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Bethesda Game Studios und Laced Records haben sich zusammengetan, um die Musik von 'Starfield' auf Deluxe-Vinyl zu bringen.

In allen Titeln der Bethesda Game Studios ist die Musik ein wesentlicher Bestandteil der Reise des Spielers und ein ständiger Begleiter während seines Abenteuers. Die langjährige Zusammenarbeit zwischen dem Komponisten Inon Zur und dem Studio begann bereits 2008 mit der Veröffentlichung von Fallout 3. Die Musik zu 'Starfield' sollte sowohl die Weite des Weltraums als auch die Neugier der Menschen auf das Unbekannte zum Ausdruck bringen. So verwob Zur traditionelle und nicht-traditionelle orchestrale und elektronische Klänge zu einem Klangteppich aus Organischem und Synthetischem.

Während der Entwicklung hat das Team ein eklektisches Spektrum an Referenzpunkten durchlaufen: Es begann bei den Sci-Fi-Grundsäulen von John Williams und Jerry Goldsmith, durchquerte einen klassischen Nebel von Debussy, Ravel und Prokofiev, flog an Vangelis' überragendem Synthesizerwerk vorbei und warf einen Blick auf die experimentellen Arbeiten der Einstürzenden Neubauten und von John Cage.

In den Orchesterstücken von Starfield, die vom Budapester Filmorchester eingespielt wurden, beschwören verschiedene Instrumentalgruppen oft imaginäre Aspekte des Weltraums herauf. Schnelle, sich wiederholende Sequenzen in den Holzbläsern stellen Partikel dar. Streicher, die wellenförmige Akkorde spielen, imitieren lange Wellen interstellarer Energie. Die Blechbläser werden zum Leuchtfeuer der Melodie, das über die Galaxie hinaus strahlt. In ähnlicher Weise erhalten die eher elektronischen Cues ein Gefühl von Erhabenheit durch schwere Synthesizerflächen, die kryptische, sich wiederholende Muster und ungewöhnliche perkussive Schläge untermauern.

Aeralie Brighton (DEATHLOOP, Ori-Serie) ist auf dem Soundtrack als Sängerin zu hören.

With Umwelt, room, An’archives releases the first vinyl LP by Japanese singer, songwriter and guitarist, Kotonashiso. An elegant collection of seven slow-moving, free-ranging song forms, Umwelt, room is reflective, pensive, and yet has a great, expansive sense of movement, each song’s parameters feeling almost infinitely flexible.

Born in Tokyo in 1984, Kotonashiso began playing music in 2000. After taking a long break from making music between the years 2005 to 2016, he returned with renewed focus, and over the past eight years, he’s toured Japan and Europe, performing in venues, street performances and open mic events. Currently, Kotonashiso plays either solo, on in three separate duos, with Sou Mori, 泥, and Hideya Kyooka, respectively. He’s not released much music, as yet – a single, “in the cavern”, with Sou Mori, in 2021, and a soundtrack to Hiroki Nakajima’s solo exhibition, Ray, the following year.

All of this gives Umwelt, Room the feeling of a major statement, a debut shot across the void. The seven songs collected here were recorded in 2024, with a guiding principle, for Kotonashiso, being his desire to “imagine the time when people started recording blues and folk songs on analog records,” creating a ghost-like presence in the listener’s room. When talking about the songs on Umwelt, Room, Kotonashiso focuses on a number of concepts, such as prayer, tragedy, ‘the cycle of life’, and the disappearance of the gulf between fantasy and reality.

They’re songs with deep, rich resonance, performed without guile. You might be able to hear, at times, the fragility of fellow Japanese singer-songwriter Hisato Higuchi, or the bluesy touch of Loren Connors in the guitar. However, Kotonashiso’s aesthetic remit is wide, identifying with artists like Bill Callahan, Scout Niblett, Inukaze, and Tomoko Shimazaki, and sharing sympathies with “the psychedelic rock, avant-garde and ambient communities.” Ultimately, though, the pellucid, dream-like songs of Kotonashiso, somewhere between folk, pop and blues, sit, disarmed and lovely, within their own universe.

Fraufraulein, the San Francisco duo of Billy Gomberg and Andy Guthrie, are master world builders. Their work is immersive — it wraps around you like a warm coat, guiding you deep into a trance-like state. Time moves in slow circles, folds in on itself, and unspools like caught fishing line. It’s tempting to say Guthrie and Gomberg construct a new reality with their work, but I think they’re revealing the contours of familiar territory, gluing together a complicated mirror more than constructing a quotidian diorama. Their music reflects a truth that we all share in some way. It’s the pauses between thoughts, the little observations that color a day, the beauty of how others’ lives imbricate for brief moments before pulling apart completely. Fraufraulein’s music feels beamed from inner space, the soft parts of our consciousness that glow like a flashlight beneath fingertips.

It’s also tempting to call Greater Honeyguide, the duo’s new record — and first in four years — a tool for fostering presence. Each composition can serve as a meditative space, and observing the quietly unfurling layers of sound — a footfall and a quiet breath, scraps of overlapping melodies sung like notes to self, synthesizers droning lightly in the distance — can be a very calming, grounding experience. But I also love to let these pieces guide me through the sulci of my brain like a slot canyon, emerging at some long-forgotten memory or idea. Think of it as a passively-active experience, like looking out of a train window, watching the scenery blur together. At the end of the album’s 37 minutes, I feel transformed. Not necessarily different, just in tune with something else. Something beyond. Something within.

Der Aufstieg in die höchste Stufe des Metals Es ist die globale Vorherrschaft für die schottischen Modern-Metal-Schwergewichte Bleed From Within, nachdem sie ihr karriereprägendes Album "Shrine" (über 40 Millionen Streams) veröffentlicht haben und Tourneen in der EU mit Slipknot und in Nordamerika mit Trivium und Bullet For My Valentine absolvierten – ist das Quintett nun mit "Zenith" bereit, den Sprung in den Superstar-Status zu schaffen.
In 11 Songs erkundet "Zenith" die Parameter dessen, was pulsierender Metal mit Chören, Dudelsack-Gastsolos und renommierten Gastsängern leisten kann. Ihr Aufstieg in die oberste Liga des Metals steht unmittelbar bevor.

Liz Stringer has been a steadfast and captivating feature of the Australian musical landscape over a six album career. Venerated by her musical peers and devoted fanbase alike, Stringer's world-class vocals, multi-instrumental prowess, notoriously powerful live performances and story-rich, genre-defying songs place her among the most important songwriters of her era. Mirroring the scope and complexity of Stringer's sensibilities and accomplishment as an artist, The Second High draws from Stringer's wider influences of jazz, funk and soul, and takes her ability to dissect the minutiae of the human condition through song - and connect with her audience - to a new level. The album is redolent with motifs of self-actualisation, lessons learned, sharp and ever-relevant commentary on social issues, and a strong and consistent focus on justice and equality. Fuelled by keys-driven grooves ranging from poignant grand piano lamentations (When You Met Me), the Rhodes-led jazz odyssey of On the Level, hip-hop flavoured keys brightening the bottom-heavy and deeply funky The Second High, to virtuosic keys that dance between strings and soaring multi-layered vocals in To Survive, Stringer's seventh studio album is a fresh and engaging ride to a destination yet uncharted, even by Stringer's standards - thrilling, stark and transformative. If 2021's First Time Really Feeling was an excavation, The Second High is an exorcism.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scowl is a band that sounds exactly like their name implies. Venomous, fierce, antagonistic. A sneer not to be crossed. Over the last five years, the Santa Cruz, California, band has firmly planted their flag in the hardcore scene with their vicious sound and ripping live show, sharing stages around the world with Circle Jerks, Touché Amoré, and Limp Bizkit, and filling slots at prominent festivals like Coachella, Sick New World, and Reading and Leeds. But with their new album, Are We All Angels (Dead Oceans), Scowl is aiming to funnel all that aggression through a more expansive version of themselves. Much of Are We All Angels grapples with Scowl’s newfound place in the hardcore scene, a community which has both embraced the band and made them something of a lightning rod over the past few years. Standout single “Not Hell, Not Heaven” outright rejects the narratives cast onto them by outsiders. “It’s about feeling victimized and being a victim, but not wanting to identify with being a victim,” explains vocalist Kat Moss. “It’s trying to find grace in the fact that I have my power. I live in my reality. You have to deal with whatever you're dealing with, and it ain’t working for me.” The band breaks from a sense of disassociation to seek deeper connections on “Fantasy.” “It’s incredibly challenging to try to balance my love for the scene while also feeling, in some spaces, extremely alienated and hated,” Moss says. “‘Fantasy’ is about feeling like I don't know how to connect with these people anymore, because I have shelled myself away so hard.” The album ends in a philosophical place on the closing, titular track, “Are We All Angels,” asking questions like, “Is this all there is?” and ultimately putting it on the listener to decide. “It’s about the personal struggle between good and evil. It doesn’t matter how ‘good’ or ‘bad’ you are, there are systems that will try to rewrite your narrative no matter what you actually do,” explains Moss, noting that punctuation on “Are We All Angels” has been deliberately omitted in an attempt to leave the statement open-ended. Are We All Angels is the highly anticipated follow-up to Scowl’s debut, 2021’s How Flowers Grow, a 16-minute primal scream over punishing riffs. But amidst the pounding chaos, it was the record’s sonic outlier, a cleaner interlude called “Seeds to Sow,” that, true to its name, planted the seed for what was to come for the band. “It kind of laid out this destiny for us, and I feel like now we’re fulfilling that,” says drummer Cole Gilbert. The band continued to expand their sound on 2023’s widely acclaimed Psychic Dance Routine EP, incorporating more pop hooks and favoring gentler singing over heavy screaming, paving the way for what would come next. Scowl’s growth got a huge boost from producer Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight, Code Orange, Balance and Composure), who broadened the band’s scope. “Will would say, ‘Everything you have here is correct, but it’s in the wrong place,’” says Gilbert. Moss adds: “Will really helped restructure a lot of the material. Some songs he tore apart to make more space for the really good hooks and choruses.” But even through this more eclectic approach, Scowl loses none of their edge, and still manages to convey the anger and frustration that lies underneath. They are deeply committed to carrying the ethos of punk and its sense of community. “Hardcore and punk have sculpted how we operate, what we want to do as a band, and how we participate,” says guitarist Malachi Greene. “At our core, we are a punk and a hardcore band, regardless of how the song shifts and changes.

Scowl is a band that sounds exactly like their name implies. Venomous, fierce, antagonistic. A sneer not to be crossed. Over the last five years, the Santa Cruz, California, band has firmly planted their flag in the hardcore scene with their vicious sound and ripping live show, sharing stages around the world with Circle Jerks, Touché Amoré, and Limp Bizkit, and filling slots at prominent festivals like Coachella, Sick New World, and Reading and Leeds. But with their new album, Are We All Angels (Dead Oceans), Scowl is aiming to funnel all that aggression through a more expansive version of themselves. Much of Are We All Angels grapples with Scowl’s newfound place in the hardcore scene, a community which has both embraced the band and made them something of a lightning rod over the past few years. Standout single “Not Hell, Not Heaven” outright rejects the narratives cast onto them by outsiders. “It’s about feeling victimized and being a victim, but not wanting to identify with being a victim,” explains vocalist Kat Moss. “It’s trying to find grace in the fact that I have my power. I live in my reality. You have to deal with whatever you're dealing with, and it ain’t working for me.” The band breaks from a sense of disassociation to seek deeper connections on “Fantasy.” “It’s incredibly challenging to try to balance my love for the scene while also feeling, in some spaces, extremely alienated and hated,” Moss says. “‘Fantasy’ is about feeling like I don't know how to connect with these people anymore, because I have shelled myself away so hard.” The album ends in a philosophical place on the closing, titular track, “Are We All Angels,” asking questions like, “Is this all there is?” and ultimately putting it on the listener to decide. “It’s about the personal struggle between good and evil. It doesn’t matter how ‘good’ or ‘bad’ you are, there are systems that will try to rewrite your narrative no matter what you actually do,” explains Moss, noting that punctuation on “Are We All Angels” has been deliberately omitted in an attempt to leave the statement open-ended. Are We All Angels is the highly anticipated follow-up to Scowl’s debut, 2021’s How Flowers Grow, a 16-minute primal scream over punishing riffs. But amidst the pounding chaos, it was the record’s sonic outlier, a cleaner interlude called “Seeds to Sow,” that, true to its name, planted the seed for what was to come for the band. “It kind of laid out this destiny for us, and I feel like now we’re fulfilling that,” says drummer Cole Gilbert. The band continued to expand their sound on 2023’s widely acclaimed Psychic Dance Routine EP, incorporating more pop hooks and favoring gentler singing over heavy screaming, paving the way for what would come next. Scowl’s growth got a huge boost from producer Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight, Code Orange, Balance and Composure), who broadened the band’s scope. “Will would say, ‘Everything you have here is correct, but it’s in the wrong place,’” says Gilbert. Moss adds: “Will really helped restructure a lot of the material. Some songs he tore apart to make more space for the really good hooks and choruses.” But even through this more eclectic approach, Scowl loses none of their edge, and still manages to convey the anger and frustration that lies underneath. They are deeply committed to carrying the ethos of punk and its sense of community. “Hardcore and punk have sculpted how we operate, what we want to do as a band, and how we participate,” says guitarist Malachi Greene. “At our core, we are a punk and a hardcore band, regardless of how the song shifts and changes.

Introducing the vinyl reissue of "Defective Breakdown" by The Defects, a cornerstone album in the history of Irish punk. Originally released in 1982, this album captures the raw energy and rebellious spirit of Belfast’s punk scene during a turbulent period. Known for their uncompromising lyrics and driving rhythms, The Defects became anthems for youth discontent and anti-establishment sentiments. Fronted by the powerful vocals of Buck Defect, with infectious guitar work from Geoff "Duke" Gilmore, the band brought a visceral sound that resonated with audiences far beyond Northern Ireland. Tracks like "Survival" and "Brutality" showcase their fast-paced, no-holds-barred approach to punk, combining aggressive instrumentals with direct, hard-hitting lyrics. This vinyl edition brings "Defective Breakdown" back to life with enhanced clarity and depth, giving both long-time fans and new listeners the chance to experience The Defects’ iconic sound as it was meant to be heard.

Introducing the vinyl reissue of "Defective Breakdown" by The Defects, a cornerstone album in the history of Irish punk. Originally released in 1982, this album captures the raw energy and rebellious spirit of Belfast’s punk scene during a turbulent period. Known for their uncompromising lyrics and driving rhythms, The Defects became anthems for youth discontent and anti-establishment sentiments. Fronted by the powerful vocals of Buck Defect, with infectious guitar work from Geoff "Duke" Gilmore, the band brought a visceral sound that resonated with audiences far beyond Northern Ireland. Tracks like "Survival" and "Brutality" showcase their fast-paced, no-holds-barred approach to punk, combining aggressive instrumentals with direct, hard-hitting lyrics. This vinyl edition brings "Defective Breakdown" back to life with enhanced clarity and depth, giving both long-time fans and new listeners the chance to experience The Defects’ iconic sound as it was meant to be heard.

This is a recorded document performed by Mark Holub, Johanna Pärli and Sofía Salvo.

As a trio, they had not met until sound-checking for their gig at Berlin’s Cashmere Radio on September 1, 2023 — a fact that may be concealed by their immediate understanding as a musical entity but is obvious by their artistic freedom and curiosity towards each hoc encounters, flexible and steadfast in its performance, and that culminated in an experience that shook the floor of the radio station’s headquarters.

The day after, Sofía, Johanna and Mark gathered in Adam Asnan’s studio and deepened their quest for a communal language. They ignored any musical fetters or conventions, enjoyed the possibilities of a wider time frame without a live audience — and exceeded all hopes of what three personalities can achieve when they are given the space and time to experiment, detached from any restrictions.

Mark Holub is a drummer of outstanding versatility and responsiveness, full of ideas and quick on his feet. Through his playing as well as his experience as a band-leader and composer he is able to steer this coequal group towards thundering crescendo, but sits equally comfortable in the centre of complex and fine rhythm probing in response to impulses thrown in by his companions.

Johanna Pärli makes use of her double bass’s entire body, extracting an armada of multi- layered sounds with an immensely high sonic spectrum that is also reflected in the diversity of her musical projects. She is both patient and wildly adventurous in her performance, and in this trio her contribution wanders from considerate bow work to brisk fingerpicking, gnarly string strikes and pedal use to startling effects.

Sofía Salvo unleashes the full unbounded potential of her voice by taking advantage of her baritone saxophone’s broad range of possibilities. She is one of Berlin’s most singular musicians and her widely proven capabilities cover gentle additions to support and underline pulsive interplay just as masterfully as rapid licks and roaring bursts of noise, spurring the collective to unpredictable intensity.

If music of this particular kind often gives the impression of a constant search, this international trio certainly managed to find common ground and capture a special moment in time for listeners to (re-)discover. Contrary to what frequent misconception sometimes suggests, it’s also tremendous fun.

NERR — Filling Open Spaces was instantly composed and performed live in studio by Mark Holub on drums, Johanna Pärli on double bass and Sofía Salvo on baritone saxophone, recorded in Berlin on September 2, 2023 and mixed by Adam Asnan. Mastered and cut by Rashad Becker, vinyl pressed at Pallas. Artwork and design by Stefan Lingg, produced by Christoph Berg and Stefan Lingg.

Colemine Records is excited to put out their first 45 with The Charities, a sweet-soul band out of sunny California. The group's sound is a melting pot of cultures, exhibiting a mix of soul, r&b, rock, and funk. The A-side of this 45, 'Fatal Attraction,' explores just that. In some relationships, the very qualities that draw you in can also lead to your destruction. She's captivating_beautiful, intelligent, and charming_but beneath the surface, she's narcissistic and self-centered, with no regard for the pain she causes. When you're lost in the intensity of love, it's easy to overlook these darker traits. But when the time comes for her to move on, she'll strike without hesitation, delivering a blow that cuts deep. Her words, sharp as a knife, tear through your heart with cold precision. As you bleed out, she offers nothing but a final, indifferent goodbye...."It's Not Our Time," on the B, tells the story of two lovers who find themselves at a crossroads, torn apart by the struggles they face in this chapter of their lives. Perhaps in the future, they'll rekindle their love and spark a new flame_one that burns even brighter then before. It's a bittersweet goodbye, with the belief that the distance and time apart will only strengthen their bond when the moment is right.The tracks are produced by Anthony Masino and were recorded at Penrose Recordings in Riverside, CA.

Genau genommen stammt die Idee zu Who Believes In Angels? von drei befreundeten Musiker:innen:
Neben Elton John und der 11-fachen GRAMMY-Gewinnerin Brandi Carlile aus dem US-Staat Washington
war auch der vielfach preisgekrönte US-Produzent und Songwriter Andrew Watt (zweifacher GRAMMYGewinner) von Anfang an am kreativen Prozess beteiligt. Ihre Vision war eine echte Zusammenarbeit: Sie
wollten einen Longplayer aufnehmen, der ein echtes Gemeinschaftsprojekt ist, der durch und durch auf den
Faktor Kollaboration setzt. Konkret schwebte ihnen ein Mix aus Stücken vor, bei denen mal Elton, mal
Brandi am Mikrofon den Ton angeben sollte, wobei die Songtexte sowohl von Brandi als auch von Eltons
angestammtem Kreativpartner Bernie Taupin stammen sollten. Als Produzent und Co-Songwriter kam
obendrein Andrew Watt ins Spiel, dem als kreatives Bindeglied und Vermittler eine zentrale Rolle zukam.
Schon im Oktober 2023 kamen sie alle in den Sunset Sound Studios in Los Angeles zusammen, und nach 20
Tagen war schließlich alles im Kasten. Unterstützung bekamen sie dabei von weiteren Weltklasse-Musikern
– u.a. von Chad Smith (Red Hot Chili Peppers), Pino Palladino (Nine Inch Nails, Gary Numan, David
Gilmour) und Josh Klinghoffer (Pearl Jam, Beck).
Erhältlich als CD I LP I CD Box (CD & DVD & Aufklappbare Box)

Another foggy day in Yorkshire. A steel grey sky. Raindrops tracing one another down the windowpane. Kirk Barley sits in his studio and assembles compositions from scraps of found sound and live instrumentation. Melodies swell, withdraw and repeat like waves. Time slows. Accelerates. Slows again. The light bends, tweaked at the edges. Twisted by rhythms that never quite resolve.

Written, recorded and produced by Barley in Yorkshire in early 2024, Lux picks up where 2023 LP Marionette leaves off, conjuring a mystical, reflective space between formal minimalism and sonic imaginaries of northern landscapes.

And yet, where Marionette relied at times on more recognisable field recordings, Lux leans into Barley’s skill as an instrumentalist and sound designer, working from a palette of short samples and utilising a variety of alternate tuning systems to build, layer and coax his compositions into being. Most evident on tracks ‘Vita’, ‘Sprite’ and ‘Descendent’, these tunings create an otherworldly harmonic language that is easier to perceive than describe.

Alongside more familiar instruments of guitar, bass, drums, organ and clarinet, here Barley draws on plastic saxophones and bells, and recordings of glass, wood and metal sound objects to provide the organic matter. Rather than directly representative of the natural world, Lux enters into a dialogue with it which, like the grasses and flowers of the album’s cover, exists somewhere between reality and artifice.

On album opener ‘Cache’, Barley constructs his own sense of time from a recording of an umbrella crank, a sparse and spectral piece which hints at memories embedded in the track’s title. Introspection blossoms into new life on ‘Vita’, crumpling again into the percussive ambience of ‘Verre’. A track that takes its harmonic lead from the clinks of glass, it features Barley’s long-time collaborator Matt Davies on drums, whose nuanced, tonally sensitive playing gives ‘Verre’ a fizzing, ice-like quality.

There are several moments where Lux picks up on themes Barley explored under electronic moniker Church Andrews on recent works with Davies, stretching and distorting temporalities most explicitly on ‘Descendent’, whose ritualistic air unfurls around a pattern in exponential decline.

Embracing the surrealism Barley absorbed over years watching classic film noir and the works of David Lynch and Federico Fellini, Lux wends its way through the enchanted sound worlds of ‘Sprite’ and ‘Balanced’ before arriving at the album’s title track.

An expression of his recent experiments in live, prepared guitar, ‘Lux’ brings the album back to earth, returning us to the room where the rain has stopped, the clouds have parted, and the soft warmth of the spring sun is pouring in through the open window.

Remember: Rod loves you! Es ist 1995. Die Welt ist schlecht aber alle lieben die ärzte. Also kniet nieder!

Denn nur nochmal für’s Protokoll: die ärzte sind aus Berlin (aus Berlin!) und sie sind zurück. Mit Hits, Hits … und noch ein paar Hits.
„Planet Punk“ ist das gewohnt großmäulige Statement der Besten Band der Welt und vier mal Onanieren und eine explodierte Freundin später ist klar: Dies ist eines der kurzweiligsten Alben, das die an Kurzweiligkeit nicht gerade darbenden die ärzte bis dato abliefern. Da fällt der teils brutal, schnell, laut in Szene gesetzte Metal-Sound zwischendrin fast gar nicht auf. Denn es gibt die gnadenlos abseitige Obskur-Avantgarde um Nasenkoteletts, den Rumba-Hüftschwung inklusive Querflöte und Flamenco-Gitarre, den schamfrei in Haudrauf-Manier hinballadierten Freud-Penis-Overkill mit passiv-aggressivem Schlafzimmer-Blick und die ebenso sozialrealistische wie hemmungslos zynische Loser-Hymne. die ärzte: Jetzt mit Friedrichstadtpalast und Friede, Freude, Eierkuchen. Sowie einem der schönsten hässlichen Band-T-Shirts der Popgeschichte, das sich noch Jahrzehnte später als Klassiker am MerchStand behaupten wird. Und „Schunder-Song“. „Planet Punk“ erscheint ausschließlich als Doppelvinylalbum (inklusive Downloadcode) am 7. Oktober
2022.

DJ Support: Gilles Peterson (BBC Radio 6 Music), Tom Ravenscroft/Deb Grant – New Music Fix (BBC Radio 6 Music), Huey Morgan (BBC Radio 6 Music)

From Budapest, Mörk (pronounced Merk) play on the boundaries of jazz and soul music. After meeting as students, they created a band that not only toyed with sounds but the methods of delivering them too. They’ve played in kindergardens, climbing halls, tea rooms and living rooms, countering expectations of where and how you find music.

Following April's much loved ‘Astral Visions’ EP, played across Bandcamp Weekly, BBC 6 Music, FIP, Jazz FM and KCRW, their upcoming album ‘Still Dreamin’’ delivers even more soul and uplifting choruses, coupled with the synchronicity of a band that has been through so much together.

Hüma Utku returns to Editions Mego with her new album. The title Dracones makes reference to the mediaeval latin term "Hic sunt dracones" (Here be dragons), marking the unexplored, dangerous places on world maps, expressing the fear of chaos, the unexpected and the unknown.

This new work by the Istanbul sound artist is a sonic journal of an expedition into uncharted territory, one which occupies self and domesticity. Inspired by Utku’s experience of matrescence, Dracones explores the themes of familial demonology, metamorphosis and homecoming as well as human relationship to the experience of love woven layers of euphoria, alienation and consumption.

Musically, Dracones traverses a wide array of sonic tools whereby industrial sounds are imbedded with certain psychological angles, this is an album where, all matter meshes into a sly snapshot of the human experience with a tension and release exposure occurring frequently with dark corners opening up to bright layers of electronic experimentation.

The haunting opening track ‘A World Between Worlds’ tackles pregnancy, of which Utku was experiencing when making this record. The emotional, physical, spiritual and mental experience of this journey is all documented here.. This track features the ‘Lyraei’, an electromagnetic string instrument and modern interpretation of the ancient lyre, that was built and played by Mihalis Shammas. ‘Comfort of The Shadows’ moves from within to without, what was once hidden is now exposed. Utku’s ability to conjure the visual in the sonic is at the forefront as howling electronics give a distinct impression of movement. ‘A Familial Curse’ presents a desire to break the cycle of generational trauma with a creeping sense of dread that rolls into an industrial rhythm prior to landing in a beautiful place represented with shimmering guitar tones. ‘Here be Dragons’ is a rich and dark evocation, a spooked surrender to the themes of the record whereby Utku’s wildly distorted voice beckons all manner of phantasmagoria over cello and recordings of her ultrasound. ‘Care in Consume’ engages in further sonic exploration as a means of conjuring ‘matriphagy’, with its unique psychic energy coursing through electronic veins. ‘A House within a House’ could also be read as a body within a body as the pulse of ultrasound audio rattle amongst a cage of thudding rhythms and swirling electronics, one also ending in optimism as an exquisite melody is born from the prior fire. The striking journey ends with the more soothing ‘Ayaz’a’, a track embracing love and all the hardships that a period of fundamental metamorphosis brings, this is a heartfelt dedication to her son and concludes an album draped in life, experience, joy and pain.

Dracones is a deeply visual journey through inner and outer worlds, a space where symbolic evocation is supreme and passive listening is not an option.

All tracks composed,performed and recorded by Hüma Utku
Buchla 100, vocals, cello, electric guitar performed by Hüma Utku
‘’A World Between Worlds’’ features the ‘Lyraei’ built, played and recorded by Mihalis Shammas
Buchla 100 recorded in EMS Stockholm 2022-2023

Mixed by Enyang Urbiks
Mastered by Heba Kadry, NYC
Cover Artwork by Marco Ciceri
Design by Tina Frank