Suche:light

*180g virgin leaded vinyl in a deluxe textured heavy gatefold cover, with paste-on artwork and special anti-static innersleeve.* Note: The pressing is absolute on point!!!!

Vincent Gallo and Harper Simon with a beautifully recorded suite of songs and instrumentals.

" More than two decades since he blew minds with a suite of brilliant releases on Warp, Vincent Gallo returns to the world of music at long last in Butterfly, his duo with Harper Simon, with the project’s full-length debut, “The Music of Butterfly”. A gesture of gentle, DIY / bedroom left-field pop, falling within the rough territory for which Gallo became renowned during the late '90s and early 2000s, while interweaving fascinating flirtations with minimalism and experimentalism, it’s a truly captivating piece of work that’s hard to get off the turntable after the first needle drop.

In the arts, the lines between genius and madness, as well as fact and fiction, often blur. Such, it seems, has always been the life of the artist, filmmaker, actor, musician, and composer Vincent Gallo. A cult figure and a member of various creative undergrounds for the better part of half a century, Gallo has courted controversy, ruffled feathers, and made some of the most singular statements to flirt at the outer edges of popular culture that can be called to mind. Arguably most well known for his work in film, during the late '90s and early 2000s - notably with his soundtrack for “Buffalo 66” and a suite of releases on Warp - Gallo became something of a sensation in the world of independent music for a visionary, incredibly unique and sensitive approach to sonority. For a time, the world was abuzz, waiting on bated breath for more, and yet time passed. Bar a few fragments, appearing here and there, almost nothing has been heard from Gallo, within the world of music, for more than 20 years. That is, until now, with the release of “The Music of Butterfly”, the debut full-length of Butterfly, his duo with Harper Simon: beautifully produced and issued by Family Friend Records - Gallo’s own label, founded in 1981 - in a deluxe edition that simply left us speechless: 180g vinyl in textured heavy gatefold cover with paste-on artwork and thick anti-static innersleeve. More or less picking up from where we last encountered him, spinning captivating melodies and gentle song-craft within the quieter temperaments of DIY, left-field pop, once again, and at long last, Vincent Gallo, encountered in an incredibly successful collaboration with Harper Simon as Butterfly, reminds us that he’s as much a force within the realm of music as he is within film. Not to be missed. This one isn’t going to sit around for long.

Vincent Gallo’s biography reads like the stuff of blaring beauty: a figure of moderate fame in his own right, who has remained at the centre of cultural ferment as the decades have rolled by. Born in 1961, in Buffalo, New York, as the story goes he ran away to New York City at the age of 16 and fell into the brewing counterculture of the Downtown scene, William Burroughs and John Giorno, in addition to the cream of his own peers, and began making paintings, music, and experimenting with film. In addition to being a member of the now legendary band Gray, with the artist, Jean-Michel Basquiat, and the filmmaker, Michael Holman, Gallo appeared in the cult 1981 film “Downtown 81”, before slowly beginning a career as an actor and catching the eye of Claire Denis, who brought his talents into the broader cultural gaze. Catapulted into the public by his own subsequent career as a filmmaker with “Buffalo '66” (1998) and “The Brown Bunny” (2003), both of which were marked by controversy and praise, Gallo further captivated the public with a partially brilliant, if not relatively brief, flurry of activity in the realms of music.

While Gallo had already been making music for roughly two decades at the time of his release of the “Brown Bunny” soundtrack, and the four release issued by Warp in rapid succession between 2001 and 2002 - “When”, “Honey Bunny”, “So Sad”, and “Recordings of Music for Film” - the almost fanatical fandom reached a fever pitch at the moment, allowing him, for some, to be regarded as much, if not more, as a musical artist than an actor and filmmaker. Anyway you cut it, in a few short years, he proved himself to be a polymath of rare talent. Somewhere along the way, while both were working as members of Yoko Ono's Plastic One Band, Gallo met the New York based, highly regarded singer-songwriter, guitarist, and producer, Harper Simon, who also happens to be the son of Paul Simon. The pair fell into an incredibly fruitful duo collaboration, which came to be called Butterfly, and “The Music of Butterfly” being their debut full-length release.

Written, performed, and recorded by Vincent Gallo and Harper Simon in New York City between the winter of 2018 and the spring of 2019, the ten tracks comprising “The Music of Butterfly” are cumulatively a gesture of gentle, DIY / bedroom left-field pop, falling within the rough territory for which Gallo became renowned during the late '90s and early 2000s, making one feel like barely a moment had passed since we’d encountered his graceful hand at song-craft. Stripped back and raw, while retaining a sense of warmth and intimacy, across the length of “The Music of Butterfly” the duo of Gallo and Simon weave something completely captivating at the juncture of minimalism, experimentalism, and pop: meandering moments of texture and tone, slowly forming toward flirtations of melody that flower into song and back again. Somehow playful and light, while also remarkably emotive and personal, it’s almost as though each of these tracks crystallised out the air, unlabored and exactly as they should be without a note or beat more.

An engrossing immersion into both Gallo and Simon’s remarkably accomplished minds, having followed the path toward one another after radically different experiences and careers, “The Music of Butterfly” is one of those records that’ll be hard to get off the turntable after that first needle drop, and rarely leave the listening pile for some time to come. Issued by Family Friend Records in a beautiful deluxe edition that is unmatched even among the most stunning recent productions we can call to mind - 180g vinyl in textured heavy gatefold cover with paste-on artwork and thick anti-static innersleeve - it’s lovely to have Gallo back in the musical mix after so many years. "

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.

LORCO aims to evoke an ancient Naturalism, like a relic brought back to light from the depths of the sea, a buried simulacrum rescued from the pyre that sought to erase the philosophical legacy of Giordano Bruno.
"Stories are battle axes to be unearthed" (Wu Ming).

In Giordano Bruno Will Have His Revenge on Rome, the human presence is sparse. Voices are rare, words remain in listening.
It’s industrial music played “as forests think” (Eduardo Kohn), speaking the language of waterfalls, hurricanes, and serene lakes Far from the factories, it listens to something we still belong to.

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)

"1984 was a truly incredible year in pop music, and we have included a fabulous selection of tracks on the 1984 Yearbook and the 80-84 Final Chapter as part of our appreciation of the year.
Those tracks were generally the bigger hits of the year, with their chart achievement a factor in their inclusion. However, that’s not the whole singles story of the year, and our celebration of 1984 wouldn’t be complete without shining a light on some of the years’ singles that have been compiled much less frequently over the past 40 years…Welcome to THE VAULT for 1984… Some of the tracks included were Top 40 hits, some missed the chart completely. Some were representative of massive selling albums, and some were big hits in the U.S. and not in the U.K…. but all are part of the wonderful pop story of 1984. Released on a LTD edition pressing of a stunning 3LP transparent blue vinyl with 45 tracks.

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.

Marking the fourteenth chapter in the Swinging Flavors series, Beat Machine Records proudly unveils a gripping release by Helsinki-based producer DJ Sofa. Packed with deep, nostalgic energy, this installment delves into the darker side of drum and bass, with a sound inspired by the genre’s golden era of the late 90s and early 2000s.

DJ Sofa, known for their emotive and intricate productions, brings a raw, jungle-infused energy to the forefront. Drawing inspiration from jungle and breakbeat hardcore, their sound reflects a deep connection to the classic UK rave era while maintaining a forward-thinking edge. Known for captivating listeners with rich atmospheres and complex breakbeats, DJ Sofa’s music resonates strongly with audiences far beyond their Finnish roots, particularly within the UK underground scene.

“Drums For The Lost,” the lead track on Swinging Flavors #14, exemplifies this blend. A menacing roller, it marches forward with unwavering determination, offering a guiding light through shadowy soundscapes. With its haunting basslines, intricate percussion, and mysterious atmosphere, the track is a testament to DJ Sofa’s ability to create immersive and emotionally charged music.

The journey doesn’t stop there. Swinging Flavors #14 also features a remix of “Drums For The Lost” by Siu Mata. The Parisian producer reinterprets the track with their signature style, adding pulsating rhythms and hypnotic layers that elevate it to a peak-time dancefloor weapon. Siu Mata’s remix infuses the original with a modern edge, creating a vibrant and dynamic sound that bridges the gap between tradition and innovation.

Swinging Flavors #14 is available in both digital format and as a limited edition 7” vinyl, ensuring it finds its way into the hands of collectors and music lovers alike. DJ Sofa and Siu Mata’s contributions to the Swinging Flavors series underscore Beat Machine Records’ commitment to showcasing the best of underground electronic music. With its bold exploration of drum and bass and an eye on the future, this release is set to captivate audiences worldwide.

After a 30-year interstellar silence, the enigmatic producer Alien Signal—pioneering alias of Italian electronic composer Alex Silvi—reemerges with Whispers from Distant Suns, a transcendent odyssey that bridges retro-futurism and modern electronica. Hailed as a magnum opus, this album transcends genre boundaries, captivating ambient purists, downtempo aficionados, and even experimental listeners with its hypnotic fusion of analog warmth and digital precision.

Cosmic Tapestry of Sound
Drawing comparisons to Vangelis’ Antarctica and Alpha—but reimagined through a 21stcentury lens—Whispers from Distant Suns marries nostalgic synth textures with cuttingedge production. Silvi’s mastery of melody shines through in tracks like “Stardust
Memories” and “Fragile Eden” where shimmering arpeggios and celestial pads drift over robotic, glitch-infused drum patterns and sparse, meditative percussion. The result is a paradox: a retro-futuristic soundscape that feels simultaneously ancient and alien, familiar yet unexplored.

Listener Testimonials
Fans and critics have flooded forums with praise:

“An auditory revelation! It’s like Vangelis met Jon Hopkins in a nebula—vintage soul with a futuristic heartbeat.”
“The textures are gorgeously cinematic. Closing your eyes, you’re adrift in a Tarkovsky film scored for the Andromeda galaxy.”

The Vinyl Experience
Pressed on heavyweight vinyl, the album’s physical release amplifies its immersive qualities. The gatefold sleeve, adorned with surrealist astrophotography and metallic
foiling, mirrors the music’s cosmic ethos. Side A leans into Balearic serenity, with sundappled grooves and aquatic synth ripples, while Side B delves into darker, more
experimental terrain—think Aphex Twin’s Selected Ambient Works colliding with the organic rhythms of Jon Hopkins.

Maturity in Motion
This album is a testament to Silvi’s evolution. Tracks like “Seeds Of Light” and “Message from Andromeda Galaxy” showcase his refined ear for dynamics, balancing silence and sound with surgical precision. Vintage drum machines spar with glitches, while field recordings of crashing waves and interstellar static blur the line between Earth and cosmos. The closing track, “The Star Charts We Shared” crescendos into a 6-minute ambient requiem, leaving listeners suspended in a state of weightless awe.

Final Transmission
Whispers from Distant Suns is more than an album—it’s a transcendent odyssey. Spanning time, space, and the artist’s own creative evolution, this immersive work invites listeners to lose themselves in its ebb and flow. Designed for moments both intimate and expansive, its balearic-tinged atmospheres resonate equally through dawnlit Mediterranean terraces or the solitary glow of headphones in darkness. These are compositions that pulse, morph, and haunt the air long after the final note fades. A living soundscape meant to accompany life’s quiet revelations and clandestine joys—a soundtrack to your most personal moments, crafted as what the artist calls ‘private dance music.’

Tailored for the Discerning Listener
Whispers from Distant Suns is designed with the true connoisseur in mind. This album is a must-have for:

Vinyl Collectors & Audiophiles: Those who value the warmth and tactile experience of heavyweight, limited edition pressings
Electronic Ambient and Downtempo Fans: Listeners who appreciate immersive soundscapes that merge retro analog charm with modern digital innovation.
Retro-Futurism Enthusiasts: Fans of pioneering artists like Vangelis, Boards of Canada, and early Warp Records who seek music that bridges nostalgic synth textures with futuristic experimentation.
Experimental Music Explorers: Individuals drawn to sonic narratives that invite deep, contemplative listening—perfect for both introspective moments and immersive listening sessions.
This release is not just an album; it’s a curated experience for those who desire music as a multidimensional art form, merging the vintage allure of analog sound with a contemporary, cosmic vision.

For fans of: Vangelis, Biosphere, Jon Hopkins, early Warp Records.

‘The Return of Pachyman’ is a supernatural force
from a brave new world that’s a little bit San Juan,
a little LA, and a whole lot of Channel One in
Kingston, Jamaica. Designed to be a resurrection
of sound systems from the past through which we
can celebrate a post-Trump future, the record
shows that blasting off into reggae’s deep space
has never gone out of style.
Pachy García (aka Pachyman) is perhaps best
known as the drummer / vocalist for the LA-based
band Prettiest Eyes, a unique pop-noise project
that reflects his other formative interest, synth
punk. He thinks of ‘The Return of Pachyman’ the
same way King Tubby might - an ‘X-ray’ of reggae
music, breaking it down to its bare bones.
Originally a guitarist, he moved to Los Angeles in
the early 2010s and developed his passion for
dub. From there, he started recording bass, drums
and piano and collecting recording equipment in
his basement studio, which he calls 333 House.
With ‘The Return of Pachyman’, García wants to
show how the Caribbean flow is transnational, a
vibe that resounds from Jamaica to San Juan to
Southern California. “With this project, I was
looking to make positive music and radiate good
energy; something to kinda disconnect from the
negative things that were happening at the
moment,” Garcia explains. “I am trying to make this
project a service for humanity in the sense that I
just wanted to shine a positive light.”

aya's incredibly inventive Hyperdub debut album im hole distilled the incisive sonic experimentation of her early run of releases, the tongue-in-cheek giggles of her DJ sets and radio show, and the identity-fluxing lyricism of her live shows into a delirious tug of war between pleasure and dysmorphia. The album was championed from all corners, 'Best New Music' in Pitchfork to Radio 6 DJ Maryanne Hobbs 'Album of the Year', followed by a run of incredible live shows which drew new listeners further into her world. hexed!, aya's second album, confronts the desperation and dysfunction of addiction. Internalised phobias and suppressed traumas haunt the corridors and golden hours once romanticised on 2021's im hole; daymares concealed by nocturnal afters-hopping and key bag circles. Opener `I am the pipe I hit myself with' exposes the gray portrait secreted somewhere between the 8th and 9th floors of her previous record. `I used to say some shit for sure', `I used to say it when I was me-less'. hexed! is about what happens when aya turns the lights on.

Googling “paradise house”, the first results to pop up are an endless list of European b&b’s with whitewashed lime façades, all of them promising “…an unmatched travel experience a few steps from the sea”. Next, a little further down, are the institutional websites of a few select semi-luxury retirement homes (no photos shown, but lots of stock images of smiling nurses with reassuring looks). To find the “paradise house” we’re after, we have to scroll even further down. Much further down.

It feels like yesterday, and at the same time it seems like a million years ago. The Eighties had just ended, and it was still unclear what to expect from the Nineties. Mobile phones that were not the size of a briefcase and did not cost as much as a car? A frightening economic crisis? The guitar-rock revival?! Certainly, the best place to observe that moment of transition was the dancefloor. Truly epochal transformations were happening there. From America, within a short distance one from the other, two revolutionary new musical styles had arrived: the first one sounded a bit like an “on a budget” version of the best Seventies disco-music – Philly sound made with a set of piano-bar keyboards! – the other was even more sparse, futuristic and extraterrestrial. It was a music with a quite distinct “physical” component, which at the same time, to be fully grasped, seemed to call for the knotty theories of certain French post-modern philosophers: Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, Paul Virilio... Both those genres – we would learn shortly after – were born in the black communities of Chicago and Detroit, although listening to those vinyl 12” (often wrapped in generic white covers, and with little indication in the label) you could not easily guess whether behind them there was a black boy from somewhere in the Usa, or a girl from Berlin, or a pale kid from a Cornish coastal town.

Quickly, similar sounds began to show up from all corners of Europe. A thousand variations of the same intuition: leaner, less lean, happier, slightly less intoxicated, more broken, slower, faster, much faster... Boom! From the dancefloors – the London ones at least, whose chronicles we eagerly read every month in the pages of The Face and i-D – came tales of a new generation of clubbers who had completely stopped “dressing up” to go dancing; of hot tempered hooligans bursting into tears and hugging everyone under the strobe lights as the notes of Strings of Life rose up through the fumes of dry ice (certain “smiling” pills were also involved, sure). At this point, however, we must move on to Switzerland.

In Switzerland, in the quiet and diligent town of Lugano, between the 1980s and 1990s there was a club called “Morandi”. Its hot night was on Wednesdays, when the audience also came from Milan, Como, Varese and Zurich. Legend goes that, one night, none less than Prince and Sheila E were spotted hiding among the sofas, on a day-off of the Italian dates of the Nude Tour… The Wednesday resident and superstar was an Italian dj with an exotic name: Don Carlos. The soundtrack he devised was a mixture of Chicago, Detroit, the most progressive R&B and certain forgotten classics of old disco music: practically, what the Paradise Garage in New York might have sounded like had it not closed in 1987. In between, Don Carlos also managed to squeeze in some tracks he had worked on in his studio on Lago Maggiore. One in particular: a track that was rather slow compared to the BPM in fashion at the time, but which was a perfect bridge between house and R&B. The title was Alone: Don Carlos would explain years later that it had to be intended both in the English meaning of “by itself” and like the Italian word meaning “halo”. That wasn’t the only double entendre about the song, anyway. Its own very deep nature was, indeed, double. On the one hand, Alone was built around an angelic keyboard pattern and a romantic piano riff that took you straight to heaven; on the other, it showcased enough electronic squelches (plus a sax part that sounded like it had been dissolved by acid rain) to pigeonhole the tune into the “junk modernity” section, aka the hallmark of all the most innovative sounds of the time: music that sounded like it was hand-crafted from the scraps of glittering overground pop.

No one knows who was the first to call it “paradise house”, nor when it happened. Alternative definitions on the same topic one happened to hear included “ambient house”, “dream house”, “Mediterranean progressive”… but of course none were as good (and alluring) as “paradise house”. What is certain is that such inclination for sounds that were in equal measure angelic and neurotic, romantic and unaffective, quickly became the trademark of the second generation of Italian house. Music that seemed shyly equidistant from all the rhythmic and electronic revolutions that had happened up to that moment (“Music perfectly adept at going nowhere slowly” as noted by English journalist Craig McLean in a legendary field report for Blah Blah Blah magazine). Music that to a inattentive ear might have sounded as anonymous as a snapshot of a random group of passers-by at 10AM in the centre of any major city, but perfectly described the (slow) awakening in the real world after the universal love binge of the so-called Second Summer of Love.

For a brief but unforgettable season, in Italy “paradise house” was the official soundtrack of interminable weekends spent inside the car, darting from one club to another, cutting the peninsula from North to centre, from East to West coast in pursuit of the latest after-hours disco, trading kilometres per hour with beats per minute: practically, a new New Year’s Eve every Friday and Saturday night. This too was no small transformation, as well as a shock for an adult Italy that was encountering for the first time – thanks to its sons and daughters – the wild side of industrial modernity. The clubbers of the so-called “fuoriorario” scene were the balls gone mad in the pinball machine most feared by newspapers, magazines and TV pundits. What they did each and every weekend, apart from going crazy to the sound of the current white labels, was linking distant geographical points and non-places (thank you Marc Augé!) – old dance halls, farmhouses and business centres – transformed for one night into house music heaven. As Marco D’Eramo wrote in his 1995 essay on Chicago, Il maiale e il grattacielo: “Four-wheeled capitalism distorts our age-old image of the city, it allows the suburbs to be connected to each other, whereas before they were connected only by the centre (…) It makes possible a metropolitan area without a metropolis, without a city centre, without downtown. The periphery is no longer a periphery of any centre, but is self-centred”.

“Paradise house” perfectly understood all of this and turned it into a sort of cyber-blues that didn’t even need words, and unexpectedly brought back a drop of melancholic (post?)-humanity within a world that by then – as we would wholly realise in the decades to come – was fully inhuman and heartless. A world where we were all alone, and surrounded by a sinister yellowish halo, like a neon at the end of its life cycle. But, for one night at least, happy."

The iconic DJ Sotofett comes with a real treat--a 12-track album on Clone West Coast Series that showcases a playful take on electronic music. Immerse yourself in the vibrant world of DJ Sotofett & The Colours of Computer Generated Instruments. With 12 electrifying electro tracks that blend a wide spectrum of rhythms with 80's Nintendo console vibes and holy grail analog vs digital synthesis, this album is a jubilant celebration of that sound. Prepare for an exhilarating journey filled with surprises, seamlessly transitioning from acid infected vibes and catchy electronic pop to groundbreaking avant-garde electro cuts. Each track intricately weaves together influences from over 40 years of electronic dance music, inviting listeners to explore the rich tapestry of genres that have shaped the landscape. As you delve deeper, you'll uncover the intricate layers and innovative production techniques that define Sotofett's distinctive style, transforming this album into more than just a collection of tracks -- it's a true sonic adventure that beckons you to listen, dance and dream.

'It begins with a shoebox of mysterious provenance, full of recordings from the Vendée department on France’s western seaboard: songs of love and war, life and death, played out on land and sea. Songs passed down and sung by ordinary men and women, gracefully delivered with the poetic economy which unites the folk song of all peoples.

Next it takes a group of contemporary musicians to make selections from this treasure trove and sing these old songs anew; to sing them for their beauty, of course, and to reclaim the people’s tradition from those who would seek to exploit it for nefarious political ends. Who better for this task than Tartine de Clous, a singing trio from Vendée’s neighbouring department of Charente-Maritime, who burst into national and international consciousness with their debut album "Sans Folklore" in 2015? The result of their shoebox rummagings, the new album "Compter les dents", recorded in 2019 and finally seeing the light of day, is bound to delight old fans and win them many new ones.

Time makes many’s the alteration, and "Compter les dents" finds 'les garçons' - Geoffroy Dudouit, Thomas Georget and Guillaume Maupin - in a different state of being from their debut release. The trio, friends since youth, have certainly matured between albums, as one would expect; consequently the newer performances are more considered and poised, unfolding with a patient confidence. A relaxed domesticity prevails, something to do with the fact that the album was entirely recorded chez les amis, in contrast to the first album, which was mostly recorded at live performances in bars and night-spots across France.

Lending gravitas to the grain of their voices we mark a deepened richness, doubtless born of the various vicissitudes of daily existence which these gentlemen - and we too as citizens of this turmoiled globe - have weathered in the intervening years. Not too dissimilar, in fact,
from some of the vicissitudes detailed in those old Vendée songs. Plus 'ça change', right?

There’s a greater complexity and subtlety to their unique three-part harmonising, too. Their voices mesh in even stronger - almost telepathic - 'fraternité' than ever before: now commanding and mighty as a full-rigged counter-vessel, now gentle and lulling as a mother’s
cradle-croon, or as the whisper in a lover’s ear.

Three legendary figures of French traditional music, now sadly departed, preside as tutelary spirits over Compter les dents. They are: the late Claude Flagel, musician and ethnomusicologist; and the late Jean-Loup Baly of the well-known 1970s band Mélusine. Most of the album was recorded by Claude in the Brussels home he shared with his late wife Lou Flagel. The album is dedicated to the memory of Jean-Loup, Claude and Lou.

For the first time there are several guest instrumentalists working their magic to expand the Tartine de Clous sound. Jean-Loup plays a characterful accordéon on the song ‘La Veuve'. The other guests are: Maurice Artus (voice), Robert Thébaut (violin), Quentin Manfroy (piccolo, contrabassoon), Marceau Portron (cigar box guitar). Their contributions add even more conviviality to that which the trio of singers already share, a sensation which will doubtless be shared by those who happen to find a place in their lives for "Compter les dents".'

Liner notes by Alasdair Roberts.

Am 28. März 2025 erscheint »Field of Lights«, das dritte Album von REGENER PAPPIK BUSCH. Das
Jazz-Trio verschiebt den Schwerpunkt seines Repertoires mit diesem neuen Album in Richtung Cool Jazz
und Post Bop und stellt erstmals drei eigene Stücke vor. Gleich mit dem Debüt, »Ask Me Now«, erreichten REGENER PAPPIK BUSCH 2021 die Spitze der deutschen Jazz-Charts, das Trio spielte bei den
Leverkusener Jazztagen, veröffentlichte 2022 das zweite Album »Things to Come«, gab mit Blixa Bargeld
einen Abend aus Werken der Beatliteratur und Bebop-Klassikern und spielte zahlreiche Konzerte.
»Field of Lights«, ihr drittes Album, ist von maximaler Unmittelbarkeit geprägt. Wir hören auf »Field of
Lights« Klassiker wie »All Alone« und »Billie’s Blues« von Billie Holiday und Mal Waldron, »Nostalgia In
Times Square« von Charles Mingus und eine äußerst raffnierte, pointierte Version von Thelonious Monks
»Bye-Ya«. Wir hören diese und andere bekannte Stücke, aber wir erkennen sie nicht immer gleich – weil
es REGENER PAPPIK BUSCH tatsächlich gelingt, ihnen eine neue Perspektive abzugewinnen.

SC returns with a full length LP showcasing his vast armoury of musical ability in a controlled, contemplative reflection of his inner self, laid bare in breaks-driven form for the enjoyment of Spatial fans new and old - continuing the ongoing celebration and evolution of classic atmospheric drum & bass.

A1 - Fear of the Deep

Curious, high twinkling bells cautiously introduce Fear of the Deep, reminiscent of classic sci-fi movies building atmosphere and intrigue, before the hi-hat heavy, snappy break previously used in Spatial classic Essence (also by ASC) makes a welcome return. The 2-step - occasionally broken - beat pattern drives the track along with a darkly, investigative energy, while a typically deep bassline rumbles beneath, setting the scene perfectly.

A2 - Concentric Circles

A change of pace for ASC here with Concentric Circles, exploring a jazzier spectrum of influences not often broached in his production adventures, with broken scattershot beats toying and playing around a wealth of reverberating brass samples to create a minimal yet quietly imposing undertone. Double bass props up the composition wonderfully, completing an exquisitely quirky entry to the LP.

B1 - Say It

Opening with rousing strings and quietly ominous effects, ASC utilises a unique fusion of melancholic atmospherics, jazzy basslines and a classic old-school breakbeat to form Say It. Dense, purposeful kicks stomp across the mix as the strings and synthwork wash in the foreground, developing a sombre, contemplative tone to the track throughout, before a wonderful outro ending with those delightful strings.

B2 - Virtual World

Filtered Hot Pants breaks gently ease their way to the forefront of a beautifully constructed intro to Virtual World, trademark crispness and intricacy etched onto the beats effortlessly, as we've come to expect from ASC. Delicately nuanced vocal samples combine with an intense concoction of synths and micro-melodies, dancing over the sharp breaks and a suitably earthy undertone bassline.

C1 - Eons

The classic, intense atmospherics continue with Eons, a spacey piece introduced by a memorable melody, tinged with purpose and allure. This melody continues through sci-fi computer FX reminiscent of early 720, and persistent backdrop synths as we are treated to a gentle flurry of perfectly edited amens leaping and falling over subtle, juddering basslines creating that elusive blend of both headphone and dancefloor appeal.

C2 - Timeslides

ASC flexes the timeless Hot Pants break again - crisply edited with a sharpness in the mix which is simply to die for - in Timeslides, a track which continues the brooding, introspective tone of the LP. Utilising a varied array of samples and effects which will transport you straight back to that unmistakable era of 90's atmospheric heaven with several nods to forefathers of this wonderful sound - just how we like it at Spatial.

D1 - Lightspeed

Take a moment to appreciate the bells tolling, glimmering and colliding during an enchanting intro, freely crafting layered melodies without a care as ASC presents us with an immensely memorable piece in Lightspeed. Long, elongated vocals drift and swirl through the airy soundscape, all punctuated by finely tuned and arranged Circles breaks, energetically deployed for the discerning breakbeat aficionado.

D2 - Nightvision

Intensity is dialled up to 11 in Nightvision, a deeply atmospheric track which showcases a perfect, symbiotic combination of melancholy, drama and raw energy. The lively breaks take center stage over a heavy, consistent 808 bassline with enveloping masses of atmospherics circling, gripping your attention, joined by dreamy vocal samples deployed subtly in an ever-changing tone to close the LP in style.

Words by Chris Hayes (Spatial / Red Mist)