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Note price increase and cat number change from last time around. In the late 1960s, the American trumpet player and free jazz pioneer Don Cherry (1936-1995) and the Swedish visual artist and designer Moki Cherry (1943-2009) began a collaboration that imagined an alternative space for creative music, most succinctly expressed in Moki's aphorism "the stage is home and home is a stage." By 1972, they had given name to a concept that united Don's music, Moki's art, and their family life in rural Tagårp, Sweden into one holistic entity: Organic Music Theatre. Captured here is the historic first Organic Music Theatre performance from the 1972 Festival de jazz de Chateauvallon in the South of France, mastered from tapes recorded during its original live broadcast on public TV. A life-affirming, multicultural patchwork of borrowed tunes suffused with the hallowed aura of Don's extensive global travels, the performance documents the moment he publicly jettisoned his identity as a jazz musician, and represents the start of his communal "mystical" period, later crystallized in recordings such as Organic Music Society, Relativity Suite, Brown Rice, and the soundtrack for Alejandro Jodorowsky's The Holy Mountain. The musicians in Don Cherry's New Researches, hailing from Brazil, Sweden, France, and the US, converged on Chateauvallon from all over Europe. The five-person band Don and Moki Cherry, Christer Bothén, Gérard "Doudou" Gouirand, and Naná Vasconcelos performed in an outdoor amphitheater and were joined onstage by a dozen adults and children, including Swedish friends who tagged along for the trip and Det Lilla Circus (The Little Circus), a Danish puppet troupe based in Christiania, Copenhagen. The platform was lined with Moki's carpets and her handmade, brightly colored tapestries, depicting Indian scales and bearing the words Organic Music Theatre, dressed the stage. As the musicians played, members of Det Lilla, led by Annie Hedvard, danced, sang, and mounted an improvised puppet show on poles high up in the air. The music in the Chateauvallon concert aspired to a universal language that would bring people together through song. In a fairly unprecedented move, Don abandoned his signature pocket trumpet for the piano and harmonium, thereby liberating his voice as an instrument for shamanic guidance. The show opens with him beckoning the audience to clap their hands and sing the Indian theta "Dha Dhin Na, Dha Tin Na," and the set cycles through uplifting and sacred tunes of Malian, South African, Brazilian, and Native American provenance including pieces that would later appear on Don's albums Organic Music Society and Home Boy (Sister Out) all punctuated by outbursts of possessed glossolalia from the puppeteers. "Relativity Suite, Part 1" notably spotlights Bothén on donso ngoni, a Malian hunter's guitar, prior to Vasconcelos taking an extended solo on berimbau. A vortex of wah-like microtonal rattling, Vasconcelos's masterful demonstration of this single-stringed Brazilian instrument is a harbinger of his work to come as a member, with Don, of the acclaimed group Codona. The sounds of children playing on the ensemble's achingly tender rendition of Jim Pepper's oft-covered beacon of spiritual optimism, "Witchi Tai To," lends the proceedings an especially intimate, domestic glow. Given the context of the star-studded international jazz festival, the concert's laid back, communal vibe feels like an attempt by the Cherrys to show Don's jazz audience that he was moving on. At the same time, however, Don was extending a warmhearted invitation for them to come along for the ride. With liner notes by Magnus Nygren. Track list: 1. Intro: Dha Dhin Na, Dha Tin Na 2. Butterfly Friend 3. Elixir 4. Amazwe 5. Interlude with Puppets 6. Ganesh 7. Elixir Reprise / Witchi Tai To 8. Resa 9. Relativity Suite, Part 1 10. Berimbau Solo 11. Interlude / North Brazilian Ceremonial Hymn 12. Elixir Reprise / Ganesh 13. Ntsikana's Bell / Traditional Melody

King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard are repressing their sixteenth album, K.G. n 2010. In the wake of a global pandemic, it’s a collection of songs that saw the six members of the band retreating to their own homes scattered around Melbourne, Australia to compose and record remotely. But have no fear! Not a drop of that unnamed alchemical something that makes this band so special is missing. This is the Gizz firing on all sonic cylinders, for if ever a band were built to swiftly adapt to adverse circumstance then it is them. Hell, on paper Covid-19, with its monstrous yet unseen face, ecological implications and new language, even sounds like an abandoned concept for a King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard album.

Truth be told, the practicalities of the creation of K.G. is a side-issue. It is the contents and the sheer visceral power of music that matters. Music that will live on long after a virus has passed. Back in 2017 the band released Flying Microtonal Banana, now one of their most highly regarded albums. That it was the first of five released by the band that year and was only part the story – a story made all the remarkable by the fact it was recorded using a microtonal musical scale that requires quarter tone tunings, on instruments custom-made for the occasion. It spawned a plethora of live favourites such as ‘Rattlesnake’, ‘Sleep Drifter’, ‘Nuclear Fusion’ and ‘Billabong Valley’ and showed the wider world that the Gizz paint from a palette that extends far beyond the musical colours of western rock. Here were songs in tunings more common in traditional Turkish or Arabic music.

“FMB was one of the purest and most enjoyable recording experiences we’ve had, and the ideas just kept coming” explains de facto band leader and multi-instrumentalist Stu Mackenzie. “But we didn’t think we would play it live as the music dictated a new medium that requires different instruments, new flight cases and so. It was a liberating studio-based experiment which surprisingly translated seamlessly and spawned some of favourite songs to play live.”

So now they return to the microtonal tunings on K.G., an album best described as a pure distillation of the King Gizzard sound, one that cherry picks the best aspects of previous albums and contorts them into new shapes and via defiantly non-Western rock scales. There’s walk-on theme song ‘K.G.L.W’, the celestial disco-funk of ‘Intrasport’, the righteous life-giving staccato rock of ‘Ontology’, epic stoner-sludge closer ‘The Hungry Wolf Of Fate’, which ends the album in abrupt burst of white noise. All come together to represent the next-level of the expanding Gizz sound.

K.G. is both a stand-alone work and also part of a bigger musical picture. More news on that shall be forthcoming – fans of the band know by now that King Gizzard don’t do things by halves. If music were organic matter, then their albums are ever-changing entities: initial highlights are often superseded on further exploration, favourite tracks replaced by less obvious moments, while riffs or bursts of noise from four or five albums back might suddenly rear their heads again.

Much of a million magnets sounds as if Möbius has left the music to its own devices. As if he has given it space instead of closing it in and channelising. Little seems to be organised, reflected or calculated. Rather it booms and pulses and chugs and swells.

In 2015 Möbius invited the drummer Andrea Belfi to record with him for his album Batagur Baska (Shitkatapult 2016). They spent a whole day in the studio at Funkhaus Nalepastraße, Berlin. Belfi implemented ideas from Möbius for various pieces and contributed his own ideas. Everything was recorded although in the end only one hi-hat track was used. All the other recordings were left to snooze and be forgotten in a folder on the computer. Years later Möbius discovered them again by chance during a train journey. He decided to answer Belfi’s powerful and concentrated drumming.

If sound recordings are used on specific tracks they start to lead a life of their own. Möbius mostly left Belfi’s recordings unedited. He took them as a trigger for the structure and character of new tracks. So we get the opening track Abayanga with its stoic pulse and airy cymbals. Or Schlucht with such restless drums, fluttering feedback and the mantra-like spoken-song of Yuko Matsuyama. The magical How To Never Make Up is almost a song: feverish percussion (Andrea Belfi on rimshots, Ansgar Wilken on the table top), a rich bass and the other worldly singing by Jana Plewa.

The accordion on Windjammer seems to blow in all directions at the same time, propelled by Belfi’s hounding cymbal playing. Side B starts with a reflection of Windjammer: Discrete Wiring. Guitar riffs in endlessly circling movement and Yuko Matsuyama’s voice and all that it conjures up. Feed Me Fog freely improvised with on drums and feedback is simply complete as a self-contained piece. The singing on Chayyam comes from the Cambodian Prak Chum, who’s voice can also be heard on the title track of Batagur Baska.

Buraka Som Sistema co-founder and Enchufada label-head Branko presents OBG, his third album. The artist's most personal and reflective work to date, it's a letter of love and thanks to the community around him, to Portugal's breathtaking landscapes, and to the syncopated, window-rattling rhythms that emanate from the clubs and car stereos of Portuguese cities.

OBG is an album of organic textures and invitingrhythms, created in Branko’s signature style, andinspired in part by a series of outdoor DJ-setsperformed and streamed from beautiful locationsacross Portugal.

Features collaborations with his favourite up andcoming artists, including Cameroonian-Guadeloupean producer Ms Mavy, Cape Verdeansinger ÉLLÀH and percussionist Iúri Oliveira

"After 11 pm, you stop hearing regular rock on the classic hits radio
station and start hearing more strange stuff, one-hit wonders from 1976,
or really minor singles from artists I thought I didn't like because I just
hadn't heard this one weird song before," says Bloomington, Indianabased singer-songwriter Damion - Rather than let those offbeat classics
fade into the twilight on his late-night drives, Damion returned home and
went straight to the Tascam cassette machine - Inspired by both the
sound and the bleary-eyed ambiguity, the result of that late-night
recording is the bronzy Special Interest, a record bathed in memory and
the antigravity of '70s AM radio
Once he had finished demoing songs at home, Damion brought the nine tracks
that would make up the album to his preferred studio, Russian Recording, and
worked with Ben Lumsdaine and Lewis Rogers to polish them up. Aesthetically,
Damion aimed to fit within the limits of the era that inspired the songs.
"Recording to cassette tape, you either have to play the part right or learn to love
the way it sounds wrong, so even in the studio we abided by those same
limitations," he says. Rather than limitations, the structures and styles of vintage
rock perfectly suit the album's lithe falsetto, eerily familiar melodies, and hazy
storytelling--the listener immersed in a soup of poetic fragments, Damion himself
always at a beguiling arm's length. On lead single and opener "Company Man",
resonant acoustic guitar and Super Ball bass provide a platform for Damion's
knowing ability to split the difference between confident swagger and laid-back
charm. The singer-songwriter pulls joy out of musical echos and lyrical wordplay,
in part coming from his love of classic songwriters and long history as a
performer. "I am mostly inspired by singer- songwriters like Carole King, Todd
Rundgren, etc.

Philadelphia's Sweet Pill write eruptive emo songs that embrace the
edges of pop and hardcore
The kind of band whose members are fully immersed in their local scene-through
a handful of notable side projects and the show- promoting Philly staple 4333
Collective- the quintet's sound takes wide- spectrum influence from its
environment. The result is an amalgam of complex song structures and
flourishes of technical acumen, wholly unconcerned with genre, yet evoking the
specific styles of touchstones such as Paramore and Circa Survive.
On their debut longplayer Where the Heart Is, Sweet Pill's unbound, raucous
energy presents through ten autobiographical tracks that hinge on singer Zayna
Youssef's elastic, enrapturing voice- at times belting and controlled, at others
textural and guttural. Supporting Youssef are guitarists Jayce Williams and Sean
McCall, bassist Ryan Cullen, and drummer Chris Kearney. Their blistering lead
single "Blood" sees Youssef exploring a deteriorated friendship over Williams and
McCall's trudging riffs and tactful counterpoint, with Cullen and Kearney rumbling
nimbly in the song's foundations.
Second single "High Hopes" counters with introspective, melodic punk that
reshapes anxiety rather than succumb to it. But third single "Diamond Eyes"
momentarily slows the pace, with McCall joining Youssef on vocals for a breakup
lament laden with acoustic sentimentalism and an emotive flurry from guest
flutist Jill Ryan. Such range is the central facet of Where the Heart Is, where
Sweet Pill's penchant for combining punkish tropes enlivened with the vibrance of
math- rock and the aggression of post- hardcore sweetened with pop sensibility
compound into something stylistically new yet still familiar. Pressed on 180-gram
Red color vinyl

Vinyl Packaging: Gatefold LP + download card. Indie Exclusive Transparent Orange vinyl in gatefold jacket Limited to 1000. CD 6 panel Digipak. Gnosis is the highly anticipated 8th full length from Russian Circles. Across the span of their previous seven studio albums, Chicago-based instrumental trio Russian Circles traversed a diverse topography of sounds, moods, and approaches with their limited armory of drums, bass, and guitar. It’s difficult to chart an evolution in their sound when their records have always felt like well-curated playlists. It wasn’t uncommon to hear drone-heavy meditations, dazzling prog exercises, knuckle-dragging riff-fests, haunting folk ballads, and tension-baiting noise rock all within the span of one album. Still, it’s difficult to ignore the progression from the pensive and intricate melodies of Enter (2006) to the layered distorted dirges of Blood Year (2019). It’s been a gradual sonic shift owing to the band’s rigorous tour schedule and a predilection towards playing their more authoritative material on stage. But with their latest album, Gnosis, Russian Circles eschew the varied terrain of their past work and bulldoze a path through the most tumultuous and harrowing territory of their sound. As was the case for so many artists in the age of COVID, the obstacles of geography and isolation forced Russian Circles to reevaluate their writing process. Rather than crafting songs out of fragmented ideas in the practice room, full songs were written and recorded independently before being shared with other members, so that their initial vision was retained. While these demos spanned the full breadth of the band’s varied styles, the more cinematic compositions were ultimately excised in favor of the physically cathartic pieces. Gnosis was engineered and mixed by Kurt Ballou. Drums and bass were tracked at Electrical Audio in Chicago to maximize the natural room sounds of the rhythm section. Guitar and synth overdubs were conducted at God City in Salem, MA to take advantage of Ballou’s vast inventory of amps and effects pedals. Despite the entirety of the album being written remotely, the songs were recorded with the full band playing together to retain the live feel of the material. Owing to the climate of the times and a new writing method, Russian Circles created their most fuming and focused work to date—an album that favors the exorcism of two years’ worth of tension over the melancholy and restraint that often colored their past endeavors. European Co-Headline tour with Cult of Luna slated for Marc 2023 (Dates TBA). Russian Circles have received coverage from most notable press including Pitchfork, Rolling Stone, Stereogum, FADER, AV Club, Consequence, Decibel, Revolver and much more.

"Art is awe, art is mystery expressed," writes Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith. "Art is somatic, even if it is experienced cerebrally. It is felt." The central mysteries of Smith's ninth studio album, Let's Turn it Into Sound, have to do with perception, expression, and communication: How can we communicate when spoken language is inadequate? How do we understand what it is we're feeling? How do we translate our experience of the world into something that someone else can understand? For Smith, a self-described "feeler," the answers are inspired by compound words in non-English languages, translation, sculptural fashion, dance, butoh, wushu shaolin, and other forms of sensory and somatic experience. Just like fashion uses lines, shapes, colors, textures, and silhouettes to communicate on a sensual level separate from the conscious mind, Let's Turn it Into Sound strives to use sound to communicate what words alone cannot. "The album is a puzzle," Smith says. "It is a symbol of receiving a compound of a ton of feelings from going out into a situation, and the song titles are instructions to breaking apart the feelings and understanding them." The energized "Is it Me or is it You" comes from traversing the gaps between how you see yourself and how another might see you, through a filter of their own projections. The hushed sense of revelation that brackets "There is Something" refers to the feeling of walking into a room and being subconsciously aware of the dynamic present. All the while, Smith interprets these feelings through sound. This auditory interpretation process, driven by earnest curiosity, led Smith to record some thoughts and questions that popped up along the journey in Somatic Hearing_a booklet which accompanies the album. Over three frenzied months, recording alone in her home studio, Smith allowed herself to pursue new experiments to accompany her usual toolkit of modular, analogue, and rare synthesizers (including her signature Buchla), orchestral sounds, and the voice. She created a new vocal processing technique, and gave herself permission to pursue a pacing that felt intuitive, rather one that followed typical song structures. She walked around in the windiest season with a subwoofer backpack and an umbrella, listening to the low end of the album amidst 60mph gusts. She listened to herself, and, in doing so, to an inner community which suddenly opened to her. Underlying the album is a dynamic relationship between what Smith describes as six distinct voices, each a multifaceted storyteller. By acknowledging these characters, she was acknowledging her whole being: the woven plurality of self, the complex process of noticing and resolving inner conflicts, and the joy of finding harmony in flux. "I started to feel so embodied by all of these characters. This is all the felt, unsaid stuff my inner community wants to communicate but it doesn't have the English language as its form of communication, and so this album was a form of giving space to let it talk and not judge it and just let it play." By not adhering to expected song structures, each song feels even more like a conversation, with each character getting to express themselves in full.

"Art is awe, art is mystery expressed," writes Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith. "Art is somatic, even if it is experienced cerebrally. It is felt." The central mysteries of Smith's ninth studio album, Let's Turn it Into Sound, have to do with perception, expression, and communication: How can we communicate when spoken language is inadequate? How do we understand what it is we're feeling? How do we translate our experience of the world into something that someone else can understand? For Smith, a self-described "feeler," the answers are inspired by compound words in non-English languages, translation, sculptural fashion, dance, butoh, wushu shaolin, and other forms of sensory and somatic experience. Just like fashion uses lines, shapes, colors, textures, and silhouettes to communicate on a sensual level separate from the conscious mind, Let's Turn it Into Sound strives to use sound to communicate what words alone cannot. "The album is a puzzle," Smith says. "It is a symbol of receiving a compound of a ton of feelings from going out into a situation, and the song titles are instructions to breaking apart the feelings and understanding them." The energized "Is it Me or is it You" comes from traversing the gaps between how you see yourself and how another might see you, through a filter of their own projections. The hushed sense of revelation that brackets "There is Something" refers to the feeling of walking into a room and being subconsciously aware of the dynamic present. All the while, Smith interprets these feelings through sound. This auditory interpretation process, driven by earnest curiosity, led Smith to record some thoughts and questions that popped up along the journey in Somatic Hearing_a booklet which accompanies the album. Over three frenzied months, recording alone in her home studio, Smith allowed herself to pursue new experiments to accompany her usual toolkit of modular, analogue, and rare synthesizers (including her signature Buchla), orchestral sounds, and the voice. She created a new vocal processing technique, and gave herself permission to pursue a pacing that felt intuitive, rather one that followed typical song structures. She walked around in the windiest season with a subwoofer backpack and an umbrella, listening to the low end of the album amidst 60mph gusts. She listened to herself, and, in doing so, to an inner community which suddenly opened to her. Underlying the album is a dynamic relationship between what Smith describes as six distinct voices, each a multifaceted storyteller. By acknowledging these characters, she was acknowledging her whole being: the woven plurality of self, the complex process of noticing and resolving inner conflicts, and the joy of finding harmony in flux. "I started to feel so embodied by all of these characters. This is all the felt, unsaid stuff my inner community wants to communicate but it doesn't have the English language as its form of communication, and so this album was a form of giving space to let it talk and not judge it and just let it play." By not adhering to expected song structures, each song feels even more like a conversation, with each character getting to express themselves in full.

Cerrero, Llorona Records founder's solo project, joins young "Gaita flute" and trumpet wizard El "León" Pardo (Ondatrópica) for an acid cumbia infused dub journey to the underground electronic sound of south America. Blend of ritualism and futurism, rough ethereal sound, melancholic voices and analog dub mixing for a unique record that presents the work of the thriving electronic acts from Colombia. Llorona's in-house act, Cerrero, teaming up with another Colombian, gaitero and trompetista, El Leon Pardo. The enigmatic and cult like figure has featured on many-a-Colombian record in recent years, including, Ondatropica and Velandia y La Tigra. Though this might be one of the most exciting match-ups yet. Cerrero's minimalistic electronic beats channeled through an analogue console alongside the abraded howls of gaita and accentuated trumpet work. The deep and bassy four-track EP, Canción Para Un Amigo, was justly named to mark the meeting of these two brilliant minds. Mixed in the extemporaneous ambience of a live recorded session, it makes for a riveting listen. Six standalone tracks, bound through crescendoing loops which culminate in an ethereal and atmospheric ritual of sound which evokes Colombian ancestry. From the spellbinding opening of gaita-led "Canción Para Un Amigo", the EP evolves through "Todo Te Llevaste", a track skillfully stitched between its vocal interludes by the rat-a-tat of accented tambor, a fanfare of trumpets and underpinning bass line. Closing out via "Cumbia en Lejanía"'s, gaita / trumpet led interplay into "Despedida", a pining jazz melody soaked in reverb, it's as complete of a work we've heard yet from Cerrero and represents another glistening gem in the ever increasing bows of the Llorona catalogue. Inescapably mesmeric as it is a true delight.

In many ways Kumoyo Island represents the culmination of a journey for Kikagaku Moyo. While their decade-long career can be summarized as a series of kaleidoscopic explorations through lands and dimensions far and near, there's a strong intention in each of their works to take the listener to a particular place, however real or abstract they may be. In that sense, the title and cover art for the band's fifth and final album draws you into a magical mass of land surrounded by water-but the couch suggests that Kumoyo Island may not be a fleeting stop, but rather a place of respite, where one could pause and take it all in. Reconvening at Tsubame Studios in Asakusabashi, Tokyo, where their earliest material had been recorded, the five members of Kikagaku Moyo found new inspiration in a familiar and comfortable environment. With their adopted homebase of Amsterdam under lockdown and their touring activities halted due to the pandemic, the band felt a renewed sense of freedom being back in shitamachi, or the old downtown area of their hometown. With unrestricted time in the studio, they began to build upon the demos and song fragments they'd amassed since their last tour. In the 1.5 months spent in Tokyo, everything started to come together. "Monaka", its name taken from a type of Japanese wafer sweets, takes melodic inspiration from traditional minyo folk styles, while "Yayoi Iyayoi" is a rare instance of the band singing in their native tongue, its evocative lyrics utilizing archaic words taken from old poetry and nature books found in one of the many secondhand bookstores of Tokyo. For "Meu Mar", an Erasmos Carlos cover, the original Portuguese lyrics were translated into English, then to Japanese. Strangely enough, the words seem to conjure an image of the protagonist floating among the clouds, looking down upon Tokyo Bay. In fact, it may be possible to draw a parallel between the topography of the band's home country-an island nation, surrounded by bodies of water-and the mysterious isle of Kumoyo. Are they one and the same? Has the band finally made it back home? It's up to the listener to decide.

BLACK VINYL REPRESS

ITS 25 YEARS Since the first Heads album was released.. .so.. for 2021..Rooster has decided to get the album back in print on vinyl.. but changing the artwork. With some silver foiling and bordering, the single sleeve has been boosted to a sweet gatefold, Rooster also got the Radio 1 sessions from the time remastered, and re-cut along with the huge b-side to their Television 7” “Jellystoned Park”.
So there you have it, a double vinyl silver jubilee reissue of a fantastic debut album!

From the original reissue sales notes:
“The Heads had self-released a couple of 7"', and then Cargo Uk's inhouse label Headhunter UK got to release a further 7", and then the Debut album in 1996. Amidst a world suffocating in Britpop smarm, the Heads cut a timely swathe with their unkempt rock psychedelique. The album contained 10 tracks of guitar driven, amp destroying rock, with cues taken straight from the US underground, Stooges, MC5, Mudhoney, Pussy Galore, early Monster Magnet too but with a disitinctly British stamp, some of the drone and fuzz from Loop / Spacemen 3, some of the attitude of the Fall, Pink Fairies and Walking Seeds and overlaid with the spaced rock of early Hawkwind. It was obvious that the four members of the Heads were music obsessives. The debut album was recorded at Foel studios (owned by Dave Anderson from Hawkwind) and engineered by Corin Dingley, it was mastered by John Dent at LOUD.”


We’ve asked for some new appraisal of the Heads for the Silver Jubilee edition from good friends....

Stewart Lee February 2021
“The Halley's Comet victory orbits of historic heavy artefacts from Detroit, like The Stooges or The MC5, leave grateful onlookers aghast. But, hidden away in Bristol, The Heads are still with us now, our homegrown acid-garage godfathers, an ongoing thirty-two year old concern with a back catalogue arguably more consistent than the super-dense psyche-rock groups that inspired them. The Heads arrived fully formed and have spent three decades becoming more like themselves, a musical black hole that sucks in all surrounding matter. I love The Heads “

Phil Alexander February 2021
“The Heads make music for freaks in the know. If you were there in 1996, you’ll know just what that means…

Back then, they were gloriously out of step with the pop-cheese of the time and geezerly lumpiness of Britpop. Theirs was an altogether different take on music – a take inspired by the glorious burn-out of the ‘60s, the sonic overdrive of the ‘70s and the axis of joy created by the combination of excess volume and repetition.

We could name-check some inspirations and kindred spirits: The Stooges, Hawkwind, Floyd, Loop, Sabbath, Amon Düül II, Spacemen 3, Walking Seeds, Mudhoney, Monster Magnet among them... But in all honesty, The Heads have always existed in a world of their own, surfacing as and when the mood takes them, before returning to their subterranean rehearsal room to jam their way through yet more mind-altering riffs and mood-altering rhythms.

Relaxing With The Heads is their first defining statement. It is also possibly their most straight-forward release, the sound of a band attempting to find structure in their playing rather than abandoning themselves to their wildest impulses. That would come later…

And yet, 25 years on, this album blasts forth like few records from that time, its slacker charm welded to super-fuzzed riffs that propel its 10 tracks ever onwards. Righteous is probably the only word for it…”

What happens when you let go of something you've always been passionate about? Will it come back? And if so, in what ways and with what impact?
These questions laid the foundation for Toby Whyle's debut album 'Call It A Night'.

It is a journey to find out what feels right to him-this means escaping old patterns and allowing himself to try new things. Musically, he exposes himself unreservedly to the gravitational forces of electronic music and guitar pop by orbiting these points of attraction without ever really getting caught by either of them. Each song moves along its own trajectory, fueled by Toby's thoughts and experiences.

His first single, 'No One Moves', hitting number 1 on the FM4 charts in early 2021, marked the beginning of a new adventure-a journey upon which Toby embarks entirely on his own for the first time. After his first EP, 'A Mood Of Its Own', and the release of further singles, the debut album 'Call It A Night' will be out on May 20th, 2022, on Matches Music.

PRESSTEXT
Writing songs has always been quite natural and ever-present in Toby Whyle's life. And he's written plenty of them over the last decade. However, what's new is the realisation that songwriting is one of his few means to slow down the bright and fast-paced world surrounding us. Driven by the urge to create and develop something new, he started to write again. And suddenly, this feeling of being able to pause time came out more intense and immediate than ever.

In this way, the singer, songwriter, and guitarist manages to stand back from the constant rush, carving out space to move freely at his own pace. " Each song is an empty room, and I can decide for myself how I'm going to furnish it. It might get rather chaotic with stuff piled up to the ceiling, then again there's almost nothing in it", he describes his approach to songwriting. For him, creating melodies, crafting music and lyrics is not just a means of reflecting on situations he finds himself in but also a tool of handling them. Toby's music strives to affect and inspire people in all the different phases in life, as his songs are also a result of the diverse situations he's gone through.

Aesthetics and craftsmanship play a crucial role in Toby Whyle's creative process, from crafting songs, recording and producing them, and building and maintaining a particular visual language. He aims to create high-quality and exceptional music that enthuses and delights people, which sparks energy and conveys a certain feeling.

The Gamelatron is many things; one could call it a sculpture, a multimodal installation, an instrument, a robot, a feat of engineering, a vision—and it is all of these things. More importantly, though, it is a concept sustained by Aaron Taylor Kuffner, aka Zemi17, whose Gamelatrons are “sound producing kinetic sculptures” designed to create an immersive, visceral experience for the listener. Not a small feat, and yet the ambitions of Zemi17 are absolutely realized in this long-standing project, culminating now in his third release for The Bunker NY: Gamelatron Bidadari.

The Gamelatron Bidadari is not just a name—it is one of seventy-plus musical sculptures that Zemi17 has conceptualized, designed, and fabricated. Therefore, it would be inaccurate to think of this release as simply a series of arrangements composed in a finite period of time. Rather, it’s a window into a project and a process that is much larger than any single album can encapsulate. Gamelatron Bidardi is the culmination of more than a decade of work, and is central to Zemi17’s evolution, not only as a musician but as an artist.

Having studied gamelan for many years in Indonesian villages and at the Institut Seni Indonesia in Yogyakarta, Kuffner is a musician, an artist, technologist, and craftsman. The gongs in his sculptures are co-created with master Indonesian artisans. Each Gamelatron composition is site-responsive, meaning its sounds are composed for the acoustics and intentions of the space it inhabits, whether it’s an art gallery, a wooded landscape, or the inner temple of Burning Man. The Gamelatron does not stand alone: it is in constant co-creation with its physical environment, and in dialogue with gamelan’s long-standing history.

Originally exhibited at the Smithsonian Renwick as part of a show entitled, No Spectators: The Art of Burning Man, the Gamelatron Bidadari produces sounds that are delicate yet strong, and deeply hypnotic. Textured chiming creates intricate polyrhythmic patterns that are both complex and simple, or in a word, elegant. On Gamelan Bidadari, Zemi17 refrains from adhering to the strict musical structures; his approach to composition is free flowing.

He says, “I want to evoke what the music tells me it has to offer. It is like following water to its conclusion (or non-conclusion).” The arrangements on this album, written by Zemi17 and performed by the robotic arms of the Gamelatron, leaves the listener feeling enchanted, nourished and enriched.

A sense of the mystical comes through in the tonal quality of the instrument, and is conceptually felt in the sculpture’s name: the Bidadari, which loosely translates to “forest nymph.” The music conjures up natural wonder, and the four sculptures that make up the Gamelatron Bidadari, in fact, resemble trees. They are four independent yet connected entities, each with a large gong situated at their structural base—the sonic “roots” of the sculpture—while smaller gongs branch off of a golden, trunk-like spine. The Gamelatron Bidadari is as physically stunning as it is mesmerizing to the ear. A kind of divinity is invoked through its sound, or a sacred cohesion between past and present, tradition and new form. Meant to be viscerally experienced, the sounds of the Gamelatron call for sublime togetherness. Gamelatron Bidadari is not just an album but the crystallization of Kuffner’s work; it is a condensed yet spacious glimpse into the sonic power of Zemi17’s Gamelatrons, which have already been heard and experienced live by over a million people.

CHICAMACOMICO is a record about loss. Over a six-month span at the end of 2019/beginning of 2020, I lost my grandmother, my mother and watched as the world fell into a 2+ year pandemic that decimated businesses, relationships and dreams. This is a record about dealing with those losses. My hope is these songs serve a salve for anyone else experiencing loss. A reminder that you are not the only one that lost a friend this year, or a parent, or a loved one. There's a special kind of hope that comes from that realization. I am not alone. I wrote this record in the February 2020 on the northern coast of Hatteras Island in a small beach town called Rodanthe. In the summer, this area is an extremely popular vacation destination packed with tourists, but in the winter, it was a desolate ghost town. The perfect backdrop for the record I was trying to write. Over the course of two weeks these songs would take shape and come to life, and it quickly became obvious that the overall theme would be dark. During my stay I realized that the town used to be named Chicamacomico until the locals changed it in the name of ease and progress. In that moment, I knew I had the name of my record. We enlisted Brad Cook (Bon Iver, Nathaniel Ratliffe, Waxahatchee) to produce the record and traveled to Sonic Ranch, a world-renowned recording complex tucked in the middle of a 1,700-acre pecan orchard, in the Texas border town of Tornillo. Over the course of ten days, we watched these songs go from simple folk ruminations into fully formed band arrangements. In my sixteen-year career I have never been prouder of a set of songs, lyrically or stylistically. The songs have weight, but they aren’t weighed down. It’s a sad record, that makes you feel good. It's a culmination of nearly two decades of work. Chicamacomico sounds like nothing we've ever done yet it sits comfortably amongst the rest of our catalog. My records are chronological observations and I feel like this record perfectly represents the highs and lows of the last few years. Themes: Loss, Death, Darkness, Suicide, Divorce, Losing A Child, Losing A Parent, Losing A Spouse, Addiction, Recovery

On High Flying Man, the third LP by Matt Berry’s pseudo-eponymous project The Berries, loss and desire take center stage. Berry delves deep into 21st century malaise, crafting densely layered songs which project an unshakable yearning for deliverance from the world’s shortcomings. Each track extends an outstretched palm towards universal connection, blending a complex of mix of pop hooks, rock swagger, and psychedelia into dejected populist anthems. Faced with the perils of an isolating world, High Flying Man reignites the tradition of great American songwriting, speaking in the voice of the longing masses. At heart, Berry demands more life, rejecting both arty cynicism and nostalgic escapism.

Berry cut his teeth at a young age playing in the bands Happy Diving (Topshelf Records) and Big Bite (Pop Wig), and has since regularly served as a touring member for bands like Angel Dust and Dark Tea. His early work with Happy Diving and Big Bite solidified his position as an upcoming star in the world of fuzzed-out indie rock, earning him tours and opening slots with the likes of Turnstile, Dinosaur Jr., Nothing, The Swirlies, and The Coathangers. With The Berries, however, Berry turns the Big Muffs down (although not off), creating sonic space to stretch his wings as a burgeoning pop songwriter. The psychedelic-surrealist textures of his earlier output are not gone, per say, but rather find themselves folded into more expansive, rock-oriented arrangements, becoming accoutrements as opposed to the driving force of each song itself.

High Flying Man follows The Berries’ previous releases, 2018’s Start All Over Again and 2019’s Berryland. While longtime listeners will undoubtedly recognize Berry’s disaffected drawl and melodic sensibility, High Flying Man’s complex arrangements and expansive sonic landscape place it well apart from its predecessors. Berry enlisted live band members Danny Paul (drums), Emma Danner (backing vocals), and Lance Umble (bass) during the recording of High Flying Man, as well as the mixing talents of Rob Schnapf (Elliott Smith, Beck, Guided by Voices), breaking from the self-produced home recording ethos of the previous Berries LPs. The collaborative nature of High Flying Man’s recording process is reflected in the quality of each song’s arrangement. Freed from the pressure of being individually responsible for every detail committed to tape, Berry was able to focus his attention more fully on the creative demands of constructing a dynamic and cohesive record. High Flying Man pivots away from any sort of obvious nod to Americana tropes, baggy British attitude, or Neil Young-esque riffing, leaning head on into a lush, idiosyncratic grandeur.

Each track evokes the irreverent and flashy style of a songwriting voice finding itself for the first time. Berry’s guitar heroics extend towards new heights, channeling the simple pop mastery of Lindsay Buckingham (“Prime”) and the wicked emotion of a 21st century “November Rain” (“High Flying Man”). Unusual stylistic juxtapositions give certain songs an almost timeless quality: Bert Jansch-esque crooning finds its counterpoint in sweeping, distortion-soaked riffs (“A Drop of Rain”), the primitive rhythms of Amon Duul are given an arena-sized, Britpop facelift (“Life’s Blood”). On High Flying Man, however, the ballad reigns supreme. “Down That Road Again” drips with sentimentality, powered by soft, undeniable pop melodies and pared-down chord progressions. Album-centerpiece “Eagle Eye” teeters between pure grace and extreme sorrow, unfolding into a massive, immediately memorable tide of melancholic beauty.

Lyrically, High Flying Man is both simple and direct. Although often bitter about the state of the world, Berry has no overtly political axe to grind. In some instances, he takes jabs at the moral laziness of aging millennials, expressing his yearning for a return to vitality and conviction (“Prime”). In other instances, Berry turns his criticism inwards, examining his longing for a better life and his repeated tendency to self-sabotage (“Down That Road Again”). These two poles balance each other out, creating a thematic tenor which is more so self-implicating and empathetic than critical. If anyone is to blame, it is the world we have been saddled with, not the people left to pick up its pieces. Although often personal, Berry’s words evoke a universal experience of continued belief in the face of loss. “High Flying Man” chronicles the growing distance between Berry and an old friend who has been shipwrecked by the weight of trauma, evoking the sorrow of trying to love someone who is no longer able to keep up with reality. Even the most somber passages of “Eagle Eye” (“long before I become aware of it, my friend/it’s 6 AM and I’m gonna die”) find their redemption in a burning devotion towards something worth living for (“If there’s one thing I can depend on/it’s my old friend/my shining light/my eagle eye”).

With High Flying Man, Matt Berry embraces undying love in the face of isolation. Daring to want more life becomes a spiritual rallying cry against a world that has failed to make life either meaningful or beautiful. At their core, these songs are not about revolution, but they are about the faith that gives something like revolution a purpose in the first place.

Rose City Band is celebrated guitarist Ripley Johnson. A prolific songwriter, Johnson started Rose City Band to have an outlet to explore songwriting styles apart from Wooden Shjips and Moon Duo, where he is often not the lead songwriter. Rose City Band allowed him to follow his musical muses as they greet him and not be bound by the schedule of bandmates and demands of a touring group. Stepping out from behind the psychedelic haze that envelops his other output, Rose City Band"s lean yet richly textured arrangements lay bare the beauty of his songcraft. On Earth Trip, Johnson reveals more of himself than ever before, coloring the project"s country-rock twang with a melancholic, wistful undertone. It charts a journey of personal growth and introspection with surprising honesty, from pining for summers spent with friends to meditations on space, stillness and the splendor of the natural world. It continues Rose City Band"s celebration of summer warmth and the great outdoors, seen from a new vantage point, and with newfound appreciation for the freedom and joy that nature provides. Earth Trip was written during a period of sudden shocks and drastic lifestyle changes for Johnson. Forced to cancel extensive touring plans for 2020, the guitarist found himself home for an extended period for the first time in years. No longer in constant motion, he was able to experience and enjoy the simple pleasures of home life, of being in one place: hikes in nature, bathing outside, and waking with the dawn. Forming new connections to his surroundings, from tending to a garden to sleeping out under the stars, Johnson found hope and healing in a more mindful relationship with the natural world. Themes of recalibration and finding personal space are equally mirrored in Earth Trip"s lean production. Recorded at his home studio in Portland and mixed by Cooper Crain (Bitchin" Bajas, Cave), Johnson makes deft use of space while experimenting with new sonics. Shimmering pedal steel, woozy harmonica melodies, and stately piano enhance the album"s introspective tone without ever clouding arrangements. Psychedelic elements that nod to Johnson"s other projects and influences still appear throughout, but hover at the edge of perception, a subtle halo adding colour and texture to Johnson"s songwriting rather than taking centrer-stage. He elaborates: "I told Cooper I was trying to capture that feeling when you take psychedelics and they just start coming on - maybe objects start buzzing in the edges of your vision, you start seeing slight trails, maybe the characteristics of sound change subtly. But you"re not fully tripping yet. He got the idea right away and his mix really captures that feeling." Johnson"s lithe guitar playing throughout treads a fine line between country and cosmic, taut melodies spiralling out into long reverb trails or free-form solos buoyed by a breeze, radiating summer warmth. Through its daring honesty and masteful arrangements, Earth Trip cements Johnson"s place as a singular songwriter of inimitable skill. It"s message of mindfulness and our interconnectedness to the environment expands on a long country and blues music tradition that draws a symbiotic relationship between storyteller and the land, capturing the beauty of the natural world while also emphasising our responsibility in preserving it for future generations

New full length album of Franck Vigroux's uncompromising signature sound of colossal electronic music. Atotal gathers material from Franck's latest live A/V of the the same name. Working with his long time visual partner Antoine Schmitt, ATOTAL is an audiovisual performance aiming to reconstruct in order to better deconstruct the processes of imposition of will by repetition and absolute synchronism, to propose a breach to a potentially life-saving decoincidence. The total work of art, when pushed to its paroxysm of absolute coincidence of the perceptions of a captive spectator, is similar to the techniques of mental manipulation of totalitarian regimes, proceeding by annihilation of the critical mind, repetitive semantic pounding, subliminal messages. The ideal of a deterministic universe of Newton in which everything rationally stems from its causes, in which everything is predictable like a totality for Laplace’s daemon, where everything can be considered already written, has been undermined in the infinitely small of the uncertainties of Heisenberg which tell us that it is impossible to know everything about a particle, in the quantum mechanics of Schrödinger which reveals to us that the looker affects the looked-at, and in the infinitely abstract of Gödel’s incompleteness which explains to us that certain things are literally unexplainable. The show ATOTAL slips into these flaws and, like a clinamen of Lucretia, deviates the visual and audio atoms from their destiny. Mastering by Denis Blackham. Artwork by Mostafa Khaled

Come for the leopard, stay for the stone cold jams. Yet another thrilling, funky-prog jazzy-rock fusion beauty from Ian Carr’s Nucleus. Originally released on Vertigo in 1975, Alleycat was never re-pressed so those original copies are now very tricky to score. Like all the Nucleus records, it’s aged ridiculously well and this Be With re-issue, re-mastered from the original analogue tapes, shows off just why this deserves to be back in press.

Genius trumpeter and visionary composer Ian Carr was one of the most respected British musicians of his era. He was a true pioneer and saw the potential in fusing the worlds of jazz with rock, just as Miles Davis and The Tony Williams Lifetime did in the US. In late 1969, following the demise of the Rendell-Carr quintet, and tiring of British jazz, Carr assembled the legendary Nucleus. Regarding music as a continuous process, Nucleus refused to “recognise rigid boundaries” and worked on delivering what they saw as a “total musical experience”. We can get behind that.

Under bandleader Carr, Nucleus existed as a fluid line-up of inventive, skilled musicians. This constant evolution and revolution was all part of the continuous musical exploration and discovery that took jazz to new levels. And the music has stayed relevant. To steal a line from a recent review of our re-issue of Roots, when it comes to anything Nucleus “it’s basically already hip-hop”.

Alleycat was the last Nucleus album recorded for the Vertigo label. Released in 1975, it was again meticulously produced by Jon Hiseman and is every bit as sinuous as anything else the group had recorded. As far as riff-laden accidental cop-funk goes, there’s so much energy coursing through the music that at times it sounds like a live recording. It’s pretty unbeatable.

Uptempo opener “Phaideaux Corner” is a funk-flavoured opus with a groove that simply swaggers. This trademark Roger Sutton piece benefits from Trevor Tomkins’s percussive expertise and some excellent sax and keyboard soloing. Check out Geoff Castle on squelchy, stabbing Moog duties. Ian Carr’s elegantly laidback title track is a lengthy suite of magisterial themes. Typically complex, it still gets you hooked and is just riddled with the funk. Carr builds up his initially “straight” trumpet solo with later use of echo to mesmeric effect. And there’s some excellent wah-wah guitar shredding by Ken Shaw too. Nice.

The second side opens with the killer “Splat” and finds Nucleus really ripping it up. A fat, funky bass guitar riff introduces us to the track and stays with us until the end. The often mangled bass groove is pushed along by rattling drums and percussion, dropping out for some restful moments of spacey calm, and along the way picking up some lengthy keyboard noodling by Castle. So so good.

The cool “You Can’t Be Sure” is a gentle jam with Shaw on 12-string acoustic guitar, together with Carr’s muted trumpet and some marvellous fretless work from Sutton for extra colour. The album closes with Bob Bertles’ galloping “Nosegay”, written perhaps as a response to some of the faster Mahavishnu Orchestra pieces. It’s an example of well crafted jazz-rock that doesn’t compromise any of its jazziness, yet it still very definitely rocks.

This Be With re-issue of Alleycat has been re-mastered from the original Vertigo master tapes, Simon Francis’ mastering working together with Pete Norman’s cut to weave their usual magic with these wonderful recordings. The cool AF cover - that leopard was just a cat before he heard Nucleus, you know - has been restored as the finishing touch to this long overdue re-issue.

Isoviha was recorded four years ago, inspired by ideas that Sasu Ripatti (aka Vladislav Delay) had been reflecting on for a long time. This album is a counterpart to his two Rakka albums which were a personal reflection on the nature and sound-world of the northern Arctic wilderness, 1000 kilometres north of where he lives on the Finnish island of Hailuoto. It's an area he loves to explore, trekking out alone to enjoy its rugged power. However the sound world of Isoviha is a return to man-made civilization. Musically Isoviha presents a more complicated world than Rakka; overloaded and unpredictable, audio archaeology that layers and juxtaposes everyday sounds into intense sculptures of noise and drone. As a musical observation internally and externally, it's influenced by the heightened anxious intensity Sasu feels when returning from the empty wilderness. The ratcheting up of urban noise on Isoviha is built with insistent loops that seem to malfunction the faster they spiral and the dangerous overwhelming potential of ordinary objects and events: shimmering, hammering, crowds, radio distortion, ancient backfiring engines. It's hypermodern musique concrète, married to a jazz drummer's intuitive sense of rhythm. Going back even further in time but still tethered to the local, Isoviha also means 'the great wrath' and refers to a time in Finland under Russian occupation in the 1700s. A time when all the Islanders of Hailuoto were killed, apart from a single couple who were left to bury the dead. As if time is non-linear, the response to toxicity and madness that drives the album feels even more appropriate now than when it was written four years ago and confirmation that the horrors of the past still darken the present.