Buscar:la machine d argent

The annual Bonkers Music compilation returns, delivering another round of high-energy bangers. This year, the release explores a slightly evolved musical style while staying true to its signature sound. Celebrating its sixth edition, “Year VI” will be available on 12” vinyl, accompanied by a few exciting surprises.

A1. Neskeh’s “106 Cabrel” revolves around a melodic yet hypnotically repetitive lead sequence, crafted to evoke a trance-like state on the dance floor and radiate positive energy. The foundation of big, punchy kicks and a robust bassline gives it a quintessential club vibe.

A percussive break in the middle shifts the mood entirely, paying homage to Goa rhythms and shamanic rituals, immersing listeners in a more primal atmosphere. The drop reignites the momentum, enhanced by the warm tones of the beloved Minilogue, adding an almost epic dimension to the journey.

A2. Berlin’s Mike Sacchetti and Madrid’s David Meyer unite on “Agria Pachanga,” a dance energy piece that pulses with percussive drive and a subtle touch of Latin identity.

Acid-inspired arrangements swirl around classic drum machine sounds. The syncopated rhythms and pumping basslines push the track towards an agitated club atmosphere, building this song into a bold declaration of fiesta.

A3. Two friends from Guadalajara, Mexico, Leonor & Ludviq, now living in different European cities, (Barcelona & Lyon) join forces to bring you Capybara Trance, This electrifying track combines dark, driving energy with intricately sequenced melodies, a hard-hitting chugging bassline, and the unique touch of capybara-inspired sounds. Anchored by a commanding kick drum that sets an unrelenting tempo.

B1. “Nebula” is a deep, atmospheric journey through cosmic sounds and pulsating rhythms. The track blends hypnotic melodies with dark synthetic textures, evoking a sense of drifting through endless galaxies. With a strong groove and intricate arrangements, it delivers energy that fits perfectly in both morning sets and more conceptual playlists. The collaboration between Radial Gaze, Ducati Flux, and Persona RS captures the spirit of exploration, creating a versatile track that can be the highlight of any set

B2. Intruso hailing from Bogota, now based in Barcelona brings “Somos Acido” this track draws inspiration from the early 2000’s House and Trance, capturing the nostalgia and emotional resonance of his first experiences with electronic music as a child. A driving Acid bassline injects dynamic energy, making it perfectly suited for the dance floor.

B3. Argentinian born, Australia based producer Poulper teams up with Mexican maestro Hugo Vallejo to kick off this intergalactic adventure. This track weaves together acid-laced elements and an infectious rhythm, layered with haunting post-dark vocals that narrate the fiery, cosmic tale of love burning in the vast expanse of space. A bold and immersive journey into the unknown, perfect for this stellar compilation.

Círculo Cerrado presents its second album “Circular Economy”, 4 tracks that span a wide range of textures with the common denominator of atemporality.

A1. Rindeau, the Argentinian illustrator and music artist from Strain Collective, presents “Machine soul”, intelligently crafted with the best combination of electro-techno and EBM.

A2. Galdar’s breed Aniano materializes another mind-blowing track with “Encadenado a la Realidad”, a house tune with funk overtones and psychedelic undertones.

B1. Javier Carballo and Aniano aka HDZ brings a darker engine “ La Furnia ”, trailblazingfrom breaks, IDM to acid house for full voltage.

B2. Frenchman Tom Joyce, owner of Sounds Benefit label, captures in “ Good Game“ a hypnotic and minimalistic track with hints of tripping on top of 909 drums.

2025 Repress

Berlin-based Frenchman Alexkid lands on Rawax with ‘Wake Up’, a fantastic new album that explores acid from many different angles.
As an early protagonist in the 90s Parisian electronic music culture, Alexkid has been paving his own path for over two decades. Obsessed with drum-machines since his teens, he is a skilled producer and sound engineer who imbues his productions with real soul and warmth, even releasing his own lauded Ableton Live Plugins. He is a Rex club resident, released albums on Laurent Garnier's legendary F Communications and has also appeared on labels like FUSE London, Rekids, Ovum, Freerange, and
Underground Quality. With this new album he proves once again why he is so well respected by presenting eight acid laced beauties on the infamous Rawax, following appearances from iO (Mulen), Shonky, Enzo Siragusa, Julian Perez, and Diego Krause. 'Kick It' is a bristling, in your face and pricking acid banger with restless 303 lines spraying about above
punchy kicks, the mood switches up for the headier and dubbed out, but still acid laced, 'Le Manteau d'Argent', and 'Tribute' then takes you down a deeper, more shadowy and sparse late night path with a warm, bubbly acid bassline leading the way. Sublime atmospherics characterise the spacious, deeply cosmic 'Revolutions' which has contorted drums and bass making you move, followed by the physical force of acid head wrecker 'No Hiss'. The
excellent 'Idle' strips things back to a propulsive drum groove and a molten sub pattern, 'Yussuf Is In Control' is led by the sort of prying, freaky lead synth that is perfect for the afters, 'Your Love Is Fading' is a masterful track of suspensory synths and soulful vocal sounds all fused to a brightly airy house groove making this another fantastically accomplished album from one of the best in the game.



Support by:

Delano Smith, Seth Troxler, Radio Slave, Dan Curtin, Butane, Ian Pooley, Spacetravel, Satoshie Tomiie, Posthuman, Diego Krause, Samuel Deep, Sonja Moonear, Traumer, Akufen, Sakro, Italojohnson, Enzo Siragusa, Laurent Garnier, Dirian Paic, Ryan Crosson, Reiss, Roger Gerresen, Sebo K, Vinyl Speed Adjust, Franck Roger, Mihai Popoviciu, Fabe, Jamie Jones, Raresh

Following on from last years's "Mondo Organico" compilation, the latest Invisible Inc compilation EP "Mondo Ritmo" sets its sights firmly on rhythm and percussion.

Featuring a global array of artists hailing from Argentina to Senegal and everywhere in between, the influences and styles featured include latin, afro, dub, dancehall, experimental, acid and more.
Proven and tested dancefloor bombs are Mytron & Balam's opening track "Cabasa Loca" which label boss GK Machine has been spinning at his Wrong Party nights and elsewhere for the last 6 months or so...and the house/dancehall hybrid floor filler "Wicked Can't Run" by LA producer Tom Chasteen (Exist Dance/Dub Club) featuring legendary Jamaican DJ and toaster U Brown, and mixed by equally legendary producer/keyboardist David Harrow who first came to our attention through his regular keyboard contributions to all things On-U Sound related in the 1980s.

The rest of the tracks may not be peak time bangers but they are sure to please the more esoteric and adventurous dancefloors out there...it's an honour to have on board Calypso Records head honcho Thomass Jackson, Thomash (Voodoohop) and GATS (Suçuarana / Curuba) who together as Changa Boys bring in Senegalese drummer Ndiaxo dal Jaam, and last but not least a certain Machine with assistance on percussion from the mysterious Congo Caveman.

"“Few artists combine the thrills of danceable pop with a higher purpose, but that's exactly what Israeli singer Noga Erez does”
– NPR Music

“One of Israel’s few breakthrough indie stars… and one of the country’s most hyped artists”
– The Guardian

July 17, 2024 (New York, NY): Today, alt-pop singer, rapper & multi-hyphenate Noga Erez debuts her brand new single and accompanying music video entitled “AYAYAY” featuring sensational Argentinian rapper Dillom, out via Neon Gold/Atlantic Records. The track marks the latest single off Erez’s highly-anticipated, third studio album THE VANDALIST out Friday, September 20.

“AYAYAY” sees Erez and partner ROUSSO dabble in the world of reggaeton, layering her dynamic and wide-ranging vocals with lyrically packed bars, over a frenetic house beat. The sexy, tropical track emblemizes the romantic appeal of the “papí azucar” (“sugar daddy”) along with extravagant living from both the male (provided by Dillom through a brilliantly crafted verse) and female perspectives, the desire to maintain it, and the self-imposed expectation to chase it when a relationship doesn’t live up to standards. Directed by Erez & ROUSSO, the music video for the track, filmed almost entirely through a kaleidoscope lens DIY-style, is brimming with personality as Erez lives her best life.

THE VANDALIST is a satirical, yet confessional look at real and online life, the project arrives brimful of monster tunes, intricate production, wit, charm and attitude, representing a significant leap from her previous work, expanding her emotional range from sultry to savage, and demonstrating even greater ambition with quickfire lyrics, broadened vocal styles, and the elaborate backing crafted with partner and producer ORI ROUSSO. THE VANDALIST primes Noga for yet another evolution in her musical journey, which is set to resonate strongly with listeners everywhere.

Recently released singles include “PC People (feat. ROUSSO),” along with title track “Vandalist,” and “Come Back Home,” all of which are joined by official “Against The Machine (Live)” performance videos, streaming now at YouTube
"

Solo Paraiso will be available on vinyl for the first time in 10 years and Digitally for the first time.


Solo Paraiso is Molly Nilsson’s mini-album from 2014 recorded during a 6 month residency in Buenos Aires, Argentina.
For it’s 10th Anniversary, Night School and Dark Skies Association is making the most sought after long player in Molly Nilsson’s catalogue available again on a new format with new artwork designed by Molly Nilsson and Jonas Raam.
Pop music rarely comes as honest and heartfelt as when delivered by Molly Nilsson. Having traveled around the world singing to the romantic and the doomed, Nilsson found herself in the Summer of 2014 in Buenos Aires. Inspired by the crumbling urban landscape and the heavy hearts that populate it, Sólo Paraíso is not only an ode to a specific time and space but a musical novella that meditates on youth, idealism and belonging. The soundtrack to a summer you thought you had when looking over bleached out old photo albums.

Sólo Paraíso has the feel of a bridge between the more lo fi, first phase of Nilsson’s career and the expanded sonic scope she has employed in the last decade. Recorded quickly, with instinct and feeling of paramount importance over rectitude or perfection, amongst the eight tracks of this mini LP are some of the biggest fan favourites of her career. As with all Molly Nilsson songs, each of these tracks is bursting with perfect moments. Opener Summer Cats sails over sun-kissed piano chords, chasing the sun eternally as it dips over the horizon, while show-stealer Blue Dollar draws parallels between the doomed Argentine economy and the failure of a love affair. It’s the most feel-good, romantic peon to an economic downturn you’ll ever hear. As Molly says “why is it so damn easy to break all the things that are so damn difficult to make?”
Using cracked synths, shimmering piano, heat-stroked drum machines and above all her direct, from-the-heart vocal delivery, Nilsson’s songs have never been so precise and on-point. For fellow doomed romantics, Sólo Paraíso is the perfect sound for an imperfect Summer.

Limited White VInyl Version
Solo Paraiso will be available on vinyl for the first time in 10 years and Digitally for the first time.


Solo Paraiso is Molly Nilsson’s mini-album from 2014 recorded during a 6 month residency in Buenos Aires, Argentina.
For it’s 10th Anniversary, Night School and Dark Skies Association is making the most sought after long player in Molly Nilsson’s catalogue available again on a new format with new artwork designed by Molly Nilsson and Jonas Raam.
Pop music rarely comes as honest and heartfelt as when delivered by Molly Nilsson. Having traveled around the world singing to the romantic and the doomed, Nilsson found herself in the Summer of 2014 in Buenos Aires. Inspired by the crumbling urban landscape and the heavy hearts that populate it, Sólo Paraíso is not only an ode to a specific time and space but a musical novella that meditates on youth, idealism and belonging. The soundtrack to a summer you thought you had when looking over bleached out old photo albums.

Sólo Paraíso has the feel of a bridge between the more lo fi, first phase of Nilsson’s career and the expanded sonic scope she has employed in the last decade. Recorded quickly, with instinct and feeling of paramount importance over rectitude or perfection, amongst the eight tracks of this mini LP are some of the biggest fan favourites of her career. As with all Molly Nilsson songs, each of these tracks is bursting with perfect moments. Opener Summer Cats sails over sun-kissed piano chords, chasing the sun eternally as it dips over the horizon, while show-stealer Blue Dollar draws parallels between the doomed Argentine economy and the failure of a love affair. It’s the most feel-good, romantic peon to an economic downturn you’ll ever hear. As Molly says “why is it so damn easy to break all the things that are so damn difficult to make?”
Using cracked synths, shimmering piano, heat-stroked drum machines and above all her direct, from-the-heart vocal delivery, Nilsson’s songs have never been so precise and on-point. For fellow doomed romantics, Sólo Paraíso is the perfect sound for an imperfect Summer.

Mesmerizing and exuberant Argentinian La Yegros, probably the most magnetic artist on the South American continent, is back with a new album!

The undisputed Queen of "Nu Cumbia" has not rested on her laurels. Surrounded by the same accomplices who have supported her for the last ten years, but eager to renew herself, she has set about recording her fourth album, which stands out from her discography. Although her personal folklore is still rooted in South American folklore, La Yegros is now absorbing contemporary, global music, while tackling intimate, often melancholy and even painful subjects, which she overcomes with the same resilience that drives her in concert. Nothing stands in the way of this Argentinian whirlwind, all the more fascinating for the fact that personal considerations are now surfacing beneath the veneer of the party atmosphere she sets alight.

La Yegros returned to the stage in 2022 to celebrate the 10th anniversary of Viene de Mí, her single hit from the self-titled album, released in 2012 in Argentina and then worldwide in 2013, which catapulted her to international fame. We then discovered a singer who had grown up in the traditions of her country. Her parents come from Misiones, a province bordering Brazil and Paraguay, where balls are filled with the sounds of chamamé (a mix of polka and Guaraní music), Carnavalito (Andean folklore) and Colombian Cumbia. But she herself is a native of Buenos Aires, whose nights are enlivened by the bass of Dancehall and electronic music.

These influences have merged in two further successful albums, Magnetismo (2016) and Suelta (2019), followed by high voltage tours during which La Yegros has been able to display her generous nature, inexhaustible energy, exuberant personality and infectious enthusiasm.

To record her new album entitled 'HAZ', La Yegros has put her faith in the same team that has worked with her since Viene de Mí. On one hand, producer Gaby Kerpel (also known as King Coya), a pioneer of synthetic experimentation applied to traditional music, who has remained her faithful accomplice for over twenty years. On the other hand, composer Daniel Martín, who knows how to come up with melodies to dream about and hymns to sing along to. Inseparable and complementary, the trio continues to concoct this mesmerizing mixture where acoustic instruments meet samples and the rolling of machines. But the new productions don't rely on a tried and tested formula. Generally co-produced between France and Argentina, they break away from over-defined genres. La Yegros knits together new rhythms and incorporates sounds that are unheard of in her country, derived from the latest urban trends, as well as echoes of reggae and funk. As for the lyrics, signed alternately by the trio, they are embodied by La Yegros whose charismatic voice questions a period of her life tossed by waves of love and lovelessness, joy and sorrow, euphoria and anguish, indulgence and resentment.

The album is open to a wealth of musical styles. You'll hear funk guitar and Andean flutes, melancholy accordion and rolling drums, Tuareg blues enhanced by brass, house and electro Cumbia loops, and the bassoons of a chamber orchestra. The folklore 2.0 of La Yegros, nourished by its colorful inspiration, at times tender or exalted, has been imagined as a hymn to love and the contradictory feelings that come with it. As always, it has also been conceived with the stage in mind. Hatching in a storm of overturned emotions, the album is all the more explosive for the strength of the live show that accompanies it. In addition to the usual line-up of guitar, accordion and percussion, a musician handles synthesizers and machines to boost the electronic turboshaft. In any case, you can count on the singer to assert her increasingly clear-cut character with each new project. And, above all, she won't give up. L.a Yegros is back and her batteries are fully charged.

Freestyle comes correct again with a killer slice of 1987 UK Street Soul from Purely Fizzycal, originally issued on the duo's own Pure Impact Productions label.

North Londoner Trish Langley met South Londoner Ash Kamat initially in the the mid 1980s on Tin Pan Alley, while Ash was working at Rod Argent's keyboard shop and running UK soul-focussed zine Soul Trade, and the quickly began working together. Handling the programming and production, Ash says his inspiration came from a mixture of London pirate radio sounds and the US-based sounds of Kashief, Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis etc. While Trisha's vocals and melodies were influenced by growing up listening to her parents reggae records, plus her brother's taste for the likes of Brothers Johnson, Maze, Isley Brothers, and a little lovers rock such as Janet Kay - which, together with Ash's raw drum machine sounds, bears all the hallmarks for this uniquely UK take on soul.credits

My ZEITGEIST. (in the words of The Legendary Tigerman)

Musically, I tried to follow the path left behind by early modular synths explorers like Suzanne Ciani or Wendy Carlos, mixing it with the raw & powerful energy of early punk explorers like The Cramps, Suicide or The Sonics (my teenage heroes!) and the orchestral universe of people like Lee Hazlewood or Scott Walker, looking back at the past while keeping an eye out for the future.
Zeitgeist is also the point where my work as a soundtrack composer meets my life as a punk Rock’n’roller.

The Legendary Tigerman is the artistic name of Portuguese musician and composer Paulo Furtado. With a solid career stemming from the DIY movement and characterized by the reinvention of genres such as blues, rock, and garage rock, while always maintaining a punk attitude, The Tigerman's recognition is founded on a galloping international career, marked by the release of the iconic album "Naked Blues" in 2001. In a few years, he goes from a cult artist to a reference name and with the acclaimed "Femina" (2009), he writes his name in the pantheon of the most creative rock made in Europe.
With "True" (2014) and "Misfit" (2018), he consolidated his position in the international rock scene with two albums that explore the dense soundscapes of a rock 'n' roll that moves away from common places. Live, the unstoppable and infernal rock machine, consisting of Paulo Furtado on vocals and guitar, Filipe Rocha on bass, Mike Ghost on drums, and Cabrita on saxophone, makes concerts unpredictable and explosive, exactly as expected from a rock 'n' roll act.
The success of The Legendary Tigerman goes beyond the borders of Portugal, thanks to tours in various countries in Europe, Asia, and Latin America. In addition to his work on stage, Paulo Furtado has become notable for his prominent career in theater, cinema, soundtrack creation, photography, and film direction.
Focused on being a catalyst for unique and authentic music, The Legendary Tigerman is one of the main European rock names, renewing himself with creativity and innovation with each album. In 2023, there will be a new album, featuring more ethereal and intimate sounds alongside rock 'n' roll, but always keeping it punk.

Dance music has always been grounded in a sense of place. Chicago, Detroit, London, Berlin—a zip code can tell you as much about the music as the year it was made.

But beyond the nuts and bolts of the here and now lies a netherzone where some of the best electronic music floats, impossible to pin down. Swayzak’s Snowboarding in Argentina is one such record.

The title hints at its uncanny placelessness. The music has nothing outwardly to do with Argentina, for one thing. The work of UK producers David Nicholas Brown and James S. Taylor, it was recorded in a number of locations—mostly bedrooms—around London. Yet there is little that is quintessentially British about the music.

Instead, Brown and Taylor drew much of their inspiration from, on the one hand, the luminous chords and silky heft of Detroit techno, and on the other, the staccato drums and clipped textures that were then beginning to bubble out of Berlin and Cologne.

That brings us to the question of time. For if Snowboarding in Argentina belongs to nowhere, it is equally a product of nowhen.

On a practical level, the music took shape in the mid to late 1990s, although it took nearly 10 years for it to come to fruition. Brown and Taylor began jamming on instruments, then machines, in the late 1980s. Then, after Brown suffered a serious car accident, the two musicians began working together more seriously. Trial and error yielded a promising single with a downtempo vibe that a hired-gun studio producer promptly ruined; Swayzak retreated to their bedrooms.

They learned about Chain Reaction from a radio show, found new ways to burrow into the circuitry of their machines, and by 1996 they had hit upon their sound. brought 10 copies of the first to Berlin’s Hard Wax, sold them directly to the shop for a fistful of Deutschmarks, and turned around and spent the money on records; that’s how DIY electronic music worked in those days.) The album itself appeared in 1998 on London’s Pagan label and quickly built a cult following. It was clear that the music was in conversation with its contemporaries: Heard from the right angle, it was possible to imagine it as a halfway point between the proto progressive house of Underworld and the monochromatic minimalism of Kompakt. But it also didn’t quite sound like anything else around; it was a dispatch from an unknown territory that needed no special understanding to decipher.

A quarter century later, Snowboarding in Argentina sounds simply eternal. Certain hallmarks of ’90s production are available—the music’s almost murky warmth is a reminder of what electronic music sounded like before software swallowed everything into its digital maw—but there’s nothing dated about it. The exploratory nature of these tracks, as the result of experimenting with their machines’ limitations, never eclipses their musical or emotional essence.

Long since been deemed a classic, Snowboarding in Argentina remains an underdog in the annals of electronic music. Its semi-obscurity was surely not helped by the decision to publish nine of its original 12 tracks on the CD, and seven on the vinyl, with only four appearing on both formats. Twenty-five years after its original release, Lapsus’ Perennial Series edition unites, for the first time, all the album’s tracks as a single triple-vinyl package, rounding out the 12 original songs with previously unreleased material. Working off the original DAT premasters, Swayzak have created new edits of all the tracks. The result might be considered the definitive edition of the album as it was meant to be, after a 25-year journey. It seems fitting that an album so timeless would continue morphing throughout its lifespan. For fans, it’s the chance to hear a beloved album as never before. And for newcomers, it’s the perfect introduction to a record that, in its own quiet way, reshaped the sound of electronic music, opening up new frontiers unbound by cartography or calendars.

The core of Snowboarding in Argentina appeared on a series of three two-track singles in 1997. (Taylor brought 10 copies of the first to Berlin’s Hard Wax, sold them directly to the shop for a fistful of Deutschmarks, and turned around and spent the money on records; that’s how DIY electronic music worked in those days.) The album itself appeared in 1998 on London’s Pagan label and quickly built a cult following. It was clear that the music was in conversation with its contemporaries: Heard from the right angle, it was possible to imagine it as a halfway point between the proto progressive house of Underworld and the monochromatic minimalism of Kompakt. But it also didn’t quite sound like anything else around; it was a dispatch from an unknown territory that needed no special understanding to decipher.

A quarter century later, Snowboarding in Argentina sounds simply eternal. Certain hallmarks of ’90s production are available—the music’s almost murky warmth is a reminder of what electronic music sounded like before software swallowed everything into its digital maw—but there’s nothing dated about it. The exploratory nature of these tracks, as the result of experimenting with their machines’ limitations, never eclipses their musical or emotional essence.

Long since been deemed a classic, Snowboarding in Argentina remains an underdog in the annals of electronic music. Its semi-obscurity was surely not helped by the decision to publishnine of its original 12 tracks on the CD, and seven on the vinyl, with only four appearing on both formats. Twenty-five years after its original release, Lapsus’ Perennial Series edition unites, for the first time, all the album’s tracks as a single triple-vinyl package, rounding out the 12 original songs with previously unreleased material. Working off the original DAT premasters, Swayzak have created new edits of all the tracks. The result might be considered the definitive edition of the album as it was meant to be, after a 25-year journey. It seems fitting that an album so timeless would continue morphing throughout its lifespan. For fans, it’s the chance to hear a beloved album as never before. And for newcomers, it’s the perfect introduction to a record that, in its own quiet way, reshaped the sound of electronic music, opening up new frontiers unbound by cartography or calendars.

Lion Machine 23 is a four piece Rock band fronted by singer / guitarist & songwriter extraordinaire Daland based in North London, a mix between Oasis and Nirvana, who have already packed out venues across the city, as well as a recent tour of Argentina featuring a support for the Arctic Monkeys. This four song EP has been co-produced with West London’s finest, JBJ Studios Stormzy, Skrillex & more is due for release this Spring! UK dates incl festivals tbc.

2023s one to watch with true rock n roll style, prepared to get blown away by Lion Machine 23. `Liar’ kicks off with heavy grinding guitars, over which lead
singer Daland’s vocals laments the tone. Solid-driving strobe-lit bass completes the track with a rejuvenating catchy chorus when Daland belts out Liar you can’t help singing along.

Turning the noise up a notch on `The Mobile Phone’ lead singer Daland charismatically vocalises the good and bad of having technology at your fingertips. Bursting into a perspicuity of unending guitars and drums energise the track.

‘Always’ Summer festival anthem in the making, carries that feel good factor.

‘Fucking Under The Water’ Always a crowd pleaser.

Marcos Díaz has been part of Buenos Aires underground for many years, being in projects like Bosques and making solo music under the pseudonym Entidad Animada (animated entity). Under this project, Marcos has explored sounds that involve a mix of feedback/distortion through synthesizers, guitars and drum machines that hint at the influence of Stereolab, Spacemen 3, and mid-nineties shoegaze. However, there are also ambient soundscapes with a slight rubbed of the ritualistic psychedelia of the Popol Vuh. The display of colours in his music comes together in the midst of a playful, relaxed and optimistic environment that is simultaneously melancholic. Because of the nature of those pieces, but also because in Entidad Animada there is also space for collage sounds that blend randomly with textures of a primitive analog sound, which inevitably causes a paradox between what is alive and what is inert. And it is because Entidad Animada is precisely that, a spectrum or a vision, a ghost. And these sounds are proof of his existence.

Pruebas de existencia (proofs of existence) is a collection of recordings that Marcos has made in recent years and that we have selected for this album, his first work on Umor Rex. A couple of these pieces were only released digitally, while the others have been on ltd cassette editions through Fuego Amigo Discos in Argentina. Pruebas de existencia is an Umor Rex compilation and remastered edition.

Guitar, sampler, synthesizer, organ, bass, drums & electronic beats, vocals, recording and mixing by Entidad Animada in Buenos Aires. Mastered by Rafael Anton Irisarri at Black Knoll Studio, NY. Cover photography Natch Tablescape (1979) by Langdon Clay. Layout by Daniel Castrejón, Mexico City.

Black & Opaque Silver vinyl. ZZK Records Presents Uji's TIMEBEING. A prehistoric tribe dances around the fire. Young revelers lose themselves on a packed dancefloor. Explorers fly a rocket toward another galaxy. In the TIMEBEING universe, these things are all connected. From the earliest days of humanity, people have strived to expand their reality beyond the limitations of the here and now and have used technology to make it happen. Their methods and machines may have changed across the centuries, but the drive remains constant, vibrating through history and occupying a space where time loses all meaning. "The art of making music is the art of manipulating time," says Uji. "I have had experiences where time shifts dramatically; sometimes it slows down to a halt, while moments seemingly become infinite. This is where the magic happens. This is when the fabric of what we call reality begins to show its seams." An Argentinian electronic producer and ethnomusicologist, Uji has been navigating those seams for more than two decades, initially as one half of the pioneering duo Lulacruza, but more recently with his own solo work. TIMEBEING continues that lineage, but also elevates it, taking shape as a interdisciplinary multimedia journey that includes a new album, an accompanying short film, an immersive live show and the birth of a new decentralized community of like-minded artists, creators, seekers, and dreamers. Mesmerizing and deeply psychedelic, the TIMEBEING LP certainly reflects the rich sound palette of Latin America and its intersection with various strains of electronic music but Uji taps into traditions both musical and spiritual that can't be hemmed in by borders and boundaries. Transcendence is the goal, and the album moves through fantastical spaces that may or may not exist: a metallic jungle, a Balkan spaceship, a cloud that morphs into a tumultuous whirlpool. All the while, Uji criss-crosses history, consulting elders and futurists alike as he throws open the doors of perception and pens a new mythology about what it means to be human. Some of that mythology takes shape in the TIMEBEING film. Written by Uji himself, the eight-part opus has been brought to life by Jazmin Calcarami, who makes her directorial debut following years of working as an experimental make-up artist with the likes of Björk and Cirque de Soleil. On stage, the transportive TIMEBEING live show is set to premiere at the Artlab Cultural Center in Buenos Aires, where it will be debuted as a part of a weekly residency this spring. More than just a concert, it's a dazzling theatrical experience, complete with dancers, costume changes, arresting visuals and even an on-stage "ship" (shaped like mollusk) where Uji himself will perform. "What we see on the surface, is only that the surface," says Uji. "There is so much more. Music is the bridge and the possibilities are limitless." Track listing: 1. Mito 2. Oropo 3. Truenatruena 4. QuemaQuema (feat. Nyaruach) 5. Kinto 6. Lunay (feat. Zola Dubnikova) 7. Flechas 8. Sirios (feat. Kristine Barrett)

A prehistoric tribe dances around the fire. Young revelers lose themselves on a packed dancefloor. Explorers fly a rocket toward another galaxy. In the TIMEBEING universe, these things are all connected. From the earliest days of humanity, people have strived to expand their reality beyond the limitations of the here and now_and have used technology to make it happen. Their methods and machines may have changed across the centuries, but the drive remains constant, vibrating through history and occupying a space where time loses all meaning. "The art of making music is the art of manipulating time," says Uji. "I have had experiences where time shifts dramatically; sometimes it slows down to a halt, while moments seemingly become infinite. This is where the magic happens. This is when the fabric of what we call reality begins to show its seams." An Argentintian electronic producer and ethnomusicologist, Uji has been navigating those seams for more than two decades, initially as one half of the pioneering duo Lulacruza, but more recently with his own solo work. TIMEBEING continues that lineage, but also elevates it, taking shape as a interdisciplinary multimedia journey that includes a new album, an accompanying short film, an immersive live show and the birth of a new decentralized community of like-minded artists, creators, seekers, and dreamers. Mesmerizing and deeply psychedelic, the TIMEBEING LP certainly reflects the rich sound palette of Latin America_and its intersection with various strains of electronic music_but Uji taps into traditions_both musical and spiritual_that can't be hemmed in by borders and boundaries. Transcendence is the goal, and the album moves through fantastical spaces that may or may not exist: a metallic jungle, a Balkan spaceship, a cloud that morphs into a tumultuous whirlpool. All the while, Uji criss-crosses history, consulting elders and futurists alike as he throws open the doors of perception and pens a new mythology about what it means to be human. FOR FANS OF: Floating Points, Four Tet, Oneohtrix Point Never, Actress, Nicola Cruz, Dengue Dengue Dengue, Nicolas Jaar, Mount Kimbie, Mucho Indio.

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

=

Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

=

Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

What is techno if not a powerful conduit for energy? The movement of a sequence, the surge of an effects rush, the respondent reaction in every individual dancer and the moving mass of the crowd as a whole. Whether the frequencies transmit directly into the brain through the intimacy of a headphone reverie, reverberate through the architecture of a space or fill the formless void of the open air, techno’s potency to initiate and stimulate energetic events is profound. This is something Pfirter understands intimately, having spent more than 15 years exploring ways of manipulating the energy on a dancefloor.

Of course, energy is not just about volume and aggression. Tonality, spatial processing and composition can have just as profound an effect as the thump of the kick drum. On his new album Altered States, Pfirter proves that point by zeroing in on the cerebral, psychedelic elements of his craft across 10 incisive tracks. The Argentine producer consciously approached his second album (following 2019’s The Empty Space) with a minimal mindset, using a very focused set of drum machines and synths to achieve a consistency across the record. Captured over a short burst of creativity, it’s the sound of an artist pushing a limited array of tools as far as possible. Despite this concise palette, it’s not an album that repeats itself, but rather an extended trip that flows from one detailed, textured immersion to the next.

The dense, febrile waves of hard-oscillating ripples in ‘A Future In Chaos’ and the sparkling, off-key chimes adorning ‘Yearn’ all speak to Pfirter’s gift for extravagant, surrealist expression within his tracks. ‘Altered States’, by way of contrast, succeeds in its absolute immediacy – a piledriving statement of bleep-driven intent. ‘Boiler’ and ‘Convergence’ land somewhere in between, coiling around kinked rhythmic incantations which still push forwards with precision while offering a different angle from which to approach the dancefloor. Cementing the idea of the whole album as a listening experience, Altered States is bookended by ‘Venus’ and ‘Dissolution’, two minimal exercises in drone-oriented mood setting.

Pfirter understands the role of his music, and his own instincts as a performing artist. It’s crafted to be captivating for DJs as much as the attentive listener. Spanning linear rhythms and broken beats, moments of calm and writhing intensity, Altered States offers a multitude of energetic possibilities in the mix or as a standalone piece of music. Ultimately, it’s a masterful return from a leading light of the contemporary techno scene.

This is MindTrip!

It's back-to-backhits with the new Names You Can Trust split single series, the first of which features two up-and-coming acts in the blossoming Latin music scene of the Pacific Northwest. From Seattle via Argentina and Miami is Terror/Cactus, a futuristic electronic cumbia project from musician Martín Selasco. Selasco's machine-forward audio/visual performances combine a mixture of bugged out digital folklore, live percussion and the omnipresent sounds inspired by the canon of South American chicha concoctions. That balance is on display in the group's debut vinyl release "Churro vs Crow." A field recording of a Mexico City street scene playfully intermingles with the track's heavy production, an innocuous battle between a crow and a churro vendor breathes a little outdoor analog into an avant digital landscape.

On the other side of the spectrum, down south in neighboring Oregon, lies Portland's Orquestra Pacifico Tropical, an 11-piece ensemble formed by a crew of talented musicians from the lush local offerings of the Willamette Valley. The band's big sound is an explosive expression of their own roots, representing the heyday of tropical music that graced stages for decades in Central and South America. Clarinet, brass, electric guitars and that familiar percussive pulse are all alive on their NYCT debut "Regreso." Imagine a return to the cross-pollinated sounds of the psychedelic '70s, an echo from the Andes, the Amazon, through the central isthmus and back to the present, only this time landing in the City of Roses.

Late 20th Century outsider music from the outskirts of Buenos Aires featuring Alan Courtis, Pablo Reche, Quum and many more artists from the Argentinian underground.

Setting out as an archaeological excavation, literally exhuming material which has been under the surface for more than two decades, this special compilation features work by established and under the radar artists that helped set the now fertile Argentinian underground.

All tracks were directly digitized from the original cassettes masters (half of them never previously released either). The emphasis being to maintain the original sound quality as it was produced at the time (hence the cassette format). The compilation also showcases a broad spectrum style of music that was done at a specific time with very primitive gear - not by choice but because of the obvious economic restrictions of accessing sophisticated equipment forced these musicians on the DIY road. Domestic tape recorders making cassette loops, broken record players, toy keyboards and the noisy ‘fingers on circuitry’ long before Nicolas Collins championed it on Hand-made electronic music.

Whilst some artists actually had access to professional synths and drum machines (Unoxuno, Quum, Jaime Genovart), they still lacked of standard recording equipment. A crucial document then showing how their unique approach to music making influenced the forthcoming experimental scene of South America making these artists influential cult figures of the underground.



Compiled by Juan José Calarco y Pablo Reche
Digitized & Mastered by Juan José Calarco

* From the pumping heart of The Magnetic System comes the 'dirtiest' Da-Da-dancefloor anti-jams with this lost 1979 blueprint of Italian conceptual cosmic disco played by the cream of the Goblin studio band. Ultra-rare and unscrubbed,Finders Keepers finally snip the trip from the cash machine to the trash machine.
* Carving its own grubby niche as an early prototype of cosmic disco cum Italo space funk whilst simultaneously harbouring Dada hat stand satire with a junkshop glam aesthetic, this ecological illogical poplitical crab cabaret clearly broke the mould before way before the jelly had set.
* Fans of 'other' obtuse outernational agit-camp might find a fantasy fusion between France's JP Massiera and Sweden's enviroMENTAL marvel Kaptain Zoom while trying to unravel the Madfilth tangle - but rest assured there were method men behind this madness and a portal to Italian funk royalty still festers
at the bottom of the psych rap scrapheap.
* Originally drip-fed out of Cesare Andrea Bixio's Cinevox stable as one of a tight grip of non-soundtrack LPs, made to test the label's commercial potential, Madfilth would follow the band Goblin (and their non-cinematic Roller) as well as the hens' teeth eponymous long player by the group The Motowns in what was perhaps the last-ditch attempt at custom built popsploitation - combining the skills of overqualified composers with undercooked conceptual mind belches. Naturally, after almost 40 years in the barrel, this micro-brewed oddity finally quenches the acquired taste of a new breed of shambolic psychotropic guzzlers proving that 1979 was obviously good year for fool's gold. The Madfilth medicine has finally come to cure your psychic ills so open wide and don't bite the spoon.
* It is beneath the flamboyant rhythm rants and vari-speed osric slop of alt-comedic sarcy-satirist Alberto Macaro (a genetic beneficiary of a vaudevillian comic bloodline) that we find The Magnetic System maestros Franco Bixio and Vince Tempera as the sonic driving force behind this unmarked treasure trove of
B-musical diamanté discoids. It will also come as little surprise that
Cinevox/Dario Argento favourites Goblin were not too distant from the whiff of this curate's egg with the men who many consider to be the group's greatest assets - bass player Fabio Pignatelli alongside sports rock drummer Agostino Marangolo. It was this unison that remained consistent throughout Goblin's career, weathering the temporary departure of Claudio Simonetti and
maintaining the stylistic heartbeat of the group. Madfilth's inclusion of Goblin synth Maverick Maurizio Guarini and the band's mid-period guitarist Carlo Penessi (founder of the band Etna) pinpoints the jobbing Goblin session group during the time they recorded the soundtracks for the films 'Buio Amiga' and 'Squadra Antigagsters'. This lesser-celebrated late 70s era also witnessed the mutating Goblin rhythm section providing discoid backbeats for records such as Giorgio Farina's 'Discocross' album, Simonetti's own Capricorn alter-ego and the homoerotic nightclub spin-off Easy Going - all of which, alongside Madfilth,
provide a strong mutual stylistic support system for their claim to cosmic disco's deep red bloodline.

A great strong man with a brush in his hand once said: everything you can imagine is real and art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. So is making music just another form of keeping a diary In terms of Ana Helder, the Argentinian girl with the special twist, the answer is: maybe. More than two years after her last release on Cómeme she is back with a hand full of tracks. Five to be precise. She got more, but this is what the Müstique's received. They are mean, dirty, harmful, amorevolous, seductive and addictive. Surrender tunes from a producer and DJ that does not think in boxes. Her three Eps 'El Groove De Tu Corazón', 'Fiebre De Marte' and 'Beating PC' mark some warped grooving heights in the edgy catalogue of Matias Aguayo's label Cómeme. Also on the French label Astro Lab she already dropped the 12inch 'Soy Canalla' with a playful psyche tune, that additionally got remixed by folks like Les Disques De La Mort seducer Ivan Smagghe or the mysterious West-German ghost-(w)rid(t)er Frank West. Furthermore, she re-tuned tunes from Chilean friends like Alejandro Paz or Mamacita and sang on songs of colleagues. For Müstique she now looked into her always-growing production crate and found some post-punk waving funk odes, which want more than just to dance this mess around. They bring soulful LSD-melodies for Jazz lovers with techno legs that like to get high on Liquid Liquid. They are electronic but yet so organic. And they move deeply while spreading the feel of a meditative rest. When Diagnose heard them first, he came to the idea of writing a script for a flick that tells the story of a music-making machine, which has more to offer than answers. It forms sound with no traces of reality, but is so human that humans fear it. Why did he think that way Only because of what Ana Helder recently got to say Well, let the music play...

As Weekend Circuit approach their 20th release, Argentinian duo YYYY return for their second full length EP on the label to celebrate this benchmark.

The YYYY modus operandi is already familiar to the initiated - expressive, raw techno experimentalism from the outer reaches. 'Carry This Blood' is a collection of 4 moods and sounds, carved out with emotion soaked ambience, synapse flaring distortion and machine fracturing rhythms.

'Repent', as the title suggests, takes no prisoners, leaving no survivors in it's wake, it is a glimpse into a tear in the time-space continuum where chaos rules. 'Hands Towards The Giver' is epic, glacial, spacial widescreen techno. Dramatic and urgent, the soundtrack to a doomed planet collapsing from within.

'Carry This Blood' bestows an eerie, cold feeling. An atmosphere of regret and loss hangs over it like a thick fog on a hillside, punctuated only by a heartbeat mimicking kick drum offering a human touch. 'Of Thrones And Comfort' snaps us out of the haze, the fog clears and we are faced with the frenzied electronics and thundering kick drum of this most sinister of tracks.

A great strong man with a brush in his hand once said: everything you can imagine is real and art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. So is making music just another form of keeping a diary In terms of Ana Helder, the Argentinian girl with the special twist, the answer is: maybe. More than two years after her last release on Co´meme she is back with a hand full of tracks. Five to be precise. She got more, but this is what the Mu¨stique's received. They are mean, dirty, harmful, amorevolous, seductive and addictive. Surrender tunes from a producer and DJ that does not think in boxes. Her three Eps El Groove De Tu Corazo´n', Fiebre De Marte' and Beating PC' mark some warped grooving heights in the edgy catalogue of Matias Aguayo's label Co´meme. Also on the French label Astro Lab she already dropped the 12inch Soy Canalla' with a playful psyche tune, that additionally got remixed by folks like Les Disques De La Mort seducer Ivan Smagghe or the mysterious West-German ghost-(w)rid(t)er Frank West. Furthermore, she re-tuned tunes from Chilean friends like Alejandro Paz or Mama- cita and sang on songs of colleagues. For Mu¨stique she now looked into her always-growing production crate and found some post-punk waving funk odes, which want more than just to dance this mess around. They bring soulful LSD-melodies for Jazz lovers with techno legs that like to get high on Liquid Liquid. They are electronic but yet so organic. And they move deeply while spreading the feel of a meditative rest. When Diagnose heard them first, he came to the idea of writing a script for a flick that tells the story of a music-making machine, which has more to offer than answers. It forms sound with no traces of reality, but is so human that humans fear it. Why did he think that way Only because of what Ana Helder recently got to say Well, let the music play...

During the '70s, work days at Umiliani's Sound Workshop Studios were hectic; thousands of sessions were held in order to keep up with a very busy Italian movie industry: Hundreds of soundtracks alongside with music library were recorded and released on vinyl in very limited quantities for TV and film production use only. Those LPs are now proper collectors' items, extremely hard to find.

Filled with hypnotic bass lines, heavy drums and screaming fuzz guitars "Underground", the first LP of the fictitious group known as Braen's Machine, is one of the rarest and the most expensive of them all, always "reaching" sky high prices throughout the second hand vinyl market. A fast-beat jam with hammond scales and a twin lead guitar theme ("Flying") opens the A Side soon followed by "Imphormal", a classicfunk-beat-meetsfender- rhodes-and-psychedelic-guitar number. The music then switch to "thriller territories" with "Murder" which is based on prepared piano swells and a deeply hypnotic walking bass, reminiscent of the best Morricone's soundtracks for Dario Argento's movies. Two highly percussive songs complete the A Side: "Gap" is an improvised song with guitar and keyboards dwelling over an infectious drum rhythm while a marching snare and a vibraslap effect are the special features on "Militar Police".

The mood relaxes slightly on the opening of the B Side with a lazy jazz groove on "New Experience" but the rock influences are soon brought back on the following track "Fall Out". "Obstinacy" is all about keyboards with syncopated rhodes themes and distorted hammond sustained notes whilst the fuzz guitar is back again screaming through the left channel on the last song of the album, "Description". We could happly say that that was the golden age of the Italian music library. But who's behind the name "Braen's Machine" On the original cover the songs are credited to the composers Braen and Gisteri. Braen was a pseudonym often used by Alessandro Alessandroni, an extremely skilled and versatile musician, and one of Umiliani's closestcollaborators. He could write, conduct and arrange, he could sing (ever heard "Mah Na Mah Na"), he could whistle (ever heard Morricone's "For a fistful of dollars") and he could play almost anything: guitar, bass tuba, accordion, sitar and the list grows..... His first album "Alessandro Alessandroni e il suo complesso" (Sermi, 1969), had transformed the Italian library music from orchestral sound beds into the psychedelia we all love; the extremely fuzzy guitars are very "present" on "Underground" too. For a long time Gisteri's real identity was rather mysterious; often wrongly attributed to Umiliani. Gisteri was the pseudonym of Oronzo De Filippi, art name of Rino De Filippi, music supervisor to the Italian public broadcast company (RAI) between the '60s and the '70s. De Filippi composed other notable pieces such as "Riflessi" (Edipan, 1975) and "Nel mondo del lavoro" (Sermi, 1972).

De Filippi passed away few years ago but we were able to contact Alessandroni to talk about this LP. Remembering "Underground" recording session as one of the thousands he took part of, Alessandroni told us that this record was produced very quickly, in two days maximum. This was made possible by a team of wonderfully capable session musicians and the creative genius behind the mixing desk; this incredible combination helped to focus on the mood of each track even more. Unfortunately there are no liner notes but Alessandroni's memories and speculations, based on other music tracked in the same period at Soundworkshop by resident engineer Claudio Batussi, led us to identify this as the most probable lineup: Munari on drums, Majorana on bass, Vannucchi on keyboards and Alessandroni himself on guitar. For this reissue the sound has been restored and the cover art reproduced exactly as it was.