Cerca:la la she can

You can't put Bebe Rexha in a box. From her Grammy-winning songwriting roots on Eminem's "The Monster" to global chart-toppers with David Guetta and Florida Georgia Line, Rexha has established herself as a premier musical chameleon. With her latest project, Dirty Blonde, she officially enters a new era as an independent powerhouse. Now signed to EMPIRE, the Brooklyn-born star has crafted a 13-song "genre kaleidoscope" that serves as her first-ever visual album, representing a total creative rebirth and a departure from the major-label system she's known since she was a teenager.

Recorded across London, Tokyo, and Europe, Dirty Blonde captures the energy of Rexha's global travels. The project seamlessly blends heavy-hitting dance floor anthems with deep, personal storytelling. With the lead single "New Religion" she takes us straight to the club by reimagining the iconic dance record "Insomnia" by Faithless. On "Tokyo," she explores a drum & bass pulse inspired by a late-night rendezvous in Japan, while "Cike Cike" (produced by long-time collaborator DJ Snake) sees Rexha embracing her Albanian heritage by mixing traditional linguistic roots with modern 808 basslines.

At the emotional core of the album is the lead single, "I Like You Better Than Me." The track strips away the pop-star veneer to tackle themes of insecurity and self-scrutiny, blending raw lyrics with a pop-rock edge. From the Jersey-bounce-meets-country vibes of "Drink and a Little Love" to her vulnerable reflections on fame, Dirty Blonde is a celebration of an artist who is finally playing by her own rules. As Rexha firmly asserts, "The old Bebe is dead," leaving behind a focused, stronger creator who is making the music she truly loves.

New from Ulla’s 28912 label comes a gorgeous bouquet of lowercase wonders from Justin Cantrell aka J and the Woolen Stars, part of Picnic, and the brains behind the excellent Daisart and se Dessaisir Publishing labels.

»Puff« is a glistening pool of lush refractions and music-box lullabies, featuring an array of acoustic instruments and fragile foley sounds that are gently peeled away until all we’re left with are the faded outlines of half-remembered songs.

A sound that roots itself in the prophetic machinations of artists like Fennesz and the languid Japanese minimalism of Fourcolour or Moskitoo, »Puff« strikes a delicate balance, sounding as bewitchingly informal as a Tenniscoats set, but also consistently muddling the perception of high and low-brow sound. Cantrell’s skill lies in a sort of sonic conjuration, bamboozling the brains of those of us who grew up listening to stepped-on audio via ramshackle RealMedia streams by alchemising the content, turning found sound into gold. Just tell us you don’t get chills from hearing the bitrate-impaired acoustic guitar on »Dirty like an angel«, set against a backdrop of windy, harmonic detritus. It’s both meticulously contrived and gloriously off-the-cuff, like one of Vincent Gallo’s classic »When«-era demos reduced down to 96kbps.

Similarly, »She knows just what to say« provokes faint memories of folk music, with impromptu fiddle parts gently steamrolled to create a sound that’s nothing short of exquisite, like pressed flowers rediscovered in an old, discarded book. Even the more palpably electronic elements are hand sculpted in a way that belies the era we’re living in - it’s music for a digital age that sounds oddly unplugged, flawed and human. An unmistakably lovely antidote to the opiating nostalgia of our time.

Originally from Patagonia, Aldana grew up deeply connected to the Earth. It was in Buenos Aires, however, that she shaped her musical identity, immersed in a vibrant and inspiring scene. Influenced by the energy of parties and the community around her, she soon felt the urge to channel that intensity into her own music.

Today, she marks a new chapter for Luzerna with the label’s very first EP — a project moving between the emotional and the physical. There are more introspective moments and others that are more direct, designed for the dancefloor. It’s also very versatile and can be experienced in different contexts and moments.

The production is largely driven by intuition, allowing the sound to find its own shape.Although each track has its own identity, they are all connected by groove, like a constant pulse that brings them together.

What changed between Av. General Roçadas and Junkeira? Seven years in people's lives — yet the team's commitment remains untouched, and the steady hand on the plumb line that keeps dance music (still) upright holds firm. Years of sustained research and field work from both producers, with their own records, mutually independent and independent too in how they brought them to life. Moreno Ácido has been navigating detours through a conceptual yet grounded underground — in sound and in format (two self-released cassettes since 2019) — while keeping one eye on the floor. His post pandemic reawakening carries a clear message: Call to Action is the label that in 2023 put the still-in-demand Trash/Treasure out on vinyl. Diogo keeps Discos Extendes as his shelter, gathering talent and retreating into it. At the same time, a disseminating vocation — that talent turned outward, on a mission to champion the different sensibilities that can converge in music made for dancing.

Junkeira is direct. It hides nothing in its intent, nor does it conceal the origin of its love, nor the way it exercises its fascination with the source. Geography can define movements, described and echoed countless times outside and then inside the net. The signifiers are known to all — it's a matter of applying them with respect and flow. Perhaps the craft in this production really does come down to love, when it comes to it. What is "WTF" if not a declaration of love — at the very least of closeness — to the sonic essence of the English rave? The piano stab, the breaks defining that hardcore state of mind, the string bed lifting feet off the floor. Closing out the EP, "Freak" gathers different emotions — eyes still shut, body in comedown while still moving. Chill. Everything rounded. Bassline, vibes, vocals woven into the rhythm.

Rewinding, the opening track "100 Planos" is a throwback to Roçadas (2019) — harder on the ground, with a 4/4 beat broken up by claps, a circular structure built for DJs, with mix-friendly entry and exit points. Then "Turbo Love" puts the keys in control, foregrounding them, letting a car alarm ring out and balance the beat — a reverential nod to UK Garage felt as raw material, already part of the lineage that has been the continuous evolution from Disco onwards: an evolution that traces a line and its branches, from which you can isolate any chronological point since at least 1977 and combine whatever elements form a personality. The spirit lives, as summer kicks in.

If you’ve been keeping your ears to the ground, chances are this won’t be your first encounter with the glistening, shape-shifting sounds of Yushh. She has spent recent years DJing across the globe and releasing a series of standout tracks and remixes, cementing her status as one of the most vital flag-bearers of the Bristol continuum.

Somehow, it has been three years since her last solo outing. Making up for lost time, we finally welcome Yushh to Timedance for a searing five-track EP, “Full Body AXY”.

Yushh’s sound resists stasis, nothing feels formulaic. Instead, each track moves with an expert sense of detail, striking a rare balance between precision and instinct, dancefloor science and raw emotion. With a natural flair, she bends low-end pressure into something airborne. Heavy sub frequencies dissolve into a feeling of weightlessness that is both physical and elusive.

How can music hit with such precision and still feel like it floats beyond the rules of gravity? Yushh answers in her own language, where tension and release blur, where sounds flicker between density and light, and where the dancefloor becomes a space for both body-centric exploration and emotional catharsis.

Highscore is one of the newest-and quite sensational-discoveries in funk of the 1980s out of Germany. Two tracks Breakin' Out and Girls So Fine, both recorded about 40 years ago and shelved ever since, are finally receiving a long-overdue 12" release.

Label founder DJ Scientist tells the story of how the tracks were uncovered:

"Several years ago, while researching the Crea label-after we had already licensed 'You're Not The One For Me' by Peter Patzer-I also wanted to find out more about another band on the label: Nuages, who had released the stunning jazz-funk/fusion album Cumulus.

Interestingly, a Discogs user had uploaded a hand written promo letter from one of the band members along with the LP. In it, drummer Mike Bach mentioned plans for a second album, as well as a single featuring a 'coloured singer'-which caught my attention. (A note on language: the original letter from 1985 uses the term 'coloured.' We've chosen to quote it directly as a historical document, but want to be clear that this reflects the terminology of the era and not language we would use today.)

Digging deeper, more information was found on Bach's own website, where a project called 'High Score' was mentioned. I immediately got in touch and asked if the recordings from that project still existed. Unfortunately, Bach couldn't locate any of the material at the time.

Years passed before we reconnected, when we featured 'Strange Weekend' by Nuages on our recent yacht rock compilation. I still had the Highscore project in mind and asked again. Once more, Mike had to deny-but he made another effort and reached out to former collaborators. A few weeks later, guitarist and composer Hermann Behrens discovered cassette tapes containing tracks from the Highscore project. I couldn't wait to hear them…"

To go back a bit: Nuages were a jazz-rock band from Bremerhaven, originally formed by guitarist Joachim "Fussy" Fuß in 1982. The lineup included Mike Bach (drums and percussion), Klaus Hinners (bass), and Frank Fischer (keyboards). In 1984, John Dillard, a U.S. GI stationed in Germany, joined Nuages for several live performances as a soul singer.
Around 1985/1986, Dillard and Bach then teamed up with Hermann Behrens with a new focus on electro funk and disco: Highscore was born.

When the three demo recordings were finally sent to us, they immediately blew us away. Breakin' Out stood out as an incredible electro-funk boogie gem-exactly what we had been looking for. What's more, it didn't sound like a rough demo at all, Breakin Out was a well-arranged and almost perfectly recorded track, driven by fresh, vibrant synths, drum machines and guitar. The cassette mix wasn't entirely final, but the remaining details could be refined during mastering.

The B-side, Girl So Fine, impressed just as much-equally strong and just as captivating as the A-side. Our reaction was immediate: this had to be released without delay!

Most importantly, there are a few more recordings from Highscore. However, these only exist as multi-track studio reels, which currently cannot be transferred. In the best case, more material from the band may surface soon-hopefully without another long wait.

The 12" release Breakin' Out / Girl So Fine" comes with a newly designed picture sleeve, featuring an original photo of the band members, including background singer Ruben Hopkins who does not appear on these two recordings.

The vinyl edition is limited to 400 copies.

As the so-called “Latin boom” becomes a new anchor for hard-swung club sounds, it is crucial to recognize that the region’s musical culture extends far beyond dembow edits and the pop-trap hybrids that have edged into the mainstream. Monterrey-born, New York City-based producer and DJ Delia Beatriz, aka Debit, returns to NAAFI with Potpourri, a generous and kinetic collection of dancefloor-oriented tracks filled with percussive flourishes, squelching 303 basslines, and rhythmic mutations that actively challenge the status quo. Rather than rebuilding “Latin sounds” as a fixed category, the album rethinks their internal logic, tracing the evolution of techno and house in cities like Detroit, Chicago, and New York alongside parallel innovations emerging in Mexico, Colombia, and across the wider Latin world. Positioned on the bridge between Mexico and the US, Potpourri does not seek synthesis as a gesture of smooth fusion, but as a site of disruption.

The album can be heard as a loose follow-up to System (2018), Debit’s NAAFI-released EP that expanded the sonic potential of tribal guarachero through triplet-driven rhythms, industrial pressure, and noisy reconstruction. Potpourri retains guaracha as a structural backbone while drawing further influence from veteran DJ and producer Javier Estrada—who also appeared on System—and particularly from his fast-paced, nonlinear style of mixing. That approach becomes a formal principle here: canonical structures are dismantled, repetition is avoided, and tracks evolve without sacrificing propulsion. Coming after the introspective temporal inquiry of Desaceleradas and the speculative historical acoustics of The Long Count, Potpourri arrives as a deliberate surge of energy. As Beatriz explains: “It’s a manifesto for rethinking form and sound in dance music. By stepping outside traditional structures and embracing the potpourri approach, I’m creating new meaning with familiar rhythms. I’ve also been applying this to my DJ sets, using it as a tool to break free from established norms and explore new narrative possibilities.”

Years in the making, Potpourri imagines an alternate timeline in which the psychedelic squelch of acid—echoing pioneers such as DJ Pierre and Mr. Fingers—and the dub-inflected atmospheres of Basic Channel entered into direct and sustained contact with Latin American club mutations. Those references are legible, but never merely quoted. Instead, they are folded into syncopated hi-hats, overdriven kicks, and unstable arrangements that absorb both the intensity of the parties Beatriz remembers from Monterrey and the abrasive edge she sharpened at DIY noise shows in New England. The result is unmistakably a dancefloor record—heard in tracks as forceful as “Pero like” and the peak-time pressure of “tuvesuerte”—but one saturated with grotesque, psychedelic atmospheres, where sounds dissolve into hoarse croaks, acidic smears, and anxiety-inducing growls. Here, the rave becomes not simply a site of release, but a platform for navigating identity, hybridity, and artistic formation across borders. Moving through peaks and ruptures, Potpourri reveals a party narrative that is not linear but multidimensional.

By folding together the fluidity of DJ culture, the experimental charge of acid, and the rhythmic vitality of guaracha, Potpourri proposes a space of formal and political innovation within Latin America’s rapidly expanding electronic music landscape. It is a record that refuses containment, pushing against the templates through which Latin electronic music is often consumed, and insisting instead on friction, instability, and transformation as generative conditions for the dancefloor.

With their fourth full-length album Signal Fire, GENGHIS TRON awaken us from the post-apocalyptic daydreams of their previous work with a violent—and most welcome—shove. This time, the distant-future reveries we first heard on Board Up The House give way to an unsettling awareness of the present we’re actually living, as our circumstances grow too pressing to try and escape. “Signal Fire envisions a Kojima-esque dystopia of endless proxy warfare,” says vocalist and lyricist Tony Wolski (The Armed), “where the deluge of available information has outmoded the human ability to parse it. A world where those amoral, shameless and cunning enough can literally reshape reality at their whim through sheer insistence." Having roared onto the scene in 2004 with a uniquely demented blend of extreme metal, synthesizer textures, and drum-machine madness, GENGHIS TRON are no strangers to making a forceful impression. But Signal Fire marks the first time bandleaders Michael Sochynsky and Hamilton Jordan –joined again by Wolski and Nick Yacyshyn (SUMAC) on drums, plus newcomer Kenny Szymanski (The Armed) on bass–has captured this level of urgency with such visceral precision. “This album is very much rooted in the now,” confirms Jordan. Album opener “I Am All” sets the table with a chest-throbbing synth pulse as Wolski declares “I’m on a tear, I’m on a tear,” over swirling industrial rhythms and creeping synthlines. “Nothing Blooms in the Hollow” grafts desert-rock swagger onto interlocking layers of dizzying riffs and chants before Wolski steers the band into full-on sonic burnout, like a spaceship careening into the sun. “Born Prey” navigates deftly through Genghis Tron’s classic sonic touchpoints: furious blastbeats, electronic breaks, haunting vocal earworms, and a towering synth-pop crescendo. Meditative interludes like “Like Fotocrom” and “Without Form” deliver shimmering, ominous beauty. And “New Gods” invokes Rabies-era Skinny Puppy to bring the album to a bludgeoning, anthemic finale, as Wolski screams on repeat: “New gods to bleed me out / No new peace / Bleed me out / I love it.” Twenty years into their career, having proven their ability to forge common ground between Ministry and Aphex Twin, between Brutal Truth and Boards Of Canada, between Cluster and Converge, ugly-beautiful new genre hybrids from GENGHIS TRON no longer come as a surprise. What’s remarkable, however, is how Sochynsky and Jordan have taken a project that started in 2004 as a dorm-room genre-pastiche experiment —”a chaotic, wild amalgamation of all our favorite stuff, literally slammed together,” says Jordan—and refined their songwriting craft to deliver a sound that is unmistakably their own.

If – in some parallel universe (or perhaps a not-so-distant-future version of the one we’re already sentenced to living in) – the evil overloads of artificial intelligence were actually successful in their attempts to create convincingly enjoyable “original music,” more specifically tasked with wholly encapsulating my own personal tastes by data-chugging some cocktail of – oh, I don’t know – the posters on my wall, the records in my “most listened to” pile, the mixtapes I made for others, intensive physical scans of my auditory cortex, amygdala, hippocampus, heart strings, whatever else they have splayed out on their autopsy table with the intention of generating one all-encompassing “perfect band” based on the fruitful sum of their findings – that band, for me, would be (or would at least sound exactly like) the Tara Clerkin Trio. It is, quite simply, without exception, the music I wish to hear.

Formed in Bristol UK (where none of them are from yet all of whom are deeply engrained) in 2020, the Tara Clerkin Trio – as it somewhat democratically exists today, despite the singular authority implied by its name – consists of the titular Tara Clerkin, her partner Sunny Joe Paradisos, and Sunny’s brother, Patrick Benjamin. I’ll confess, I don’t know what their respective roles are within the operation and there’s only a very small part of me that cares to learn, as one of my favorite qualities in an objective listening experience is the mystery of who is playing what, which sounds are “authentic” versus synthesized, which chunks are performed “live” in a room together versus meticulously Frankenstein’ed from measure to measure, or how exactly the overall sound is so (seemingly) effortlessly achieved. Though, I suspect, if and when I do witness a live performance by this band at any point, my enjoyment of the music will not be lost in my better understanding of it.

With two extraordinary mini-albums – In Spring (2021) and On The Turning Ground (2023) – making a splash on London’s formidable World of Echo label in wake of their self-titled 2020 debut, this upcoming Somewhere Good LP is, in many ways, the band’s most realised work. In running their usual gauntlet of idiosyncratic (*an overused adjective for which here there is regrettably no sufficient alternative) approaches, Clerkin & co. colour in and outside of compositional lines over the course of 40+ celebratory minutes - never wallowing, despite inherently somber subject matters of self-defeat, disease, displacement, restlessness, gentrification - allowing their arrangements and improvisations ample space and time to situate, stretch out, breathe, cross-pollinate, and ultimately take deeper hold on the listener’s imagination – all while somehow sounding more like themselves than ever before.

Of course, there are traceable influences herein, if one felt that such comparisons were necessary to properly examine and enjoy this music (they aren’t)… Being the big dumb American from the small boring town that I am, cornfed on ‘90s alternative radio with the enchantingly exotic sounds of Maxinquaye and Mezzanine emanating from my chunky tube television, I can’t help but to make a blatantly obvious reference to a “Bristol sound”, ie the whole trip-hop trip, the pastoral crooning over the suggestive urban grime of cracked electro/piano treatments, the digitally-yet-primitively reconstructed James Bond soundtrack string-beats, etc.. But the Tara Clerkin Trio is so infinitely much more than that. There are elements of avant-pop, modern classical, kraut-folk, audio verité, dare I say indie rock (and not of the beer guzzling, masturbatory fuzz-flex variety but perhaps more like a Trish Keenan-fronted Faust, Adrian Sherwood at the mixing desk of If You’re Feeling Sinister, or – in expanding on our alternate reality – a world in which High Llamas cut a full-length for Warp Records with Andrew Weatherall on coffee duty).

The hazy, unmappable skyline-mirage of droning harmonium, upright bass, peculiarly accentuated wind instruments, acoustic guitar, hushed yet literally mighty keys combine to hypnotizing effect. The band may make underlying nods to jazz, sure, but it’s not appropriation, it’s that they have the actual chops to build it out. Beneath the janky samples and oddball percussive embellishment lies actually great drumming. Beyond the manipulated vocal witchery and woefully reflective plain-spoke moments are Tara’s subtly inspired melodies, sung with what might honestly be the glue to the whole crazy equation. A calming consistency throughout the otherwise unpredictably dynamic, boldly intuitive, uniquely British exploration of this (their own) universe in song. – Ryan Davis (Chicago, February 2026)

Long-time house architect Louie Vega dropped his comprehensive last album, ‘Expansions In The NYC’, as another homage to New York City's 50-year history with dance music. It was full of vocal collaborations and spanned disco, boogie and all forms of house.

'Touch The Sky' feat Tony Momrelle is the latest track from it to get full remix treatment, following on from 'All My Love' late last year.

First to offer his own perspective is Japan's Masaki Morii, a regular on the likes of King Street and Shelter, as well as the founder of his own M2SOUL MUSIC & NU ONE. He bridges soul, deep and Afro house, always with plenty of emotion. His first remix is a lush layering of feathery drums and skyward melodies with the original vocal bringing plenty of heart-aching soul. It's a life-giving work for a moment of pure celebration and release, and shows how musical and artful house can be in the right hands. Extended dub and instrumental remixes all bring out subtly different facets of the original without losing its uplifting essence.

Brandon Weems and Craig Handfield are Musclecars, a duo with a community-first approach to music. From high-profile magazine front covers to gigs at Panoramabar and their residency at Nowadays in New York, they have a fresh and authentic sound that pulls from soul, jazz and disco on labels like BBE, Rhythm Section and their own Coloring Lessons. Their majestic, 10-minute remix is a soulful deep house odyssey designed to nourish and enrich. The soaring vocals come from a place of love, and there is freedom to the jazzy melodies and lavish percussion that warms the heart while pianos and synths are locked in a joyous tussle. The dub shifts things back to chunkier, more bouncy drums, with slightly pared-back, more late-night melodies, while the instrumental is all about giving everything room to breathe.

‘Yarrow’ is a bouquet of new music by Portland, Oregon-based musician and field recordist Patricia Wolf, marking the label’s ninth release and the third of Season Two. These works are her reflections on the life cycle of plants and their dynamic ecological relationships.

Wolf created the album in response to her artist residency at the Rocky Mountain Biological Laboratory in Gothic, Colorado, as part of the Art-Science Exchange Project in the summer of 2024. She worked closely with ecologists Dr Paul CaraDonna, Dr Amy Iler, Dr Jane Ogilvie, Dr Nickolas Waser, Dr Mary Price, and Dr Will Petry, spending weeks engaged in long-term research on plants, pollinators, and their interactions as the climate changes.

Each track on Yarrow looks at a different part of a plant’s life. The songs touch on the conditions that plants need to grow, the quiet life of roots, how flowers attract pollinators, and the strength of seeds. The first single, 'Inflorescence', the scientific name for the floral display that a plant makes in an effort to reproduce, captures this event in song. The music slowly builds layers, reflecting the album’s overall feel. The album ends with the majestic Boards of Canada-esque 'Adapted for Extreme Conditions', and the entire b-side features Patricia’s field recordings from around Gothic, Colorado, and a guided meditation by Dr Paul CaraDonna, whose research inspired the project, inviting listeners to tune into the sounds and activities of the ecosystem.

INGERABLE, which means “inedible” or “unpalatable” in French, was the adjective a record label used to describe Cathy Claret when she showed them the song inspired by a Caló poem that is now part of our upcoming release, “Por el Chiben.” The piece was born in 1987 when the artist was living in Can Tunis (Barcelona), inspired by a poem she heard from Uncle Bastián. Years later, when recording her first album, she included this composition, but the artist was censored for not fitting commercial standards. Now, Alhaja Records revives it in an album with two versions: a flamenco one, featuring Emilio Caracafé on guitar, and an electronic one, produced by Wará.

‘Confession' is an album of quiet upheaval. An album about closeness that arrives late and unexpectedly. About stability rubbing up against desire. About the way friendship can suddenly tilt into something charged — and how that charge unsettles everything around it. Where earlier work often observed from a distance, Confession turns inward. The voice is closer, warmer, less shielded. “This wasn’t the album I intended to make,” says Carla dal Forno. “I originally wanted something veiled and abstract, but I realised I couldn’t hide behind abstraction — the songs only worked when I leaned into emotional truth.”

This is dal Forno’s fourth LP, written and recorded over several years in a small country town, in a studio housed inside a partially abandoned hospital. Long corridors, humming lights, emptied rooms — a place built for care and waiting, now quiet enough for thoughts to echo. That stillness shapes the record: intimate, watchful, unadorned. “I live in a small country town that offers a stillness my life didn’t previously have,” she explains. “In that quiet, feelings I might’ve ignored in a busy city grew loud.” Dal Forno sings plainly and conversationally, with an emotional precision that sharpens the everyday into something quietly unsettling.

The album moves through paired states: going out and staying in, wanting and withholding, devotion and distraction. Domestic calm set against private unrest. A long-held relationship offers safety and routine, while a newer connection opens emotional fault lines — longing, jealousy, fantasy, self-exposure. “At the heart of the album is a friendship that became emotionally charged in an unexpected way,” dal Forno says. “That shift brought daydreaming, jealousy, tenderness, confusion, self-awareness — and eventually acceptance.”

The drama here is internal, incremental, lived. Musically, Confession feels lighter on its feet than its subject matter suggests. Melodic basslines anchor the songs while guitars, harmonies, and gently off-kilter rhythms move around them. There’s a looseness, even a playfulness — “like the sensation of tension lifting once you finally admit something to yourself,” as dal Forno puts it. The album traces a subtle arc: attraction blooming where it shouldn’t; obsession quietly taking hold; fantasy overtaking reality; clarity arriving slowly, sometimes painfully. Visually and emotionally, Confession returns to modest spaces: backyards, beds, night streets, overgrown paths. “The record exists in that contrast,” dal Forno reflects. “Peaceful surroundings, unsettled interior.”

Like all of dal Forno’s work, Confession resists clean conclusions. It doesn’t moralise desire or romanticise restraint. Instead, it lingers in the in-between — where love is stable but not total, where yearning teaches as much as it hurts, where solitude becomes a form of care. Plain-spoken but emotionally complex. Rooted and restless. Held together by bass, breath, routine, weather. An album about admitting what you feel —and living with what that admission changes.

Baby T is a space away from her work as B.Traits in which Brianna Price can lean more into the junglist, drum ‘n’ bass and hardcore sounds which she loves so dearly. With BSHEE02, the second drop on Price’s own Banshee label, Baby T delivers a darkside masterclass of an EP. This record is a quartet of system blowers which doesn’t let up for a single second from start to finish.

Opener ‘Times Up’ is urgent from the off - the initial strains of this joint find sirens wailing in the monitors over a twitchy kick/drum/hats combo. From here on it’s distilled raver perfection, the drums taking us on a wild Wipeout-style ride as the subbiest of bass skulks at the bottom of the mix. Imagine a more technoid take on the classic breakbeat freerides of Skanna and you’re not far off the ‘Times Up’ sound.

A remix of ‘Times Up’ from man like Aloka leans with devilish glee into the murky underworld that lurks beneath Baby T’s original. Aloka’s version is extremely eerie in a manner which makes you think of the darkest corners of a DMZ party. When things really kick into gear, driven by an irresistible kick dembow, the effect is hypnotic - think the dubwise junglism of the UVB-76 cohort.

BSHEE02’s B-side kicks off with ‘Coercive Control’. This is a cut which delivers on its title in spades, putting the listener in a trance with an interplay of low-slung bass, whirligig synth tones and more of those perfectly executed broken beats. The acid starts to kick in around the minute mark, and it turns out to herald a total earworm of a lead melody.

There’s plenty of dimly-lit malevolence to BHSEE02 closer ‘Dense Dickwood’s grinding atmospherics and gurgling bass throbs. However, Baby T opting for a half-time drum break here gives the cut a vibe not dissimilar to the weightiest jams of classic Massive Attack - that is, until an absolutely remorseless switch-up occurs halfway through, delivering volley after volley of intense drum hits.

Few artists can conjure up the sort of spirituality that Fred P manages whenever he turns on his machines - and this brand new label from the artist means we'll be getting a shedload more of it. Sometimes it's deep, muggy, insular, at others more outward-looking and cosmic. And that's what we have here - emotionally dense sounds on 'Galaxy Walk (Journey mix)' with jazzy motifs off in the distance, spoken words in the foreground and dancing percussion that is optimistic and hopeful. 'Modern Art Talk' is just as balmy as you journey through a sound world that feels as infinite as space itself, while Fred himself muses on his art. 'Inner Channels (edit 4)' is a dusty shuffler marbled with muted chords and brighter melodic stars that feel impromptu and layered in live.

180g Heavy double vinyl LP with liner notes by Tyran Grillo. Limited Japanese Obi for the first pressing. Original artwork by Russell Mills and photography by Jean-Baptiste Mondino.

The third Time Capsule is a body of dub reinterpretations by celebrated producer Bill Laswell of Ethiopian singer Gigi. Curated by Tokyo record collector, music researcher and seasoned reissue supervisor Ken Hidaka, it is the first time Illuminated Audio is pressed to vinyl after its CD release in 2003.

Ejigayehu Shibabaw was born in 1974 in Chagni, northwestern Ethiopia and by pursuing a career as a singer, went against her father’s strict, traditional gender roles. As Gigi, she embraced the same musical freedom she had strived for in her personal life, incorporating the Ethiopian church, funk, hip-hop, West and South African music into her work. She first settled in Nairobi, then Addis Ababa, where she quickly established herself as one of the city’s leading singers. A move to San Francisco in 1998 led to a long and fruitful creative partnership with bassist and producer Bill Laswell.

Around the same time, Chris Blackwell had stepped away from Island Records to start the art house film company and label Palm Pictures. He took an interest in Gigi and together with Laswell, pulled together an all-star cast of musicians for her self-titled US debut album, including Herbie Hancock, Pharoah Sanders and Wayne Shorter. It won international critical acclaim, not just for its musicianship but for making Gigi a “defining voice for the Ethiopian expatriate community”, as journalist Tyran Grillo praises in his Time Capsule liner notes. From the nation-defining 1896 victory over Italian invaders to the quiet revolutionaries who wear simple shemma garments, Grillo believes the themes in Gigi make it “a shower of sunlight on her homeland for those ignorant of its struggles.”

After its success, Blackwell encouraged them to go back into the studio to rethink the album and Illuminated Audio was born. “Anyone can make a voice sound worldly”, Grillo remarks, “but rare are those who can make one sound inner-worldly.” Gigi was clear with Laswell to give her vocals a minor role “because it’s already been done.” Instead her Amharic verse is fleeting, exhaling through the textures like ghostly fragments; soaring yet muted. Yet the album is still titled under her name, an assertion by Laswell of her central role in the album’s creation. Not only was it a fully endorsed project by Gigi, but she would be present throughout its development, giving feedback on half-finished ideas as Laswell played them back in the studio. “It works perfectly”, she reflected after the album’s release. “We wanted to capture the whole spirit of each track, and Bill’s remixes create a different music language that really puts you in a pleasant place”.

This new vocabulary takes its lead from a technical approach that Laswell had been perfecting during a furtive creative period at the turn of the millennium. Much like his ambient interpretations of Miles Davis (Panthalassa, 1998), Bob Marley (Dreams of Freedom, 1997), and Carlos Santana (Divine Light, 2001), Laswell approached Illuminated Audio by returning to the original multitrack masters. Gigi wasn’t just reworked, but recomposed into an expansive lattice of instruments, submerged in a watery ambience of dub and trance undercurrents.

Sonically, this new language that Gigi refers to, is manifested by the original album’s more understated parts being pushed to the fore. Explaining his contrasting methods, Laswell saw Gigi as being “put together in a way that fits”. Contrastingly, in Illuminated Audio, “a lot of things that I featured in the remix weren’t as audible in the original.” Instrumentation laying near-dormant, deep in the mix, are brought to the fore: the acid rock guitar and Wayne Shorter’s saxophone on ‘Tew Ante Sew’, Graham Haynes’ flugelhorn on ‘Nafekeñ’, Laswell’s bass on ‘Kahn’, the melodica in Mengedegna or the floating synths and talking drums in ‘Gud Fella’.

Brought to his attention by mentor DJ Nori, Hidaka describes Illuminated Audio as a “masterful sonic exploration into ethereal ambience and dub” and made sure this reissue also contained a full remaster to give its “deep musicality” much better dynamics and density in the overall sound. Hidaka admits that Laswell's music “is sometimes so out-there, it is often misunderstood” and, indeed, to dub album non-believers this might seem like a prolific producer imposing himself on another artist’s work; eternally developing rearrangements that never quite get to its destination. But that’s missing its true power and triumph. This is more than the reissue of a remix, but “a wholly unique musical entity”, as Hidaka describes. Illuminated Audio refers to the illuminated manuscripts that comprise the major part of Ethiopian art and its new compositions stand in proud solitude as a rare body of reworks that both informs and enhances their originals.

You can't put Bebe Rexha in a box. From her Grammy-winning songwriting roots on Eminem's "The Monster" to global chart-toppers with David Guetta and Florida Georgia Line, Rexha has established herself as a premier musical chameleon. With her latest project, Dirty Blonde, she officially enters a new era as an independent powerhouse. Now signed to EMPIRE, the Brooklyn-born star has crafted a 13-song "genre kaleidoscope" that serves as her first-ever visual album, representing a total creative rebirth and a departure from the major-label system she's known since she was a teenager.

Recorded across London, Tokyo, and Europe, Dirty Blonde captures the energy of Rexha's global travels. The project seamlessly blends heavy-hitting dance floor anthems with deep, personal storytelling. With the lead single "New Religion" she takes us straight to the club by reimagining the iconic dance record "Insomnia" by Faithless. On "Tokyo," she explores a drum & bass pulse inspired by a late-night rendezvous in Japan, while "Cike Cike" (produced by long-time collaborator DJ Snake) sees Rexha embracing her Albanian heritage by mixing traditional linguistic roots with modern 808 basslines.

At the emotional core of the album is the lead single, "I Like You Better Than Me." The track strips away the pop-star veneer to tackle themes of insecurity and self-scrutiny, blending raw lyrics with a pop-rock edge. From the Jersey-bounce-meets-country vibes of "Drink and a Little Love" to her vulnerable reflections on fame, Dirty Blonde is a celebration of an artist who is finally playing by her own rules. As Rexha firmly asserts, "The old Bebe is dead," leaving behind a focused, stronger creator who is making the music she truly loves.

For her new and most radical album »Electroacoustic Works for Halldorophone«, Martina Bertoni used the electronic instrument at EMS Stockholm to create four pieces that are massive in scale and incredibly intimate, sonically restrained and emotionally overwhelming—almost ambient and always demanding your full attention.

Martina Bertoni returns to Karlrecords with »Electroacoustic Works for Halldorophone,« her most radical album yet. The foundation for the four electroacoustic pieces was laid during a residency at Stockholm’s legendary Elektronmusikstudion (EMS) that the Berlin-based cellist and composer used to explore the curious instrument, originally designed by Halldór Úlfarsson in 2008, as an algorithmic system in order to examine tunings and the mathematical relationships between Aiming to analyse and understand their interaction beyond the composer’s control, Bertoni sought to engage more deeply with the concepts of time, tuning, and, most importantly, control. Accordingly, her four »Electroacoustic Works for Halldorophone« seem both massive in scale and incredibly intimate, sonically restrained and emotionally overwhelming— almost ambient and always demanding your full attention.

While the halldorophone—famously used by Hildur Guðnadóttir for her »Joker« score—roughly resembles a cello and can be played like one, it is an electronic instrument. The vibration of its strings is being picked up, amplified, and then routed through a speaker. This creates a feedback loop that becomes increasingly complex depending on how much gain is added to individual strings. Úlfarsson gave Bertoni a carte blanche for how to handle the instrument, but she stresses that she relied on »minimal interventions—some string strumming and plucking« that set the interactions of different sounds and frequencies into motion. »I decided to not approach it like a cellist would,« she explains. »Instead I used it as a kind of generative organ by turning it into a feedback machine, with tuned feedback triggering more feedback depending on the tuning, which was based on tetraphonic scales that I could apply on the four main strings as well as the sympathetic group of strings.«

Bertoni recorded the material in the EMS studio, later composing and arranging the four complex pieces in her home in Berlin, after which they were mixed and mastered by Ciaran O’Shea. While this can be considered a compositional abstraction process, traces of her concrete work as a performer are firmly ingrained in the music. »The halldorophone doesn’t have a line output, just a double set of speakers, which is why I recorded all sounds with two microphones in the EMS studio,« she explains. »That’s why there’s plenty of breathing sounds here and there—label owner Thomas Herbst and I jokingly refer to the album as my ›chamber music record‹.« And indeed, there is a striking sense of intimacy to these four pieces throughout which individual sounds, harmonic frequencies, and even subtle rhythmic figures seem to move both on their own accord but also according to a underlying vision that steers their interplay.

Indeed, »Electroacoustic Works for Halldorophone« is an album built on and marked by contrasts. The soothing polylogue of single sounds in the higher register on opener »Omen in G« is counterpointed by massive bass drones, while the second piece, »Nominal in D,« plays a cunning game of repetition and difference by combining thick textures with all kinds of rhythmic elements. »Fades in C«—the longest of the four pieces, clocking in at 17 minutes—unlocks the emotional potentials of the sonic qualities of the halldorophone, sounding at once serene and anthemic, and »Organon in D« closes the album by underscoring how Bertoni’s unconventional approach allows her to seamlessly transform simple, quiet tones into complex, towering walls of sound.

W.R.F. was formed in 2015 by Nina and late studio partner Andrew Weatherall to help wrangle the vast output recorded together beyond his solo releases.
Spotlighting nine tracks from the Apparently Solo series of EPs recorded between 2016- 2019 and released on Bandcamp in 2023, this lustrous time capsule marks the culmination of Walsh and Weatherall’s creative relationship born after they clicked at London’s earliest acid house clubs, becoming partners then managers of their Sabres Of Paradise/Sabrettes labels before taking different paths by the late '90s.
An accomplished musician, Nina had learned the art of studio technology by the time they reunited and started working together in 2012. Created at her Facility 4 Studio situated in the dangerous, gang-ridden no man’s land between Streatham and Mitcham, Anamchara captures the super-prolific creative stretch starting in 2015 that produced Weatherall’s Convenanza and Qualia solo sets, W.R.F.’s The Phoenix Suburb (And Other Stories) plus a whole lot more. According to Nina, Andrew envisioned the spectacular ‘Borderland’ as natural successor to ‘Smokebelch’, his most revered track. When it came to his remix, Nina enlisted renowned viola virtuoso Sarah Sarhandi and composed new harmonies with Pachelbel’s Canon in D Minor in mind.
The set also catches the breakthrough period when, through Nina’s careful coaxing, Andrew started using the computer system she’d set up to better express his musical visions by arranging the elements, grooves and melodies she sent him. Still considered the UK’s greatest DJ-producer, Andrew’s arrangements were inspired by his club-igniting sets. “This allowed me to mix the colours for his palette whilst he was painting the picture,” says Nina. Anamchara straddles the gamut of musical styles explored by W.R.F. at this time, from slower paced psychedelic “drug chug” outings ‘We Two’. ‘Heat To Meat Ratio’, ‘Hidden Watchers Part 1’ to banging acid house and techno sometimes inspired by the violence outside the studio door, including ‘SCHLAP’, ‘Crack-Ed’ and churning acid juggernaut ‘Yacidik’ (“After much dangling of the acid carrot, Andrew took a bite and, after one familiar raised eyebrow, never looked back,” says Nina).
Many tracks fly elements from the enormous sonic library Nina inherited from late partner Erick Legrand that she called The Akashic Library of Sound. Marking Andrew’s 2016 admission into the vault, ‘Rattly Old Puffin’ boasts Erick’s psychedelic guitar and tumbling drum loop Weatherall would run with, including on ‘Borderland’. “Erick was like our third member,” says Nina.
Bringing down the curtain, ‘Alma’’s exquisitely poignant melody that unfolds over thirteen time-stopping minutes was composed by Nina while navigating Erick’s birth and departure date anniversaries to accompany Andrew’s reading from Gordon Burn’s 1991 same-named novel at 2018’s Durham Literary Festival. Burn’s novel imagines early 60s popstrel Alma Cogan, who succumbed to cancer in 1966 surviving to reflect on fame. “Now it just makes me think of Erick. And every time I hear those well-placed cymbal crashes I can only think of the Captain himself.”
A beautiful grand finale for this astonishing selection of pure gold from the vaults.
Kris Needs / 2026