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LOS ANGELES BASED PRODUCER MINION DEBUTS ON EVAR RECORDS WITH THE FOUR-TRACK EP 'NITE LYFE.' RELEASED ON AURA T-09 AND TRICKFINGER'S REVERED RECORD LABEL, 'NITE LYFE' MERGES HARDCORE, TECHNO AND GABBER WITH SOFT TEXTURES AND GOSSAMER SHEENS, EVOKING AN INTENSE, WAVEY TRIP. THIS ONE IS SUITED TO A CHURNING, POST-3 AM DANCEFLOOR, OR IN MINION'S OWN WORDS, "WARM SUMMER NIGHTS IN LOS ANGELES WAREHOUSES."

OPENER 'SAD B0I MASSIVE' BLENDS DISTORTED, GABBER-FLECKED DRUMS WITH CRUNCHY SNARES, WHILE A HAZY, DAFT PUNK-ESQUE SYNTHLINE CONJURES A DREAMY VIBE. THIS SIGNATURE MINION MOVE CONVEYS HIS KNACK FOR SERVING UP HARSH YET ROMANTIC ATMOSPHERES, PAIRING TWO OPPOSITE MOODS THAT MELT INTO ONE ANOTHER LIKE ACETONE AND WATER.

ON 'MAGNETAR', WE'RE CAUGHT UP IN THE THUNDERDOME CIRCA 1990, BUT JUST FOR A MOMENT. WHILE RUBBERY KICK DRUMS AND WHOOSHING HOOVER SOUNDS SHAPE THE TRACK, MINION COMBINES THESE OLD-SKOOL ELEMENTS WITH A MORE MODERN QUIRK, PRODUCING A TWINKLING MELODY THAT AROUSES EMOTION AND EUPHORIA.

THE PENULTIMATE TRACK 'GREY GOO' IS THE TOUGHEST OF THE FOURSOME. BUILT WITH OFF-KILTER, GRAINY KICKDRUMS AND CINEMATIC PADS THAT SLINK BETWEEN RUSTY BEATS, IT BRIDGES HARDCORE MOTIFS WITH DELICATE SHADES OF GREY, MINION-STYLE.

FINAL TRACK 'SATURDAY NIGHT IN A PARALLEL UNIVERSE' DISPLAYS MINION'S VERSATILITY AS A PRODUCER. DELVING INTO A POTENT PALETTE OF ELECTRO, BREAKBEAT, TECHNO AND 2-STEP, HE WELDS RAPID-FIRE CLAPS, FIZZING HI-HATS AND A HEARTFELT MELODY, WEAVING THROUGH BLEEPS AND A CHUNKY BASSLINE—A SIGNAL TO END A LONG TRIP, SOMEWHERE IN A PARALLEL UNIVERSE.

ALTHOUGH MINION PRODUCED THE TRACKS FOUR YEARS AGO, 'NITE LYFE' STANDS THE TEST OF TIME AND DOESN'T FOLLOW ANY ONE TREND OR GENRE. INSTEAD, IT'S AN ALCHEMY OF SONIC PATTERNS AND CONTRASTING COLOURS, NODDING TO MINION'S PUNK, HARDCORE AND EXPERIMENTAL INFLUENCES THAT CULTIVATED ODDBALL ELECTRONIC MUSIC IN THE 80S. THE AFTERGLOW OF THESE SOUNDS CULMINATES IN AN EP THAT RIPPLES WITH INTRIGUING HOOKS, CORROSIVE QUALITIES AND STRANGELY BLISSFUL MELODIES. IT REFLECTS THE EXPANSIVE ETHOS OF EVAR DOWN TO THE FINAL BAR.

It’s been nearly eight years since the last Mondo Drag album came out. In that time, the Bay Area psych-prog band toured the US and Europe, performed at major festivals and—once again—reformed their rhythm section. But in the context of the band’s nearly two-decade existence, this period may have been the most fraught. Vocalist and keyboardist John Gamiño lost friends and family members. Meanwhile, humanity suffered the throes of a global pandemic. “It was a dark chapter,” he recalls. “I was going through a lot of stuff personally—there’s been a lot of death, loss of family members, and grief. Plus, the band was inactive. It felt like time was slipping away from me. I felt like I was wasting my opportunities. I felt like I wasn’t participating in my story as much as I could have.” This feeling of time slipping away is the prevailing theme on Mondo Drag’s new album, Through the Hourglass. “For me, Through the Hourglass really encompasses the quarantine/pandemic years,” Gamiño says. “But in a way that includes a couple of years before that for us, because the band was stagnant during that time. Living with that was really impactful on our daily lives. So, the album is reflective. It’s looking at time—past, present, future.” Luckily, Mondo Drag emerged from this dour period reborn. Freshly energized by bassist Conor Riley (formerly of San Diego psych squad Astra, currently of Birth), who joined in 2018, and drummer Jimmy Perez, who joined in 2022, Gamiño and guitarists Jake Sheley and Nolan Girard have triumphed over the seemingly inexorable pull of time’s passage. “Astra was the one contemporary band that we felt was on the same tip as us,” Gamiño says. “We saw the similarities and felt the same vibe. Conor moved to San Francisco in 2018 and heard we were looking for a bassist, so we got in touch. For us, it was like, ‘The synth player from Astra wants to play bass for us?’ We couldn’t think of anybody more perfect.” Perez, meanwhile, brings deep psych-prog knowledge and impeccable skill. “He’s an amazing drummer, and he allowed us to do what we’ve been trying to do,” Gamiño says. “Before he came along, it was like, ‘Where are the drummers who like psych and prog and can play dynamically?’ We ended up trying out metal drummers, but they couldn’t swing. Jimmy was the final piece of the puzzle.” The result is a dazzling and often plaintive rumination on the hours, days, and years—not to mention experiences—that comprise a lifetime. Two-part opener “Burning Daylight” smolders with melancholy, offering a whirl of multi-colored and hallucinatory imagery. “It’s about the California wildfires and a feeling of helplessness,” Gamiño explains. “There’s a juxtaposition between the dark lyricism and upbeat music which is meant to imply a sort of delusional state—and choosing our own delusion to overcome the crushing despair of reality.” Eleven-minute centerpiece “Passages” is a sprawling prog-rock adventure, festooned with lofty guitar melodies, sweeping organ flourishes and a delicately finger-picked outro. But the heaviest song, thematically speaking, might be the mournful and hypnotic “Death in Spring,” which borrows its title from the like-named Catalan novel. “In the novel, people are placed inside opened trees and their mouths filled with cement before they die to prevent their souls from escaping,” Gamiño explains. “The song is about three people I knew who lost their lives to gun violence, addiction, and mental health. It’s my way of cementing their souls in song form.” Mondo Drag fans might be surprised by this blend of hard reality with literary surrealism, but it’s a perfect example of how the last several years have impacted Mondo Drag—and Gamiño in particular. “On all of our previous albums, the lyrical content is more psychedelic and out there,” he acknowledges. “This is the most personal stuff I’ve ever done, so I’m definitely feeling vulnerable on this one.” The title Through the Hourglass comes from the opening of the long-running soap opera Days of Our Lives. It’s less inspired by a predilection for daytime TV than Gamiño’s connection with his late mother, who passed during the time since the last album. “I used to watch Days of Our Lives with her everyday growing up,” he explains. “The song is kind of a reinterpretation of the theme song, although it’s different enough that probably no one will catch it. Now that I’m getting older, I like to put these little Easter eggs in the songs for myself and for archival purposes—for memories.” Through the Hourglass was tracked at El Studio in San Francisco, with an additional ten days of recording at the band’s rehearsal space, which doubles as a hybrid analog-digital recording studio. The album was engineered and mixed by Phil Becker, drummer of space-punk mainstays Pins Of Light. “We’re still here,” Gamiño says. “We’ve been in the studio working on our craft and honing our skills. Now we’re re-emerging for the next stage of our life cycle.”

Woods are in bloom again, inviting you to disappear into a new spectrum of colors and sounds and dreams on Perennial. Formed in Brooklyn in 2004, Woods have matured into a true independent institution, above and below the root, reliably emerging every few years with new music that grows towards the latest sky. Operating the Woodsist label since 2006 and curating the beloved homespun Woodsist Festival for the musical universe they’ve built, Perennial is the sound of a band on the edge of their 20th anniversary and still finding bold new ways to sound like (and challenge) themselves. Perennial grew from a bed of guitar/keyboard/drum loops by Woods head-in-chief Jeremy Earl, a form of winter night meditation that evolved into an unexplored mode of collaborative songwriting. With Earl’s starting points, he and bandmates Jarvis Taveniere and John Andrews convened, first at Earl’s house in New York, then at Panoramic House studio in Stinson Beach, California, site of sessions for 2020’s Strange To Explain. With a view of the sparkling Pacific and tape rolling, they began to build, jamming over the loops, switching instruments, and developing a few dozen building blocks. The album’s resulting 11 songs, 4 of them instrumental, are in the classic Woods mode--shimmering, familiar, fractionally unsettling--but with the half-invisible infinity boxes of Earl’s loops burbling beneath each like a mysterious underground source. From source to seed to bloom, each loop unfolds into something unpredictable, from the jeweled pop of the aching “Little Black Flowers” to the ecstatic starlit freak-beat of “Another Side.” They are blossomings both far-out and comforting, like the Mellotronic cloud-hopping of “Between the Past,” or sometimes just plain comforting, like the widescreen snowglobe fantasia of the instrumental “White Winter Melody,” touched by Connor Gallaher’s pedal steel. Woods have long used the studio as a place of songwriting, naming 2007’s At Rear House after their shared dwelling and recording space. But Perennial also carries with it an even longer view of Woods. Emerging from the process alongside the music was Earl’s reflection that “perennial plants and flowers are nature’s loops,” an idea rolling under the album’s lyrics like the loops themselves. It certainly applies to the band, too, who have quietly tended to a long, committed project of being a band in the weird-ass 21st century, both individually and communally. Though separated by coasts, the communal sprit carries through Earl, Taveniere, and Andrews’ collaboration, a living embodiment of the freedoms rediscovered every time a new collectively created piece of music emerges. For nearly two decades, Woods have survived subgenres, anchored in the fertile soil below hashtags like lo-fi and freak-folk and psychedelic and indie, and built a shared history that’s something to marvel at. As the flagship band for Woodsist, they’ve accumulated a striking extended family of collaborators (and Woods alum) that have made the label one of the most dependable imprints in the kaleidoscopic low-key underground. It’s a glow that’s transferred whole to the blissed-out Woodsist Fests held in Accord, New York in recent years, which have folded in a wide range of diverse sounds, from the the jazz cosmoverse of the Sun Ra Arkestra and adventurous legends Yo La Tengo, to a hard-to-even-count family tree of contemporaries, like Kevin Morby (who served a few tours of duty as Woods bassist) and Kurt Vile (who released his 2009 debut on Woodsist), a living community in sound. Perennial carries all of this, shaped by decades, but made in the moment, and here right now. The smell of the flowers doesn’t remain, but sometimes the flowers do. Jesse Jarnow Recorded and mixed by Jarvis Taveniere at Panoramic House in Stinson Beach, CA with additional recording at The Ship in Los Angeles, CA and Cottekill Bird Sanctuary in Stone Ridge, NY. Produced by Jarvis Taveniere and Jeremy Earl. Mastered by Timothy Stollenwerk at Stereophonic Mastering in Portland, OR. Jeremy Earl - vocals, guitars, drums, percussion, sk-5, mellotron, vibraphone, autoharp, loops Jarvis Taveniere - guitar, bass, upright bass, hammond, vocals John Andrews - piano, organs, mellotron, drums, vocals Connor Gallaher - Pedal Steel Kyle Forester - sax, wurlitzer

Sometimes, Mitski says, it feels like life would be easier without hope, or a soul, or love. But when she closes her eyes and thinks about what's truly hers, what can't be repossessed or demolished, she sees love. "The best thing I ever did in my life was to love people," Mitski says. "I wish I could leave behind all the love I have, after I die, so that I can shine all this goodness, all this good love that I've created onto other people." She hopes her newest album, The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We, will continue to shine that love long after she's gone. Listening to it, that's precisely how it feels: like a love that's haunting the land. "This is my most American album," Mitski says about her seventh record, and the music feels like a profound act of witnessing this country, in all of its private sorrows and painful contradictions. In this album, which is sonically Mitski's most expansive, epic, and wise, the songs seem to be introducing wounds and then actively healing them. Here, love is time- traveling to bless our tender days, like the light from a distant star. The album is full of the ache of the grown- up, seemingly mundane heartbreaks and joys that are often unsung but feel enormous. It's a tiny epic. From the bottom of a glass, to a driveway slushy with memory and snow, to a freight train barreling through the Midwest, and all the way to the moon, it feels like everything, and everyone, is crying out, screaming in pain, arching towards love. Love is that inhospitable land, beckoning us and then rejecting us. To love this place _ this earth, this America, this body _ takes active work. It might be impossible. The best things are.

Sometimes, Mitski says, it feels like life would be easier without hope, or a soul, or love. But when she closes her eyes and thinks about what's truly hers, what can't be repossessed or demolished, she sees love. "The best thing I ever did in my life was to love people," Mitski says. "I wish I could leave behind all the love I have, after I die, so that I can shine all this goodness, all this good love that I've created onto other people." She hopes her newest album, The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We, will continue to shine that love long after she's gone. Listening to it, that's precisely how it feels: like a love that's haunting the land. "This is my most American album," Mitski says about her seventh record, and the music feels like a profound act of witnessing this country, in all of its private sorrows and painful contradictions. In this album, which is sonically Mitski's most expansive, epic, and wise, the songs seem to be introducing wounds and then actively healing them. Here, love is time- traveling to bless our tender days, like the light from a distant star. The album is full of the ache of the grown- up, seemingly mundane heartbreaks and joys that are often unsung but feel enormous. It's a tiny epic. From the bottom of a glass, to a driveway slushy with memory and snow, to a freight train barreling through the Midwest, and all the way to the moon, it feels like everything, and everyone, is crying out, screaming in pain, arching towards love. Love is that inhospitable land, beckoning us and then rejecting us. To love this place _ this earth, this America, this body _ takes active work. It might be impossible. The best things are.

Sometimes, Mitski says, it feels like life would be easier without hope, or a soul, or love. But when she closes her eyes and thinks about what's truly hers, what can't be repossessed or demolished, she sees love. "The best thing I ever did in my life was to love people," Mitski says. "I wish I could leave behind all the love I have, after I die, so that I can shine all this goodness, all this good love that I've created onto other people." She hopes her newest album, The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We, will continue to shine that love long after she's gone. Listening to it, that's precisely how it feels: like a love that's haunting the land. "This is my most American album," Mitski says about her seventh record, and the music feels like a profound act of witnessing this country, in all of its private sorrows and painful contradictions. In this album, which is sonically Mitski's most expansive, epic, and wise, the songs seem to be introducing wounds and then actively healing them. Here, love is time- traveling to bless our tender days, like the light from a distant star. The album is full of the ache of the grown- up, seemingly mundane heartbreaks and joys that are often unsung but feel enormous. It's a tiny epic. From the bottom of a glass, to a driveway slushy with memory and snow, to a freight train barreling through the Midwest, and all the way to the moon, it feels like everything, and everyone, is crying out, screaming in pain, arching towards love. Love is that inhospitable land, beckoning us and then rejecting us. To love this place _ this earth, this America, this body _ takes active work. It might be impossible. The best things are.

Woods are in bloom again, inviting you to disappear into a new spectrum of colors and sounds and dreams on Perennial. Formed in Brooklyn in 2004, Woods have matured into a true independent institution, above and below the root, reliably emerging every few years with new music that grows towards the latest sky. Operating the Woodsist label since 2006 and curating the beloved homespun Woodsist Festival for the musical universe they’ve built, Perennial is the sound of a band on the edge of their 20th anniversary and still finding bold new ways to sound like (and challenge) themselves. Perennial grew from a bed of guitar/keyboard/drum loops by Woods head-in-chief Jeremy Earl, a form of winter night meditation that evolved into an unexplored mode of collaborative songwriting. With Earl’s starting points, he and bandmates Jarvis Taveniere and John Andrews convened, first at Earl’s house in New York, then at Panoramic House studio in Stinson Beach, California, site of sessions for 2020’s Strange To Explain. With a view of the sparkling Pacific and tape rolling, they began to build, jamming over the loops, switching instruments, and developing a few dozen building blocks. The album’s resulting 11 songs, 4 of them instrumental, are in the classic Woods mode--shimmering, familiar, fractionally unsettling--but with the half-invisible infinity boxes of Earl’s loops burbling beneath each like a mysterious underground source. From source to seed to bloom, each loop unfolds into something unpredictable, from the jeweled pop of the aching “Little Black Flowers” to the ecstatic starlit freak-beat of “Another Side.” They are blossomings both far-out and comforting, like the Mellotronic cloud-hopping of “Between the Past,” or sometimes just plain comforting, like the widescreen snowglobe fantasia of the instrumental “White Winter Melody,” touched by Connor Gallaher’s pedal steel. Woods have long used the studio as a place of songwriting, naming 2007’s At Rear House after their shared dwelling and recording space. But Perennial also carries with it an even longer view of Woods. Emerging from the process alongside the music was Earl’s reflection that “perennial plants and flowers are nature’s loops,” an idea rolling under the album’s lyrics like the loops themselves. It certainly applies to the band, too, who have quietly tended to a long, committed project of being a band in the weird-ass 21st century, both individually and communally. Though separated by coasts, the communal sprit carries through Earl, Taveniere, and Andrews’ collaboration, a living embodiment of the freedoms rediscovered every time a new collectively created piece of music emerges. For nearly two decades, Woods have survived subgenres, anchored in the fertile soil below hashtags like lo-fi and freak-folk and psychedelic and indie, and built a shared history that’s something to marvel at. As the flagship band for Woodsist, they’ve accumulated a striking extended family of collaborators (and Woods alum) that have made the label one of the most dependable imprints in the kaleidoscopic low-key underground. It’s a glow that’s transferred whole to the blissed-out Woodsist Fests held in Accord, New York in recent years, which have folded in a wide range of diverse sounds, from the the jazz cosmoverse of the Sun Ra Arkestra and adventurous legends Yo La Tengo, to a hard-to-even-count family tree of contemporaries, like Kevin Morby (who served a few tours of duty as Woods bassist) and Kurt Vile (who released his 2009 debut on Woodsist), a living community in sound. Perennial carries all of this, shaped by decades, but made in the moment, and here right now. The smell of the flowers doesn’t remain, but sometimes the flowers do. Jesse Jarnow Recorded and mixed by Jarvis Taveniere at Panoramic House in Stinson Beach, CA with additional recording at The Ship in Los Angeles, CA and Cottekill Bird Sanctuary in Stone Ridge, NY. Produced by Jarvis Taveniere and Jeremy Earl. Mastered by Timothy Stollenwerk at Stereophonic Mastering in Portland, OR. Jeremy Earl - vocals, guitars, drums, percussion, sk-5, mellotron, vibraphone, autoharp, loops Jarvis Taveniere - guitar, bass, upright bass, hammond, vocals John Andrews - piano, organs, mellotron, drums, vocals Connor Gallaher - Pedal Steel Kyle Forester - sax, wurlitzer

2023 Repress
The most obscure and sought after italian electronic release, but also another extraordinary 70s output from the legendary Regson Studio of Milan (remembering in 1976 "Funky Bump" and a year later "Disco Shitan", both produced by Pino Presti). The eclectic brother of Vangelis (chit> he was playing keyboards like him), helped by Yorgos Pentzikis for the "vocoder" vocals, reached the right sound for one of the craziest electronic disco song now available for for the first time on 12, containing also the unreleased instrumental version. Nikos Papathanassiou in 1976 achieving success with the disco-hit "U" by Chrisma, but Maurizio Arcieri (cousin of Pino Presti and Chrisma's leader), moved towards new-wave and punk. So for the orchestral conducting of a new cosmic-disco project titled MoreI Like It he involved Rodolfo Grieco who later produced in the emerging genre of Italo-Disco great classics like "Going Crazy" by Lily Ann."

Nonesuch releases Sorry I Haven’t Called, the new album by Vagabon, the moniker of Lætitia Tamko. Co-produced by Tamko and Rostam (Vampire Weekend, Haim, Clairo), it finds Tamko reinventing herself once again and features the most playful and adventurous music of her career, as evidenced by its lead track and opening song ‘Can I Talk My Shit?’. Vagabon has also announced an autumn tour that includes a headline run in the US, as well as European dates with Weyes Blood.



“I didn’t feel like being introspective,” says Tamko of her new album. “I just wanted to have fun.” Following her intimate 2017 debut Infinite Worlds, the New York artist favoured expansive and evocative electronic textures in her breakthrough 2019 self-titled follow-up. But her latest album feels like a wholly new era for Tamko, one that’s transformational and uncompromising. Across 12 vibrant tracks she wrote and produced primarily in Germany, she channels dance music and effervescent pop through her own confident sensibilities. These conversational songs are alive and unselfconscious, a document of an artist fully embracing her vision and reclaiming her joy.



The first words she sings on the album are, “Can I talk my shit? / I got way too high for this.” It’s a statement of purpose for the rest of the album that this is an unapologetic artist. “This whole record is how I talk to my friends and how to talk to my lovers,” says Tamko. “I think honesty and conversational songwriting can become poetry. There’s beauty in plainly speaking without metaphors and without flowery imagery.”



The story of Sorry I Haven’t Called started in grief after Tamko’s best friend died in 2021. This devastating and unexpected loss unmoored Tamko but also gave her a newfound clarity. “The things that I thought I cared about, I no longer cared about,” she says. “I had a realization that I need to make sure to feel everything that comes my way.” She decided to sell her things and move to a small lakeside village a few hours north of Hamburg in northern Germany to process everything. “There's no linear path to grief, and everyone handles it differently, but uprooting my life just felt like exactly what I had to do,” says Tamko. “I needed a place to think and go through my discomfort privately but to also explore the newness and urgency I was feeling in my life.” In the village, her phone didn’t work and there were no close grocery stores or restaurants, so she spent her time alone working on music.



Despite the palpable absence in her life, her new songs were her most disarming and ebullient yet. The first one she wrote was ‘Carpenter’, a mesmerizing track anchored by a tangible bass groove, where she sings, “I wasn’t ready to move on out / but I'm more ready now.” It’s a fully-realised track and feels like the culmination of her catalogue so far. “A lot of the music that I was making there had nothing to do with my grief at all,” says Tamko. “Once I gave myself permission to make a record that's full of life and energy, I realized that’s the point of this album. In the midst of going through all of these tough things, it became a record because of the vitality that these songs had.” For Tamko, there’s power in pursuing happiness.



While writing in Germany, Tamko nurtured her love for dance music and let it seep into her new songs. “The only things that were giving me access to a feeling were dance music and going to a rave in an extremely dark club where if I wanted to cry, I could do it and be around other people,” she says.



After a few months in Germany that included marathon writing sessions and a whirlwind romance, Tamko decided to stay with friends in Los Angeles and finish her record. She enlisted co-producer Rostam to help her unify her vision.



Sorry I Haven’t Called is a warm and resilient album about embracing the ecstatic moments wherever you can by knowing how you love and how you mourn. It’s an album born of both communal dancefloor revelations and the clarifying peace from solitude, an emotional rebirth as well as an artistic one. “This record feels like what I've been working towards,” says Tamko. “When I think of this album, I think of playfulness. It's completely euphoric. It's because things were dark that this record is so full of life and energy. It’s a reaction to what I was experiencing at the time, not a document of it.”

Memory is malleable. The day you met the person you love, what color shirt was she wearing? At precisely what angle did the sunlight strike his face? How exactly did they glow? These little details are precious, but the strange thing is, the more you cherish them, the more they change. Each recollection is another potential touch point where stories can shift—each replay degrades the truth. Reality's rough edges smooth, with time. Objectivity is a myth: cameras and recording devices all contort image and sound. There's no way to know exactly how things were. And yet we still tell the stories, to try to capture how things felt, even though the truth is always slipping through our fingers.

Lemon Quartet's second albumArts Festseems to unconsciously circle this thematic territory. Full of loose, yet lush repetition, it seems to function like memory—each dizzy melody recalling and rewriting what came before, subtly shaping each piece as time passes. Not that they seem especially concerned with the passage of time anyway. They space out, they work in the realm of feelings, scribbling melodious abstractions that feel familiar. Rich with compassion, harmony, and gestures toward ecstatic—if not objective—truth, it's full of the sort of pieces that demand you return to them, but sound a bit different each time, new details overtaking familiar comforts. Are you hearing them for the first time? Or just for the first time in a long time? Either way, drift away, and try to remember…

On Rock Island, their second LP, Palm produces evidence of a distinct musical language, developed over time, in isolation, and out of necessity. On the island, melodies are struck on what might be shells or spines. Rhythms are scratched out, swept over, scratched again. Individual instruments, and sometimes entire sections, skip and stutter. There is the sense of a music box with wonky tension or a warped transmission in which all the noise is taken for signal.

Like other groups so acclaimed for their compulsive live show, Palm has been burdened by the constant comparison between their recorded material and their touring set. On Rock Island, they render this tired discussion moot, using the album form to present that which could never be completely live, reserving for performance that which could never be completely reproduced.

Despite appearing behind the instruments typical of rock music, Palm trades in sounds of their own making. On these songs, one of the guitars and the drum kit are used as MIDI triggers, producing an index that can be combed through later and replaced with new information. The percussion is sometimes augmented so as to suggest a multiplication of limbs. The strings are manipulated to choke, crack, and hum like other instruments, or other bodies, might.

Working again with engineer Matt Labozza, the band spent the better part of a month in a rented farmhouse in Upstate New York. With the benefits of time and space, Palm recorded the various elements piecemeal, only rarely playing together in groups larger than two or three. While some members tracked, others holed up in the next room, experimenting with quantization, beat replacement, and other methods borrowed from electronic music. Even accounting for the many labors that brought them to be, these materials seem produced by an organic logic. Their complex friction forms a habit of thought, scores a network of grooves on the floor of the mind.

This is music with dimensionality. Sonic objects are deployed, developed, and dissected in various states of mutation. The listener flits about between the field and the lab. The tone is warm in a way only the sun could make, the pace as forceful and as variable as a gale. Whether one locates Rock Island in a sea or in a refinished attic (as in Greg Burak's album cover), whether one escapes to there or is banished, its psychic environs are charted clearly enough. Only at this remove from the mainland can we sense the conditions necessary for such a strange species of sound.

Watch The Sun is the next studio album from the acclaimed musician, PJ Morton. Following a prolific and remarkable creative run that saw 5 consecutive years of GRAMMY Nominations and 6 LPs since 2017, Watch The Sun aims to take a step back from it all. Looking to escape from outside noises and influences, PJ Morton chose to record in the secluded and storied Studio In The Country, where Stevie Wonder worked on 1979’s Journey Through The Secret Life of Plants, and artists like Allen Toussaint, Betty Davis and Dr. John have all recorded. Featuring the previously released “Please Don’t Walk Away,” & “My Peace,” the album is set to be his biggest and most anticipated release to date, delivering one of the most expansive sonic palettes he has ever developed as producer. Watch The Sun includes appearances from JoJo, Mr. Talkbox, Chronixx, Stevie Wonder, Nas, Wale, Jill Scott, Alex Isley, El Debarge, Zacardi Cortez, Gene Moore, Samoht, Tim Rogers & Darrel 'MusiqCity' Walls.

Ash sind seit 30 Jahren zusammen, aber es waren die zwei Jahre, die sie voneinander getrennt waren, die sie zu ihrem brillanten neuen Album inspirierten. Wie der Rest der Welt wurden auch Tim Wheeler (Gitarre/Gesang), Mark Hamilton (Bass) und Rick McMurray (Schlagzeug) von der Pandemie überrumpelt. Es war nicht nur die erste längere Auszeit, die die Band in ihrer unglaublichen drei Jahrzehnte währenden Karriere hatte, sondern auch die längste Zeit, in der die drei sich nicht gesehen hatten, seit sie sich in der Schule in Downpatrick, Nordirland, erstmals begegnet waren. Tim Wheeler - wie man es von einem der größten Songschreiber seiner Generation erwarten würde - hatte während Ashs Zwangspause weiter Songs geschrieben. Zum Reboot-Camp der Band erschien er bereit zum Loslegen mit einem Rucksack voller Hard-Rock-Hymnen. Und schwere Zeiten verlangen schließlich nach härterer Musik. Das selbst produzierte "Race The Night" - das achte Studioalbum der Band - ist in jeder Hinsicht herausragend. Aufgenommen im Oh Yeah-Studio in Belfast und mit neuem Fokus, kombiniert die Platte die unwiderstehlichen Rock-Riffs von "Meltdown" (2004) mit der melodischen Meisterschaft von "Free All Angels" (2001) - und das alles verpackt mit einem deutlichen Twist ins Jahr 2023. Und mit den fernen Anzeichen eines oft beschworenen Rock-Revivals am Horizont, könnte es das essentielle gitarrenzentrierte, hymnenreiche Album sein, auf das die Welt gewartet hat. Seit Ash als Teenager mit ihrem Nummer-Eins-Debütalbum "1977" aus Downpatrick auftauchten, ist die Band ein vitales, wachsendes Anliegen. Die meisten ihrer Zeitgenossen sind verschwunden oder haben sich zumindest aufgelöst, bevor sie zurückkehrten, aber Ashs Licht leuchtet so hell wie eh und je. Für dieses Album sind sie sogar zu Fierce Panda Records zurückgekehrt, die eine ihrer ersten Aufnahmen, "Punkboy", auf der 1994 erschienenen Crazed And Confused EP veröffentlicht haben.

Ash sind seit 30 Jahren zusammen, aber es waren die zwei Jahre, die sie voneinander getrennt waren, die sie zu ihrem brillanten neuen Album inspirierten. Wie der Rest der Welt wurden auch Tim Wheeler (Gitarre/Gesang), Mark Hamilton (Bass) und Rick McMurray (Schlagzeug) von der Pandemie überrumpelt. Es war nicht nur die erste längere Auszeit, die die Band in ihrer unglaublichen drei Jahrzehnte währenden Karriere hatte, sondern auch die längste Zeit, in der die drei sich nicht gesehen hatten, seit sie sich in der Schule in Downpatrick, Nordirland, erstmals begegnet waren. Tim Wheeler - wie man es von einem der größten Songschreiber seiner Generation erwarten würde - hatte während Ashs Zwangspause weiter Songs geschrieben. Zum Reboot-Camp der Band erschien er bereit zum Loslegen mit einem Rucksack voller Hard-Rock-Hymnen. Und schwere Zeiten verlangen schließlich nach härterer Musik. Das selbst produzierte "Race The Night" - das achte Studioalbum der Band - ist in jeder Hinsicht herausragend. Aufgenommen im Oh Yeah-Studio in Belfast und mit neuem Fokus, kombiniert die Platte die unwiderstehlichen Rock-Riffs von "Meltdown" (2004) mit der melodischen Meisterschaft von "Free All Angels" (2001) - und das alles verpackt mit einem deutlichen Twist ins Jahr 2023. Und mit den fernen Anzeichen eines oft beschworenen Rock-Revivals am Horizont, könnte es das essentielle gitarrenzentrierte, hymnenreiche Album sein, auf das die Welt gewartet hat. Seit Ash als Teenager mit ihrem Nummer-Eins-Debütalbum "1977" aus Downpatrick auftauchten, ist die Band ein vitales, wachsendes Anliegen. Die meisten ihrer Zeitgenossen sind verschwunden oder haben sich zumindest aufgelöst, bevor sie zurückkehrten, aber Ashs Licht leuchtet so hell wie eh und je. Für dieses Album sind sie sogar zu Fierce Panda Records zurückgekehrt, die eine ihrer ersten Aufnahmen, "Punkboy", auf der 1994 erschienenen Crazed And Confused EP veröffentlicht haben.

Its been five years since Belgium's WeMe Records lovingly selected the first ever collection of Heinrich Mueller's (Drexciya/Doppleffekt) best remixes/remodels for a new generation of listeners that won't have to pay collector prices to have them on vinyl. Volume 2 of False Vacuum is now with us and still has riches to choose from.

These 13 rare and hard to find tracks (3 of which make their vinyl debut) all deliver in different ways as he systematically reinvents each one.

Beginning with his raw and now classic remix of Ultradyne's 'Clones', the hard-edged dance-floor friendly 'Woman's Scent' by Cisco Ferreira (The Advent), the more laidback and futuristic sounding 'Bohrium 274' by Jauzas the Shining and Victoria Lukas, the slow and mysterious and first time on vinyl 'Somehow' by Rough Days For Diamond Trade, reinventing the darkest of dance-floors on 'Rytumtraks 0002' by Albert van Abbe, the moody masterpiece and first time on vinyl 'Now We Continue' by White Car, Duplex's 'Autoslug' sounding like its been rearranged inside a black-hole, a balancing act between the light and darkness on Fasenuova 'Cachito Turulo', an insistent rise and falling workout for As One's 'Where Did He Go and Why', a tightly wound and almost meditative 'The Truth' by The Exaltics, an angular stomping march of the robots 'Longwang' by 6D22, a jumpy fidgety groove for first time on vinyl 'Forty Eight Hours' by Yan Wagner and perhaps one of his most sublime pieces is kept for last with 'So Long For A Small Storm' by Dollska.

Cypress Hill’s self-titled debut album was hard as nails, with very few pop concessions. There was humor, but it was laced by cackling, homicidal sneering. Not well known outside of the hardcore hip-hop scene at first, faces of the three group members weren’t usually shown clearly in press photos; they preferred the shadows. As their first singles began hitting the airwaves and record racks, the press and music fans started to take notice.


From the opening notes of the group’s first single, “The Phuncky Feel One,” to deeper album cuts like “Stoned Is The Way Of The Walk” and “Tres Equis,” it was clear that Cypress Hill was something different. And very, very dope. The world Cypress Hill espoused was gang-ridden and far from cheery, but they managed to laugh through the pain. Lead rapper B-Real took each fuzzed-out, rock-hard DJ Muggs beat as a challenge, jumping around it like a spark off a joint as it makes its way to the concrete. MC Sen Dog always had B-Real’s back, to bring intensity and a no-bullshit gruffness that made the group both menacing and unpredictable.


When they introduced percussionist Eric Bobo to the mix in the early 90s, it brought new dimension to the band, making their live performances one of the most unique and accomplished shows in hip-hop. Journalist and author Chris Faraone highlights the group’s relationship in the reissue’s liner notes (which is included only in limited edition Skull) saying, “By the late ‘80s the undisputed Cypress unit finally formed. B and Sen realized that their diametric styles - the latter’s deep wrangle, the former’s inimitable high notes - complemented one another righteously. By then Muggs had bangers in the bag, as well as industry experience from a jaunt with the New York duo 7A3. B and Sen waited while Muggs messed with 7A3, and in that time began to build the blueprint for their raucous and weeded no-holds-barred style. Besides getting schooled on industry pitfalls, Muggs had also grown into hip-hop’s most formidable young producer, while straddling the bi-coastal gap.”

Cypress Hill’s debut went gold by the end of 1991 and has since pushed past double platinum status, making it the first album for a Latino-American hip hop group to do so. The album received raves from the likes of Rolling Stone and the Los Angeles Times, saw a #1 Hot Rap Single with the release of “The Phuncky One” and helped the band win Artist Of The Year at the 1992 Source Awards. After 25 years, it should come as no surprise that Cypress Hill is a cornerstone of the group’s live set to this day.

It's not because one might have worked with people like Jimi Hendrix, John McLaughlin and Rod Stewart throughout their career that Italo-Disco wouldn't get the best of your work. A great example of the Italian phenomenon's infectiously widespread grip is British rock keyboardist Brian Auger's path, when he found himself in a Milanese recording studio during the mid 80's and recorded his last known release in that decade. Powerfully fusing decades of rock and jazz education with the synthetic hysteria of the time (and culture), the result is a classic downtempo number that has found its way into some of our favorite DJ sets for a while now. Vocal and instrumental are featured on the A-side and in addition the B-side offers a new remix where things take somewhat of a catastrophic turn into what sounds like Brian getting on the wrong train to a K-hole, probably not for most dance floors. Meticulously remastered at manmade mastering in Berlin.

2023 Repress

Millennial dream boy Gen-Y and his twisted takes on everything! With his roots in Iran, hailing from Berlin he goes deep in, mixing up styles like Kanye mixes up opinions. On this follow-up Ep to the critically acclaimed Saturn Flow Ep from 2021, he keeps it funky and upbeat! On the opener Dreamboy, he collabs with Estonian singer Maryn E. Coote and takes the dancers on a smooth ride with a touch of 80's proto-house, electronic funk sound and vocals from Maryn's original version. River of Light and Time Of Death are proper flowing electro-funkers while Type 0.7 and Rari Jack ft. DJ Ebhardy are proper jackin Dj favorites! Closer Kirby Step takes the term 'funky acid' to another level. When you make tunes that are this cool there is no need to stick to one style... just enjoy what the universe transmits to the ether and vibe along!

"If you can imagine a love child between MAC DEMARCO and SPAR-KLEHORSE, then this would be what you're left with." - SO YOUNG MAGA-ZINE
Raised in North Queensland, Australia, Jarrod Mahon is not one to shy away from bold new endeavors. Once parting ways with his previous record label in 2019, Mahon chose to go fully independent, relocating to Berlin in 2019 (where he still resides), despite having no contacts at all in the country. What’s more, having recorded/performed under the pseudonym Emerson Snowe for over a decade - during which time he home-recorded five albums and 13 EP’s, toured with the likes of King Krule or Ariel Pink, played showcases SXSW and the Great Escape, the works - Mahon took that brave, most uncommercial decision to release under his own name and start almost totally anew.
“There was never really a concept to that name Emerson Snowe other than having some kind of separation from who I was as a person,” Mahon explains, “using a moniker gave me that confidence to push myself further mentally and to give myself some kind of a freedom”. And through the process of creating what would become his debut album, Mahon saw that he had outgrown the need for this protective persona. ‘Everything Has A Life’ was meant to be the debut Snowe album”, he admits, “but after I finished mixing it with Syd Kemp, co-producer I realized that I had actually grown a lot and was much more comfort-able with who I am and what my personal beliefs are.”
The choice of ‘Everything Has A Life’ as the album title, pulled from beauteous opening track ‘All I Know’, neatly summarizes this new outlook: moving on from ‘self-pity’ of the past-self by becoming present for the loved ones around you, improving understanding of one’s own self, via the wider world at large.
That track marks the first written during a lockdown stint in LA where Mahon wrote and recorded every day for 2 months, produced nigh on 250 demos and birthed the bulk of the record. It also brought Mahon back to his all-time favorite, Sufjan Stevens’ Ilinois and its blend of widescreen orchestral landscapes and more candid, naked acoustic-leaning variations - an important influence for the album's stylistic contrasts. Another key inspiration for the record too brought Mahon back to his roots - those full-bloom strains of his Mum’s Beloved Neil Diamond, an annual Christmas irritant to Mahon as a child, yet an artist he’s come to respect in adulthood. “Whatever the reason, with age I came to love the big show band sounds,” he says, “the idea of a performer on stage with a mas-sive orchestra with strings was amazing to me.”
With the help of producer Syd Kemp (Ulrika Spacek, Vanishing Twin), such grand designs could be met. - “When we first met, he asked me if I would like real strings on it. I said of course.” Enter Magda Mclean on violin (Caroline/the Umlauts), and Gamaliel Rendle Traynor on Cello (Sweat, Fat White Family), whose strings helped lift the record to romantic new heights.
He continues: “I said to Syd that the only thing I wanted to achieve with this rec-ord was that I wanted it to make me cry at one point. And we got there eventual-ly.” The final culmination of all these strands, ’Everything Has A Life’ is indeed a treasure trove of emotive riches. Locking into that bittersweet, quintessentially ‘pop’ combination of triumphant rhythms and confessional, stream-of-consciousness lyrics plucked straight from the heart, Mahon faces up to years of substance abuse with a series of gorgeous, blushing melodies: “I was using, I was drinking, I was lying to my friends, I was messing up again, I was hiding from myself”, he joyously chants on ‘The Growing’.
A banquet fit for an indie king, Everything Has A Life is loaded with psych-pop lusciousness (‘All I Know’) and anthemic glam fuzz (‘Death Of The Ladies Man’, ‘Deadstar’, or ‘Sonny is my Best Friend’); recalling that foundational Sufjan Ste-vens influence too with shambling flecks of country (‘Charly (Romantic Heart)’). There’s also those lo-fi crepitations of ‘My Man’ and ‘I can’t’ harking back home-recorded demos that lie at the core of Mahon’s creative process.

Longtime friend of the Sweet Sensi Crew, Rumbleton brings his distinct style of Amenism, dubwise, bass RUMBLE junglism. For side A we get the future classic Codex Indica; a deep meditation on dub and junglism. On the side B, Rumbleton meets DJ Clear for Sweet Sensi Records first foray into true Drum Funk. Here we have a taste of what it would be like if soundclash met drum funk junglism.

DJ Support
Mantra, DJ Trax, Double O, Coco Bryce
Yorobi, Ben LQ (Australia), Tim Reaper, Kid Lib +More