Cerca:kind

Numbers will release ‘Clear’, the debut album by FFT, on 24th June 2022.The result of three years of focused writing and programming by the London-based producer, ‘Clear’ is deeply psychedelic, defined by a mature sense of melody and structures crafted at a monumental scale.

Though FFT has previously released a handful of tracks under various names, it wasn’t until 2017’s ‘FFT1’ EP on theUncertainty Principle label that his production talents began to fuse into a distinct and personal style, especially evident in FFT’s‘Regional/Loss’ EP on The Trilogy Tapes in 2019, multiple releases on Bruk Records and2021’s ‘Disturb Roqe,’also released on Numbers.Through it all, FFT has mastered a complex sense of mood catalyzed by sound itself: He builds patches and presets from scratch, and feels these synths and software have their own objectives and reactions, creating a kind of compositional feedback loop.The result is an album that brings to mind a collision of electronic pioneers like Delia Derbyshire and Bernard Parmegiani, 2000’s braindance, the Max-imized wares of an OPN or Objekt and the rough rhythmatics of SND or Mika Vainio

The layering of sonic elements and intentions is starkly audible across these nine tracks.They can be seismically concussive and grandiose, but granular and fluid - echoing the Icelandic volcanic eruption that features in the artwork photography byGeorge Cowan. ‘Clear (Eight-Circuit Mix)’sets a euphoric tone immediately accelerated by the jagged sounds and vocal textures of ‘Redeemer’. ‘3 Sided’ channels hyper-urbanity from its almost entirely analogue palette, and by contrast ‘Disturb Roqe 2’is bracingly digital, gyrating in random cycles between clustered percussion, metallic splinters of audio and artificial vocal tics.

Opening side two, ‘You’ve Changed’ adheres to a more abrasive core, while ‘Heal’ and ‘Heal (Alt Mix)’evolved out of linked pieces in FFT’s live sets that grew into complete tracks in the months before Covid-19.The significant intensity of ‘Heal’ in particular was refined during strobe-heavy live performances and is the album at its most turbulent, the claustrophobia interrupted by dazzling arpeggios.The overall impact of 'Clear' is cinematic and precise, marking the arrival of an impressive electronic musician who is not new but has come into his own as a fully developed artist

A sound that embraces different styles and different eras, but which has only one basic concept as a common denominator: spreading the “Black Power Sound”.

That’s the spirit of the double vinyl compilation of Soul Fingers, a legendary Black Music traveling party that has now become a cult in Italy, still religiously followed by dancers of all kinds and ages.

At Soul Fingers it is usual to listen and dance to a unique and tasty blend of soul, disco and funk, with rap and latin rhythms. There are no preconceptions other than that of putting songs to feel good and make people feel good.

The real deal is to share with the dancefloor a record that is magical, full of soul and that can elevate us from our state of human beings to become a single beating heart under the speakers of the sound system.

He may not have known it before, but Toronto-born, New York-based
guitarist Matthew Stevens, prized for his forceful, distinctive electric
sound was an ideal candidate to make an album fully devoted to solo
acoustic guitar: the intimate, unadorned, straightforwardly titled
'Pittsburgh'
September 2020, Stevens was hunkering down in his wife's family's hometown of
Pittsburgh, while navigating his way through the crisis. He had with him a vintage
Martin 00-17, a small- body mahogany guitar. Practicing daily on the Martin, he
began generating a series of short song "starts" - ideas and sketches he thought
might lead somewhere. Then one rainy Pittsburgh day, Stevens' bike slid out from
under him and he broke his right elbow. Rather than getting derailed musically, he
became immersed in a creative process that led straight to 'Pittsburgh': a
document of those short song "starts" from the notebook, now hatched as
completed compositions. "Playing this music became a big part of my rehab,"
Stevens recalls.
As the album took shape, it became clear to Stevens that he was headed in the
direction of a wholly unaccompanied recital, with no overdubs or sound layering
of any kind. Just him and this special Martin, two Neumann U89 mics and enough
peace of mind across two separate sessions to make 'Pittsburgh' the triumph that
it is.
In addition to his extensive high-profile work with Esperanza Spalding (serving as
co- producer on 'Exposure' and '12 Little Spells'), Stevens is also a member,
songwriter and co-producer of Terri Lyne Carrington's GRAMMY-nominated Social
Science band. He has made vital contributions to groups led by Dave Douglas,
Linda May Han Oh, Christian Scott aTunde Adjuah, Ben Williams and more. With
tenor saxophonist Walter Smith III he co-leads the In Common collective. Stevens
has also amassed many credits beyond the jazz world, collaborating on
forthcoming releases by Anna B Savage, Jamila Woods, Tyler Armes
(Murdagang) and Berlin-based electronic artist Robag Wruhme.

Dove Award-nominated band We Are Messengers, who has amassed over
187 million on-demand streams and played to over 2 million people
worldwide, is back with the brand-new album, 'Wholehearted', which
features current radio single "Come What May
" Lead singer Darren Mulligan shares, "Like most artists, our world kinda fell apart
when touring got shut down. So we did what every good songwriter should do, we
catalogued every feeing imaginable and tried to make sense of a strange new
world. We danced in the darkness, wrestled with doubt, reconnected with God in a
really authentic way, and found the beauty in the forced simplicity of our lives. We
gave ourselves fully to the process of telling the truth again and not caring about
what the world thought of us. This album captures the heart of a follower of
Jesus in one of the most wonderful and horrific times we have faced in modern
history. We went all in, held nothing back. This one is 'Wholehearted'."

Leeds art-rock group Mush (Dan Hyndman vocals / guitar, Phil Porter drums,
Nick Grant bass, Myles Kirk guitar) are set to return with album ‘Down Tools’
via Memphis Industries. The new record marks the prolific band’s third album
in as many years, following hype-building early singles ‘Alternative Facts’
and ‘Gig Economy’, 2020’s debut album ‘3D Routine’ and 2021’s acclaimed
‘Lines Redacted’, which pushed their sound further and, as Uncut wrote, saw
them become “kindred spirits to Wand and King Gizzard & The Lizard
Wizard, two other bands prolifically honing their sound and approach,
steadily developing their voice.”
 On ‘Down Tools’, this voice grows again into a more brilliantly singular
sound. It sees Mush getting loose, moving away from the defined moods and
textures of ‘Lines Redacted’ with a musical openness, straddling genres
while avoiding pastiche. Hyndman says of the lyrics on ‘Down Tools’ that
“there was a conscious decision to retreat further from an observational
approach” with vocals being ad-libbed lending the record a more abstract
feel. Hyndman continues: “this album is less dark than the previous one. The
Armageddon obsession has eased, or at least the symptoms have become
milder due to saturation. Musically there’s a lot more chill on the record -
there’s a few more mellow tracks out there and the most astute listener may
even be able to decipher some of the words, fingers crossed.”
 While grief and work balance form themes on the record, Hyndman’s
approach is largely made up of abstract, disconnected streams of
consciousness and lines liberally taken from books, paintings, films and
beyond. On ‘Human Resources’, Hyndman dramatically retells a battle he
had with an HR department at a job in a David and Goliath style. The song
‘Group Of Death’, a phrase chillingly familiar to any football fan, is
emblematic of the turn towards softer, more considered sounds. Hyndman
says: “In my warped imagination it just sounds like a Paul McCartney song,
but it won’t to others. I initially had the idea of doing a World Cup song called
‘Group of Death’, but by the time it was written nothing beyond the title had
any relevance to football. Anyway, the next World Cup is in Qatar so fuck
that shit.”
 ‘Northern Safari’, meanwhile, is a song about the way the North of England
has been portrayed in the media and used as a mirror to reflect some of the
nastier elements of what’s going on in society, in particular vox pops around
Doncaster, portraying a particular narrative of the collapse of the red wall and
the disgruntled ex-miners.
 ‘Down Tools’ sees Mush idiosyncratically ping-pong from finger picked
looseners to noise-rock bangers to brilliantly entertaining effect, avoiding
post punk saturation with an easy style and wit.

After her stunning collaboration with Jim O’Rourke (Le Piano Englouti, BT055), Brunhild Ferrari returns to Black Truffle with Stürmische Ruhe, her first duo with Christoph Heemann. A legendary figure in underground music, Heemann has quietly produced a unique body of work since his beginnings with the absurdist cutups of H.N.A.S. in the mid-1980, including collaborations with Merzbow, Organum and Nurse With Wound, the eerie psychedelia of Mirror (with Andrew Chalk), In Camera (with Timo van Lujik) and Plastic Palace People (with Jim O’Rourke), and the precise cinema pour l’oreille constructions of his solo works. Created together in Ferrari’s Parisian studio (once shared with Luc) between 2011 and 2014, Stürmische Ruhe is a single half-hour piece that folds rain and storm recordings into a intricately woven fabric of haunted electronics, unexpected edits and disorienting processing. Banging with the jarring thump of a slamming door (an element that will reappear periodically throughout the piece as a kind of punctuation mark), it is immediately obvious that concrete sound is used here in a free, poetic way outside of the strict confines of documentary field recording. The wind captured by Ferrari’s microphone roars and whistles, accompanied by thick clusters of wavering tones whose unpredictable rises and falls in volumes are synchronised with the bumping and thudding of windows and doors. At some points the microphone sound melts into a wavering low-bit digital smear before fanning out into broad, atmospheric depths. The cinema for the ear constructed here suggests not linear narrative or documentary, but an organic flow of cross-fades, double-exposures and abrupt cuts, a free-associative dream in which wind and water take on mythical characteristics. Throughout the piece's second half, layers of synthetic floating tones and pinging upward glissandi negotiate a constantly shifting balance with wind-borne whispers and rustles, at times dropping to silence, at others rising up with elemental force. As Ferrari explains in her liner notes, Stürmische Ruhe is a meeting of ‘completely opposite sound worlds’ in which ‘almost-violence’ is joined with a ‘reconciling harmony’. Reaffirming the infinite possibilities of the musique concrète tradition while avoiding its academic tropes, Stürmische Ruhe is accompanied by tri-lingual liner notes from Brunhild Ferrari and arrives in a sleeve graced with the beautiful art informel paintings of her father, Wolfgang Meyer Tomin. Cut at 45rpm for maximum fidelity.

A.B. Crentsil is a heavyweight of Highlife music and the main vocalist of Sweet Talks, one of the most popular Ghanaian bands of the 1970’s. In 1992, musician Charles Amoah and producer Richie Osei Kuffour offered him the opportunity to explore a new popular sound: Bürger Highlife. Little did he know these studio sessions would give birth to the biggest song of his career.
Charles Amoah, who had released his Sweet Vibrations LP in 1984 to great acclaim, extensively toured in Europe with bands such as Black Earth and Saraba, was eager to bring a new sound to Crentsil, an artist he had admired for years. Throughout the 1980’s, Highlife had been changing pretty radically, following the same evolution as Congolese Soukous, Caribbean Zouk and most popular black music
genres of that era: Heavy use of drum machines, synths and digital technology was conveniently replacing big bands and expensive
analog studios and equipments. Mostly recorded, produced or mixed in Germany, this new breed of electric Highlife dubbed ‘Bürger Highlife’ could be defined as a fusion of Disco, Jazz, Funk and Pop with the popular Highlife beats, rhythms and lyrics.
According to A.B. Crentsil, the name was a reference to the ever present American cultural influence on Ghanaian musicians. Charles
Amoah has his own take: “I initially called this particular kind of Highlife ‘Ethno Pop’. Bürger is the German word for citizen, and that’s how Ghanaian musicians living and working in Germany were calling each other”.
The music for both “Obi Baa Wiase'' and “Sika Be Ba” was entirely composed and played by Charles Amoah, using minimal equipment: a
DX7 synth, a Korg M1, a Yamaha RX5 drum machine, and an Akai 1000 sampler. A.B. Crentsil provided the lyrics for both tunes on the spot. Obi Ba Wiase’s message is one of gratitude and faith: it says we should appreciate our life way more and follow the example of people who have a lot less but still praise God all day.
Charles remembers fondly Crentsil’s larger than life personality: "A.B. slept a lot, he really loved sleeping. His lack of punctuality was easily dismissed by his wonderful sense of humour and it wasn't uncommon to find musicians rolling with laughter on the studio floor."
Charles also remembers vividly the "Obi Baa Wiase" session: he could feel the magic in the air while working on the soon to be hit, and
knew something special was happening. A.B. asked for a break in the middle of the session, which Charles adamantly refused until the song was finished and the magic fully captured.
Success was not immediate, and Charles was first a little concerned by the lack of buzz following the immediate release of the Gyae Me
Life Ma Me album. But a few months down the line, the situation took a new turn. "Obi Baa Wiase" was making its way into radio playlists,
weddings and festive celebrations. It was covered by local bands, and soon most of Ghana and its European and American diasporas were hooked. It became A.B. Crentsil’s most requested song at live events for the following decades.
As producer Richie Moore wrote on the album back cover : "A perfect integration of two musical geniuses, the result of which are the
scintillating tracks of music on this record… so all you party fans go onto the floor and dance the body music"

If you check the credits of The Rolling Stones' Goats Head Soup LP from 1973 you'll find a certain "Pascal" listed on the percussion section. That is none other than Los Angeles based artist Nicolas Pascal Raicevik (1933-1994), aka 107-34-8933, aka Head, aka Nik Pascal, aka Nik Raicevic. Besides his hitting the bongoes on the Stones album, Nik was a great artist on his own, both as a painter and as a musician. As a musician, he was a pioneer in the use of synthesizers, preceeding the Berlin school by some years when his Head LP was released on on Buddah in 1970. Buddah probably saw in Head the opportunity to cash in some money from the remains of the psychedelic scene - the three tracks on the LP are named after drugs used in the late sixties. The sounds, however, are accomplished works that show Raicevic as one of the most interesting pioneers in the use of synths. The album probably didn't do too well, since Buddah didn't renew the contract with Raicevic, who instead took his own way releasing his works on his very own Narco Records and Tapes label. Between 1968 and 1975 Narco would issue 4 LPs credited either to Nik Raicevic (Beyond The End... Eternity) or Nik Pascal (The Sixth Ear, Magnetic Web and Zero Gravity) plus one credited to 107-34-8933 (Numbers, which is in fact the same LP as Buddah's Head, albeit with different cover art). Copies of these LPs came with an ironic sticker over the shrinkwrap that read "Do not listen to this LP if you are stoned".

Numbers was the first reference in the Narco catalogue (NR101), each of the three tracks it contains is named after a drug: Cannabis Sativa, Methedrine and Lysergic Acid Diethylamide. The album was credited to 107-34-8933, there is no date of release on the disc, some sources take it as back as 1968 - in any case, this is the same record that was issued on Buddah in 1970 credited to Head and eponymously-titled. The Wah Wah reissue features the original cover artwork from the Narco edition.

Besides his musical explorations, Nik was also an interesting painter. His paintings are auctioned from time to time, and are consciousness expanding works influenced by abstract cubism and surrealism, some kind of Salvador Dalí on drugs exploring the outter and inner space. All the artwork on the sleeves of his LPs is done by himself. Spacey landscapes and psychedelic colours that fit perfectly to the music they contain.

"Nik Raicevic's music is at the intersection of radical psycho-electronic weirdness and kraut kosmische music (in particular the scifi-hypno-minimal modules of Conrad Schnitzler in Grun, Rot and Blau). It presents mega epic & tripped out electronic improvisations.


"This is an absolute must for collectors and fans of visceral, neurotic soundscapes."

"As far as late-60s / early-70s American Bedroom' Electronic Music goes, these LPS have to be among the first transmissions from this sector, made all the more attractive when coupled with Raicevic's alien topographIes - the covers are high-color portrayals of Venusian lanes, knotted growths, & future-past architecture in a style you might equate with Vintage' sci-fi pulp-novel covers - & copious Downer' sentiment. This music is imbued with a sort of lonely, anti-social sensibility that's about as far as you can get from the Academic' Early Electronic vector. I will say that if the Steve Birchall, Cellutron & the Invisible, and/or Pythagoron™ seed your garden, this will likely do the same."

Never reissued before on vinyl format, the Wah Wah reissue features original sleeve artwork made of paintings and drawings by Nik himself and reproduction of the famous ironic "Do not listen if you are stoned".
Limited edition, 500 copies only.

If you check the credits of The Rolling Stones' Goats Head Soup LP from 1973 you'll find a certain "Pascal" listed on the percussion section. That is none other than Los Angeles based artist Nicolas Pascal Raicevik (1933-1994), aka 107-34-8933, aka Head, aka Nik Pascal, aka Nik Raicevic. Besides his hitting the bongoes on the Stones album, Nik was a great artist on his own, both as a painter and as a musician. As a musician, he was a pioneer in the use of synthesizers, preceeding the Berlin school by some years when his Head LP was released on on Buddah in 1970. Buddah probably saw in Head the opportunity to cash in some money from the remains of the psychedelic scene - the three tracks on the LP are named after drugs used in the late sixties. The sounds, however, are accomplished works that show Raicevic as one of the most interesting pioneers in the use of synths. The album probably didn't do too well, since Buddah didn't renew the contract with Raicevic, who instead took his own way releasing his works on his very own Narco Records and Tapes label. Between 1968 and 1975 Narco would issue 4 LPs credited either to Nik Raicevic (Beyond The End... Eternity) or Nik Pascal (The Sixth Ear, Magnetic Web and Zero Gravity) plus one credited to 107-34-8933 (Numbers, which is in fact the same LP as Buddah's Head, albeit with different cover art). Copies of these LPs came with an ironic sticker over the shrinkwrap that read "Do not listen to this LP if you are stoned".

"Raicevic is clearly still in the early learning-curve stages," which it a key LP to understand Nik's evolution and setting the path for more evolved works to follow.

Besides his musical explorations, Nik was also an interesting painter. His paintings are auctioned from time to time, and are consciousness expanding works influenced by abstract cubism and surrealism, some kind of Salvador Dalí on drugs exploring the outter and inner space. All the artwork on the sleeves of his LPs is done by himself. Spacey landscapes and psychedelic colours that fit perfectly to the music they contain.

"Nik Raicevic's music is at the intersection of radical psycho-electronic weirdness and kraut kosmische music (in particular the scifi-hypno-minimal modules of Conrad Schnitzler in Grun, Rot and Blau). It presents mega epic & tripped out electronic improvisations.

"This is an absolute must for collectors and fans of visceral, neurotic soundscapes."

"As far as late-60s / early-70s American Bedroom' Electronic Music goes, these LPS have to be among the first transmissions from this sector, made all the more attractive when coupled with Raicevic's alien topographIes - the covers are high-color portrayals of Venusian lanes, knotted growths, & future-past architecture in a style you might equate with Vintage' sci-fi pulp-novel covers - & copious Downer' sentiment. This music is imbued with a sort of lonely, anti-social sensibility that's about as far as you can get from the Academic' Early Electronic vector. I will say that if the Steve Birchall, Cellutron & the Invisible, and/or Pythagoron™ seed your garden, this will likely do the same."


Never reissued before on vinyl format, the Wah Wah reissue features original sleeve artwork made of paintings and drawings by Nik himself and reproduction of the famous ironic "Do not listen if you are stoned" sticker. Limited edition, 500 copies only.

B-Side is one of the cornerstones of the german Instrumental-beats scene and has been here for a minute. His unique approach for cutting and programming drums made him well known and gave his music a very distinct touch. His last LP came out three years ago and since then he released a number of collaborations with other international producers, rappers and singers. But now it’s time to show the world his interpretation of modern Instrumental-beats. Of course is he a man of the classic retro jazzsound but his record „Inner Life“ is pushing boundaries to the next level. Rhythmical Trap patterns clash with head nodding Boom-Bap vibes. B-Side really took his time. Three years of constant work on the right sound for this album did certainly pay off. This Record takes you on a journey that is not your average sleepy sound. It is hypnotizing and straight up futuristic, both sonically- and productionwise. It just sounds grown up, but in a good way.

He gathered a bunch of his friends for some partial collaborations. Devaloop, TESK, OG Nuage, ØDYSSEE and Flitz&Suppe are really contributing to the whole picture of „Inner Life“.

While the world is busy chasing the right sound for playlists, B-Side made an album that will stand the test of time. Purely good music by an artist that is passionate about his art. He mixed and mastered every single track and also took care of the complete artwork himself with photos shot by Flitz&Suppe. INNER LIFE is released on The Breed's WE RUN THIS Records.

Stefan Schwanders Repeat Orchestra presents “Infamous Lost Tracks”, an album appearing out of the blue, coming from spheres where time, space and Zeitgeist are nothing more than words.
With the Repeat Orchestra Schwander (who of course also is Harmonious Thelonious, A Rocket In Dub, Antonelli and a lot more) found a unique way of channeling deep House Music, a minimalistic setup and an idea of creating enjoyable music into amazing tracks that sound so effortless and natural. From first track "Call And Response" on it’s obvious that the main thing that this album is about is the groove, sometimes euphoric, sometimes quite unobtrusive but always irresistible, build from massive basslines, complex rhythms and the masterfully performed interplay of repetition and modulation. Warm harmonies, multilayered (at times quite unusual ("Nightdubbing")) melodies and subtle arrangements complete these Infamous Lost Tracks and their very own formular between Düsseldorf, Chicago and Lagos. There’s nothing harsh in this music, no aggression, still it’s far from being tame or tranquil: The pumping energy of "A Means To An End" or the sublime liquid shuffle of "Less Sensational" show the swing and kick inside these works that are made for delight but not to please.

And “Monks In A Club” is the most brilliant example of dancefloor understatement that you’ll ever hear in your life. Reduction, elegance and the right kind of mania concentrated into some minutes of pure club heaven. Handclaps, nonchalance & madness. An essential singularity and the swan song to the Repeat Orchestra, there will be no more of it. Get It And Smile.

From deep in the heart of Moomin Valley, frozen in time for many
midwinters passed, comes a genuine treasure chest of never
heard Moomin melodies and instrumental comet songs composed
for the continued animated adventures of our Fuzzy-Felt freak folk
friends who disappeared from UK TV pastures in the mid-1980s.
From the top of the Hobgoblin’s Hat and the bottom of Snufkin’s
satchel, original Moomins composer Graeme Miller (‘The Carrier
Frequency’) kindly shares this patchwork selection of spellbinding
sound poems and percussive peons made using the very same
selection of ocarinas, kalimbas, miniature squeak boxes, Waspy
synths, cornflake box shakers and a seemingly endless array of
talent and lo-fi home studio trickery.

Regarded as one of the most enigmatic, beguiling and haunting
imported children’s programmes to ever grace UK TV screens,
‘The Moomins’ was one of the first-ever commissions by Anne
Wood (‘The Teletubbies’) who ingeniously replaced the original
Polish/Austrian/Finnish soundtrack with homemade music
experiments by unknown post-punk theatre students Graeme
Miller and Steve Shill (aka The Commies From Mars) who, after
the screening of two unforgettable series in 1983 and 1985, were
left in eager anticipation of rescoring further Moomin adventures
with new melodies, arrangements and sound designs, which then
lingered in the ether waiting until the Groke awoke and
Snorkmaiden sang once more.

With future felt adventures screened exclusively in Poland and
Germany for many years (often as feature films) these unheard
recordings are the only genuine musical sequel to the bizarre UK
version of ‘The Moomins’ and stand as important inclusions in
Graeme Miller’s own portfolio of theatrical theme music and sound
installations as part of The Impact Theatre Cooperative, including
collaborations with artists and writers such as Russell Hoban.

Witnessed in fragmented form during a short run of incredible rare
live screenings at The Barbican Theatre and various film festivals,
this record marks the first time this music has been heard in its
original full-length form, free from sound effects, dialogue and
whimpers of euphoric joy and nostalgia from those who have
continued to crave the company of our Moomintrolls and their
mysterious music over the last five decades.

Swedish duo Thunder Tillman come together again in healing harmony to produce a much needed LP for troubled times. Thunder and his life coach Pony bring their spirits in sync for 40 minutes of improvised soundtracks for mental and physical wellbeing.

Recorded on Stockholm’s Wind Island, the pair have carefully selected specimens from their collection of vintage musical paraphernalia to channel these specific vibrations for maximum healing power.

Side one is a gentle wake up call for the soul, with pipes and chimes that gently give way to mind-expanding synths and feedback echoes that sound like sun glistening off a mountain river. Those sounds lead into an electric piano and life affirming synth figure, before disintegrating into santoor strings and chants with a slight Indian flavor. It’s a cosmic combination that invites relaxation and meditation, and the kind of deep breathing exercises that could turn back the clock on a host of bodily ailments. An electric piano comes back to the foreground with a bass and synth combination that drives forward with healing hands, before parting the frequencies for ear-tickling pads and voices. Rounding out the side is a chiming synth and santoor figure that brings the wandering spirit home and to rest.

Side two starts up with Cosmic Osmosis - a motorik drum machine beat and bass line that briefly brings to mind some of their more krautrock inspired modes across their three previous Eps, but soon collapses back into visceral synth twinkles and relaxing washes of analogue tones. It’s a dynamic that drives the whole record, sounds that excite the soul perhaps even the body on an atomic level, before bringing that energy down to a calming, relaxing home. There’s a craftsmanship to their synthesized tones that goes beyond mere artistry, and the interplay between sounds and frequencies is especially inspired, to the point where the music practically sparkles out of the speakers. Side two closes out with harmonic chimes that could put you on a Himalayan mountain side, and succeeds in raising the spirit, mind and body to higher plains of cosmic consciousness.

The Aural Healing Program is accompanied by a 40 minutes Visual Healing Program that will be unveiled in conjunction with the vinyl release. The first visual healing session featuring side B opener Cosmic Osmosis, is already available for all to partake. So just relax, let go and let the frequencies guide you.

Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy on its wearer's shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. "A lot of it did feel like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length," says vocalist Charlie Drinkwater. "I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest." Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single "House of York" followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to Sub Pop for their debut album. When Uppers arrived in the height of a global pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its "dystopian doublespeak," but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the personal and professional landmark of its release felt "both colossal and minuscule" dampened by the inability to share it live. "It was a real gratification and really cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental health" admits Drinkwater. "I wasn't prepared, and I hadn't necessarily expected it to reach as many people as it did." As such, My Other People maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using "Saintless" (the closing song from Uppers) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health. "Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would say, particularly well," he says. "There was a lot of things that had happened to myself and my family that were quite troubling moments.Despite that I do think the record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in." "It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful," agrees Bueth. "Brutality and frustration are only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening." This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to My Other People, a record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you're welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy on its wearer's shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. "A lot of it did feel like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length," says vocalist Charlie Drinkwater. "I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest." Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single "House of York" followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to Sub Pop for their debut album. When Uppers arrived in the height of a global pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its "dystopian doublespeak," but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the personal and professional landmark of its release felt "both colossal and minuscule" dampened by the inability to share it live. "It was a real gratification and really cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental health" admits Drinkwater. "I wasn't prepared, and I hadn't necessarily expected it to reach as many people as it did." As such, My Other People maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using "Saintless" (the closing song from Uppers) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health. "Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would say, particularly well," he says. "There was a lot of things that had happened to myself and my family that were quite troubling moments.Despite that I do think the record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in." "It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful," agrees Bueth. "Brutality and frustration are only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening." This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to My Other People, a record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you're welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

Released for the first time on vinyl, Queen’s compilation ‘The Platinum Collection’, featuring all three of their Greatest Hits albums, shows their unrivalled track record of chart-topping, award-winning, record-breaking rock and pop classics. June 17th will see the limited edition 6LP colour vinyl set released in a slipcase with brand new artwork. Each piece of vinyl will be a different colour and come in its own individually designed sleeve. The set also comes with an exclusive 24-page 12″ photo booklet. LIMITED EDITION

"There's scarcely a more towering figure in modern jazz — save Miles and Coltrane — than Bill Evans. His relaxed and emotional style at the piano would prove influential to not only his peers but to generations of pianists who would follow him. It also doesn't hurt that he appeared on (and had great influence over the direction of) Kind Of Blue and that two of his trio’s LPs from the Village Vanguard in 1961 are both stone-cold classics.
Evans is joined here by bassist Chuck Israels and drummer Larry Bunker for this 1965 recording. The album includes the heart-wrenching ""Who Can I Turn To?"" alongside ""If You Could See Me Now"" and Johnny Carisi's ""Israel.""
Verve’s Acoustic Sounds Series features transfers from analog tapes and remastered 180-gram vinyl in deluxe gatefold packaging."

Second Sub Pop album by acclaimed UK act TV Priest finds them building on the
post-punk of their early material and maturing into a powerhouse of tense, politically
caustic, and thoughtful rock music.
Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made
their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were
established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their
political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy
on its wearer’s shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. “A lot of it did feel
like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length,” says vocalist Charlie
Drinkwater. “I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take
a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the
opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest.”
Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued
press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous
outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single ‘House of York’
followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to
Sub Pop for their debut album. When ‘Uppers’ arrived in the height of a global
pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its “dystopian doublespeak,”
but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic
Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of
tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the
personal and professional landmark of its release felt “both colossal and minuscule”
dampened by the inability to share it live. “It was a real gratification and really
cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental
health,” admits Drinkwater. “I wasn’t prepared, and I hadn’t necessarily expected it to
reach as many people as it did.”
As such, ‘My Other People’ maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking
advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using ‘Saintless’ (the closing
song from ‘Uppers’) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting
lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as
a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health.
“Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would
say, particularly well,” he says. “There was a lot of things that had happened to
myself and my family that were quite troubling moments. Despite that I do think the
record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders
for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in.”
“It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something
that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful,” agrees Bueth. “Brutality and frustration are
only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the
time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening.”
This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and
an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to ‘My Other People’, a
record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you’re
welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is
a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or
any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

Alex the Fairy is an artist based in Berlin producing music with an emphasis on electronic and concrete methods. Alex the Fairy is also part of the 3Ddancer trio, a live act focusing on improvisation and expression using electronics.

Alex The Fairy writes: "I had sent The Tapeworm tracks before, but I was being difficult so was asked to send a new bunch, with a deadline. I sent the new bunch, a fairly odd collection expecting perhaps some of them to be combined with the older stuff but not seeing any coherence in them. I figured The Tapeworm would find at least something. To my surprise the suggestion that came back was exclusively the tracks I had sent the second time, and, re-listening through the tracks in this new order after returning from a Christmas dinner lying on the floor of my nephews bedroom gave them a completely new context. Despite them being quite varied in terms of age (one had been flung together a few days earlier on the train while another was approaching Schulreife) they seemed to meld together in such a way that I hardly recognised them…

Last year my grandmother died. My last grandparent. I had put off seeing her during corona, as I thought it best not to put her at risk and had almost left to visit her days before her death but had delayed my departure because of a medical appointment. My failure to her weighs heavy on my mind - fates grimacing grin: too little, too late. The approaching march of death, one generation closer was a confrontation I wasn't prepared for.

While clearing out her flat in the following weeks I had kept some of my grandfathers cassettes, live recordings of jazz greats, Pink Floyd, Sade and some classical among them, none originals, several presumably from the radio e.g. a church organ rendition of Bach. At the time I wasn't sure why I was hanging on to them, other than the urge to hoard, and that it felt wrong not at least to keep some. Half a year later, half way through mixing this cassette, suffering from my first bout of COVID, I had the insatiable urge to hook up the cassette player I had received from my grandfather after his death around nineteen years earlier and had been dragging along with me since. I stuck a cassette in only to immediately return to the safety of my covers. I began to work my way into what I had saved, hearing the fruits of my grandfathers labour decades before. It felt like quite an intimate interaction with someone I had long lost contact to/was long gone. Quite a wonderful thing, these time traveling cassettes.

I returned to the tracks to mix them shortly before my corona/cassette experience, with a new mixing console at hand. I had been looking for one for several years, but nothing had ever clicked, until I found this old broadcast desk 30 minutes from my place (it also coincided with a payment from a job the sum of which matched the price identically… fates return). Installing became a massive hassle and I doubted my decision continuously, but the further it was implemented the more it made sense. The first track I recorded with the mixer is on this cassette. Shortly before the mixing I was introduced to an Effektgerät by a friend, Rapha. Another good friend Art lent me their one, and I ended up using copious amounts of it throughout mixing, alongside my usual space creators. All the tracks on this release were mixed again on this mixer and are in a sense all a bit of a dub of the originals. I wouldn't have worked this way without the mixer, and the effect gave me a dimension I hadn't had before, so, from a technical perspective, the mixer and this effect define this release, giving it a coherence, at least for me. Emotionally of course the chaos and turbulence of the preceding year and my newfound appreciation for the medium give it a meaning I will struggle to formulate." – Alex The Fairy, Berlin, 9 May 2022