailing of the 70’s Noire and Jazz samples that build a cohesive arrangement drawing the listener deeper into the tune’s narrative- “A piece of music that’s just a pure expression.... A celebration of existence!” There is no need to re-invent the wheel, or to force groundbreaking new tricks when the strength of this classic sound is so overwhelmingly persuasive!

With the final track Flawless, Tilla delivers an absolute heart-breaker of a tune that rivals the very best of the original Odysee & SD B-sides. Misty-eyed pads and Jazzy rides launch the crisp rolling Think breaks. The deep melodic sub line and haunting guitar riffs draw the listener in, then hold the listener in suspense for a moment before dropping down in the body of the track. The gorgeous guitar motifs are paired with achingly gorgeous vocal ad-libs and avant-garde electronica, emerging orchestral flutters with that unmistakable 70’s Noire flavour. Once again it is

Tilla’s ear for those ‘special sounds’ that really sets this track apart, and as if that wasn’t enough, some 4 minutes down the track Flawless nonchalantly unveils another primary motif; well worthy in of itself of being the tracks centrepiece!
Absolutely stunning heritage-style Atmospheric Jungle at its finest!

BRUJERIA is an extreme Mexican-American metal band founded in 1989 in Los Angeles. Under cover of pseudonyms, its original members were the guitarist Dino Cazares ( FEAR FACTORY ), Jello Biafra ( DEAD KENNEDYS ), the drummer Pat Hoed, bassist Billy Gould ( FAITH NO MORE ) and singer Juan Bruno. BRUJERIA first appears as a terrorist group having kidnapped the bosses of Roadrunner Records in order to be able to release a record. This joke having been denied, the group appears as a parallel project that is characterized by the themes of satanism, terrorism, sex, rebellion, and politics. The group forges a reputation of psychopaths by playing on stage , with hooded or masked with scarves, titles called "Marijuana" or "Brujerizmo ( the word "Brujeria" which means "witchcraft" ). BRUJERIA is Mexican hence the name and lyrics in Spanish. Dino Cazares ( exFEAR FACTORY ) was the guitarist. The musicians of BRUJERIA keep their identities secret but it is known that ex-FEAR FACTORY's Dino Cazares, FEAR FACTORY's Asesino and Raymond Herrera, as well as Billy Gould, ex-FAITH NO MORE, have worked on guitar, drums and bass, Nicolas Barker ( ex-CRADLE OF FILTH etc ) takes also part of the butchery, just to name a few...

BRUJERIA is an extreme Mexican-American metal band founded in 1989 in Los Angeles. Under cover of pseudonyms, its original members were the guitarist Dino Cazares ( FEAR FACTORY ), Jello Biafra ( DEAD KENNEDYS ), the drummer Pat Hoed, bassist Billy Gould ( FAITH NO MORE ) and singer Juan Bruno. BRUJERIA first appears as a terrorist group having kidnapped the bosses of Roadrunner Records in order to be able to release a record. This joke having been denied, the group appears as a parallel project that is characterized by the themes of satanism, terrorism, sex, rebellion, and politics. The group forges a reputation of psychopaths by playing on stage , with hooded or masked with scarves, titles called "Marijuana" or "Brujerizmo ( the word "Brujeria" which means "witchcraft" ). BRUJERIA is Mexican hence the name and lyrics in Spanish. Dino Cazares ( exFEAR FACTORY ) was the guitarist. The musicians of BRUJERIA keep their identities secret but it is known that ex-FEAR FACTORY's Dino Cazares, FEAR FACTORY's Asesino and Raymond Herrera, as well as Billy Gould, ex-FAITH NO MORE, have worked on guitar, drums and bass, Nicolas Barker ( ex-CRADLE OF FILTH etc ) takes also part of the butchery, just to name a few...

If Katsuhiro Otomo’s Akira were a utopia instead of its opposite, this EP could be a possible sound track. Using the ingredients of classic house as a platform (pianos anyone?), Nick Nikolov‘s imagination as a producer for his new new NKLV project is far too vivid to stay on the beaten track.

The sound design and nerdy attention of IDM and ambient (Clusters) connects with the brazen boogie approach of the French touch, micro-sampling manifestos have to stand up to the weirder moments of signature sounds like Basement Jaxx or KiNK‘s musical side (Heartbeat). Not too far off from his peer‘s early approach, the Bulgarian‘s take is emotionally charged, play- and powerful.

For instance, Speak to Me and No More hit their respective topical nails on the head and the EPs title track Inbetween is sultry serotonin soul. If you are looking for plain and pure euphoria in between all the hardships, happiness is just around the bend.

his release marks the first complete album reissue on Canopy. Originally released in Nigeria in 1987, “Oppressor” was executive produced by Myke Moul himself and distributed domestically by EMI Nigeria & Tropic Records.

“Oppressor”, the album, finds the sweet spot between synth reggae, boogie, and euphoric Balearic island vibes.

Written by Myke Moul and arranged in collaboration with reggae star Majek Fashek in Nigeria, it was later re-crafted and recorded in France with a host of French musicians. Most notably the contribution of multi instrumentalist Pierre de St Front added engaging synthesiser parts and electronic drums.

Unfortunately the pressing of the album suffered from inherent technical flaws which adversely affected the sound quality and therefore even those lucky enough to find a copy, will not be able to enjoy it without considerable sonic defects. Therefore this remastered reissue will prove welcome to both collectors and new discoverers.

The titular track “Oppressor” stands out as a mid-tempo synth-reggae-boogie jam espousing the turbulent political times in Nigeria that were present in the late 80s. Elsewhere “Shadows in the Rain” is an instrumental cut displaying a jazz-funk sensibility which was unusual for a Nigerian artist at that time, and reflects Myke’s influences outside his home country. “Heading for the Top” is a boogie dance floor gem that shows the popularity of this genre at the time, as evidenced in many Nigerian releases and still sounds just as vital today. “Rescue us. O! Lord” shows Myke’s great song writing and Pierre’s fine musical skills working in tandem to create a reggae boogie tune, displaying the reggae & ska tendencies that were present in pop music in this era, from artists such as Grace Jones, Sly & Robbie or The Police.

All in all, the album demonstrates something fresh & exciting for Nigerian album reissues, touching down in a reggae fusion direction, with some fuller sounding production aesthetics, making the dynamics full and crisp on sound systems while also well suited to home listening.

"As I'm getting older, chip up on my shoulder..." is the opening line from Mac DeMarco's second full-length LP `Salad Days,' the follow up to 2012's lauded `Mac DeMarco 2.' Amongst that familiar croon and lilting guitar, that initial line from the title track sets the tone for an LP of a maturing singer/songwriter/producer. Someone strangely self-aware of the positives and negatives of their current situation at the ripe old age of 23. Written and recorded around a relentless tour schedule (which picked up all over again as soon as the LP was done), `Salad Days' gives the listener a very personal insight into what it's all about to be Mac amidst the craziness of a rising career in a very public format. The lead single, "Passing Out Pieces," set to huge overdriven organ chords, contains lines like "...never been reluctant to share, passing out pieces of me..." Clearly, this isn't the same record that breezily gave us "Dreamin," and "Ode to Viceroy" but the result of what comes from their success. "Chamber of Reflection," a track featuring icy synth stabs and soulful crooning, wouldn't be out of place on a fantasy Shuggie Otis and Prince collaboration. Standout tracks like these show Mac's widening sound, whether insights into future directions or even just welcome one-off forays into new territory. Still, this is musically, lyrically and melodically good old Mac DeMarco, through and through. The same crisp John Lennon / Phil Spector era homegrown lush production that could have walked out of Geoff Emerick's mixing board in 1972, but with that peculiar Mac touch that's completely of right now. "Brother," a complete future classic, is Mac at his most soulful and easygoing but with that distinct weirdness and bite that can only come from Mr. DeMarco. "Treat Her Better" is rife with "Mac-isms," heavily chorused slinky lead guitar, swooning vocal melodies, effortless chords that come along only after years of effort, and the other elements seriously lacking in independent music: sentiment and heartfelt sincerity. We're only at Part 2 and 1/2 (one EP and two LP's in) into Mac's career. As you read this and as you hear the album on April Fool's Day of this year, he'll probably be on tour, or preparing for one... or maybe already writing new music. A relentless work ethic is something to be admired in today's indie music scene, but when it's of the quality Mac is giving us time and time again, it starts to turn from admiration to awe.

Techno House Connoisseurs are back with a proper VA full of acid and tech house delights for the heads. This EP has 5 dance floor whoppers for even the most discerning ear. Starting things off on the A side is Los Angeles duo Warehouse Preservation Society with a chunky bass heavy breakbeat-ish slammer called Fugitive Funk. Hypnotic west coast music at its finest. THC is stoked to welcome Londons Flash Mitra to the label. Flash's debut track is a psychedelic acid house gem perfect for those looking for something moody, dreamy and percussive. This jam will be welcomed on dance floors worldwide. Flip to the B side with THC stalwart Praus unleashing another low slung acid chugger. Magnetism creeps along working its way into your psyche with its warped and unusual vocal snippets and percussive rhythms topped with a healthy dose of 303. Big room cosmica muziks! Track 2 on the B finds label head Space Ace and Seattle's Sherman C of Selector records together bringing to light a buried acid monster titled Just a dream. Crisp percussion underlies a burly acid baseline with more 303 with a breakdown that will bring the floor to a peak. Not for the faint of heart. Lastly Warehouse Preservation rounds out the VA with a filthy dub of Fugitive Funk with a bass line that will rumble the floor and percussion that is so satisfying you will be looping it throughout your set. Bells, congas and claps all reverberating and panning for that head candy you won't be able to get out of your head.

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?"