Suche:little creatures

SZNZ: Spring is the first of four in the SZNZ series of EPs by Weezer and is now available on Black and Glow In The Dark Vinyl. The EP was produced by Weezer’s frequent collaborators Jake Sinclair and Suzy Shinn, as well as new collaborator Ethan Gruska.

Each EP offers its own palette of colors, creatures, and emotions to explore. Created in real time, made in tandem with the season themselves, the EPs form an incredible collection of some of Weezer's best songs yet, which is no small feat for a band that never leaves the Zeitgeist.

Weezer is Brian Bell (backing vocals, guitar), Rivers Cuomo (vocals, guitar, piano), Scott Shriner (backing vocals, bass), and Pat Wilson (drums).

**Vinyl Only

SZNZ: Spring is the first of four in the SZNZ series of EPs by Weezer and is now available on Black and Glow In The Dark Vinyl. The EP was produced by Weezer’s frequent collaborators Jake Sinclair and Suzy Shinn, as well as new collaborator Ethan Gruska.

Each EP offers its own palette of colors, creatures, and emotions to explore. Created in real time, made in tandem with the season themselves, the EPs form an incredible collection of some of Weezer's best songs yet, which is no small feat for a band that never leaves the Zeitgeist.

Weezer is Brian Bell (backing vocals, guitar), Rivers Cuomo (vocals, guitar, piano), Scott Shriner (backing vocals, bass), and Pat Wilson (drums).

**Vinyl Only

$ (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack) is the soundtrack to the 1971 movie of the same name. The soundtrack was composed and produced by Jazz legend Quincy Jones and includes performances from Roberta Flack, Little Richard and Doug Kershaw. This version will be the first repressing since 2002, and will be pressed the color of money on mint green vinyl.

The third entry in Lucy's trio of adventurous full-lengths is visually introduced by artwork of a pearl-bearing shell, designed by Stroboscopic Artefacts' resident visual artist (and Lucy's brother) Ignazio Mortellaro. This drops a subtle hint as to the nature of its contents: just as a pearl slowly forms within its enclosing body in response to organic challenges, Lucy's work is also a kind of crystallization of memory and experience into an artifact of great value.

Listeners to this album will be struck immediately by how different it sounds from past Lucy productions, while still retaining the feel of relentless questing that defined his previous two solo LPs Wordplay for Working Bees and Churches, Schools, and Guns (or, as Lucy himself defines the feeling, the equal valuation of precision and exploration'). Initially feeling like Lucy is guiding his listeners on a slow and slightly apprehensive down-river trip through the Amazon, or some similarly thriving but as-of-yet undiscovered terrain, the album is enriched by several layers of ambience and by the wordless, improvisational (yet still somehow narrative) vocals and flute of Jon Jacobs. Without a doubt, it's an album with an initiatory' atmosphere that listeners should commit themselves to hearing in one sitting, with as little interruption as possible. However, unlike many initiatory rites, this is no arduous ordeal at all: great care has gone into connecting each chapter of the album with the same silver thread of entrancing story-telling. On standout pieces like She-Wolf Night Mourning,' electronic arpeggiation and persistent synthetic flutters perfectly merge with the unique tone colors of resonant acoustic percussion and pensive woodwind. Elsewhere, pieces like A Selfless Act' reconcile technoid pulses with melancholic, yet intoxicating echoes of Mediterranean musical traditions.

Interestingly, many of the tracks on Self-Mythology refer to old legends and well-known fairytales (e.g. the opening track which references Baba Yaga's magical hut), or to more broadly defined states of consciousness ( Samsara,' which features an especially strong, sustained choral interplay between glassy synth sequences and earthy flute sonorities). This is where the album is truly unique and relevant in its ambition. The interplay between the graphic design, the vocal and flute performances of Jacobs, and the sound design chosen by Lucy aims to be an intimate audio autobiography of its creators while also referring back to the stories that have shaped human destiny for millennia. This work is a meditation upon the reciprocity between personal hopes and fears and collective dreams and nightmares, an exploration of the endless interplay between the universal and the deeply individual. It is the tale of that uncanny process by which our own conscious experience draws from the pool of archetypal information, while also contributing to it.

The Copenhagen-based, Scottish-born composer Clarissa Connelly’s music is evocative of the whimsical and almost child-like, tainted by an undercurrent of dark sensuality, disquietude and existential dread. Characterized by complex arrangements, big compounded chords, as well as a broad array of instruments, effects and sounds, her songs orient the listener towards utopian beauty that lie somewhere between the baroque and the primordial. With an experimental approach to vocal techniques, her voice can manifest benevolent fay-like creatures as easily as banshees and maleficent spirits singing melodies that retain the accessibility typically associated with pop-music. The compositions are lyrically and aesthetically grounded in Celtic folklore and Scandinavian vitalism. The threshold between the mundane and the fantastical are accentuated in her work, in such a way that the pursuit for – and the ability to recognize – real beauty in the world become anchored in the realm of work, everyday anxiety, motivation, human brilliance and failure.

With forthcoming album The Voyager, Connelly sets out to not only to study the relationship between nature and music, but also its relationship with time. She says: “I’ve always been especially excited about times in the north before Christianity came, and how the Pagan culture and Christianity became intertwined in people through rituals and formations in the landscape - burial mounds, passage graves, dolmens, etc.” She continues: “In some way, it’s very difficult to translate nature into an understandable movement of change. Looking at a mountain I often view a still picture of time – a moment right now – but sometimes, I can look at the mountain and see millions of years of change and movement. I believe that this point of view can be assisted by art and music. In a landscape ornamented with ruined Viking fortresses or ancient burial mounds, I find that I, for whatever reason, seem to be able to perceive time and comprehend history (the history of nature and culture) as a series of changes in a more salient way.”It is here that The Voyager derives so much of its power. It roots itself in history, mythology, capable of intertwining and unravelling both past and present. Songs such as Holler and The Hills Are Crying – opening and closing tracks on the album, respectively – conjure images of these ancient Danish sites, offering something more than just a fluid, long-forgotten way, and instead a tangible reverie that can educate, engage and thrill in equal measure. Connelly explains: “I have the idea, that the mystical and fantastical nature of these olden barrows and ruins can kindle a more dynamic and historically informed perspective. I think that an understanding of time as a movement is articulated when looking at the landscape in this way and can maybe bring us out of our little bell jar, and into a greater experience of life as a whole.”

The Voyager is released in conjunction with an app Vandringen (released 27 september 2020), conceived and created by Clarissa Connelly - along with the contributions of 21 other Danish musicians, painters, sculptures, performers - which highlights special ancient Danish locations, not viewable on Google Maps. These locations are presented with local knowledge and a number of them are interpreted for the modern day by the creatives involved. Connelly concludes: “I am very eager to write music that sounds like something that is happening now but has also happened a very long time ago. I have always found it fascinating to view history through changes in the landscapes around us, and therefore I started created this app and wrote this album.”

Hunt & Gather’s debut vinyl release comes by way of Pezzner’s cryptic moniker “The Native Language”. Written as a quasi-homeless man living off the rich in the San Juan Islands who writes music once per year to suffice his own delusions.

Walking the streets in these damp, anxious days that all run together lately, I was approached by a man who would blend right into the neighborhood, layered in flannel and sweatshirts for sleeping.

Rough, but for his shoes. (Never cheap out on anything that separates you from the ground.) “Pezzner,” he called out, from a safe distance. “What did the mangrove say to the marauding hordes.” My soul left my body for a moment and my voice responded on its own. “Petrichor.”

He caught my eye, nodded, left a padded envelope on the ground and vanished. The envelope had passed through many hands, slipped into the bed of a ferry-bound truck, passed from one fellow traveler to another, stashed under the counters of anarchist bookstores, left tucked between books at Little Free Libraries. The greenish stains suggested that at one point it had been swum across a lake. Another DAT, contents encoded here unabridged, and a letter from someone who called himself The Sentinel.

The Vessel lived out his days on Shaw Island, under a canopy of trees that gets smaller and smaller every season. His condition the same, any electricity lit his brain on fire, could only bring himself to compose one day a year, only at night, out of sight. Until he met The Angel, an eccentric with means, who built for him a device.

A Faraday Cage to block all electromagnetic emissions. Burlap walls, for atmosphere. A system of pulleys and levers, wood and rope, all running into a box that sat outside. An entirely mechanical control surface. No electrons in here. The Vessel lit fires, watched the shadows dance, closed his eyes and disappeared into the motion for hours at a time. The Sentinel came every morning to change the tapes. The Angel watched and pondered, his plans unknown.

The box sat sealed, bare except for another set of ideograms, scratched in day by day over time. Inside, the usual bedroom-producer shit. Outside, the ideograms told a story, passed from the Vessel to the Sentinel and drawn by the Angel, of a man who became another creature. Alert to the lowest frequencies, feeling music deep in the soil below their feet. Music that brings messages, from distant friends, warning of new creatures and the danger they brought. Skin alive to the world, so sensitive it can detect the landing of a single fly. A mind capable of keeping a map of the world inside. A mind that can look in a mirror and see a soul it knows well. A mind that can grieve.

After processing its contents, I filled the envelope with granola bars and walked it down to the market. The clerk gave me a knowing look as I placed it on the counter behind a stack of pork rinds from the previous century. As I walked out, a young man carrying a plastic bag and wearing impeccable shoes walked in.

Hot off the heels of Aluxes, his 2018 Lumière Noire debut EP, young Mexican DJ/producer Iñigo
Vontier is inviting Chloé's label on a trip to the far corners of the body & mind with an album of
demented grooves, psychedelic take-offs and imaginary comic strips of mystical rituals. A
bewitching debut full-length. Mexicans may never possess the sonic science of the Germans,
the hedonistic madness of the English or the gift for synthesis of the French, but, as proven by
Iñigo Vontier's first full-length for Lumière Noire, their universe is much more exciting than
anyone would have ever thought.
The DJ/producer fully asserts his origins by brandishing the album’s title "El Hijo del Maiz" ("the
son of the corn") almost as an emblem: "in Mexico, corn is eaten daily. It has long been defined
as 'the gold of America', and I consider all Mexicans as children of corn". A spiritual and
embodied vision Iñigo's first Lumière Noire release, the four-track Aluxes, set the tone of the
young talent's distinctive interpretation of dark disco, which creeps up on the dancefloor from its
iconoclastic side. The two tracks and two remixes (one by Flügel, the other by Inigo himself)
featured on the 12" for lead single "Xu Xu" (featuring Red Axes-affiliate Xen's irrelevant vocals)
was a full-bodied confirmation that Vontier sees the dancefloor as an arena for the occult –
whether from the peoples of the equatorial jungle, the Middle East or, even from indocile
machines. But, while the spiritual element seems part and parcel of the Jalisco native’s output, it
is in no way the only ingredient of this first long-player: "this album best reflects my own vision
and spirituality, and the way I feel it" he says.
Whether contemplative or frenetic, the collection of tracks that make up “El Hijo Del Maiz” takes
the kitchen sink and throws it out the window: languid rhythms, haunted vocals, and mysterious
percussion fuel a discombobulated house set that scrambles the listener's five senses, leaving
one disoriented and exposed to the vagaries of vertigo. Following the demented, dystopian “Xu
Xu” EP, which explored an imaginary jungle that harbored Mayan and Egyptian pyramids,
Middle Eastern accents are once more present in the off-kilter “Bo Ni Ke” and its Japaneseinfluenced vocal trickery, which Moroccan flutes à la Jajouka transform into a feverish trance.
With the following three tracks, Iñigo Vontier raises himself to the same level of excellence as
the Pachanga duo (of which pride of the Mexican scene Rebolledo, is also known as a prolific
artisan of deconstruction): “Awaken”'s slumbering voice, heard as through the veil of hypnosis,
slowly introduces a techno beat which, as in follow-up “Time”, literally brings the listener to a
levitative state. In a housier vein, yet continuing in the same psychedelic, 90s-infused spirit,
“Don’t Go Back” disrupts the genre’s usual signatures with an out-of-tune keyboard that is
becoming the artist's trademark, destabilizing the listener into a drunken vertigo, with a good
helping of sexiness: "I think the sexy dimension definitely brings a kind of magic to music," says
Vontier. “I'm sure I felt this magic during my DJ sets, and I like to think that sorcerers use this
element in their practices. I might consider myself a bit of a sorcerer when I take over the DJ
booth, by the way." A mood and sound that can once again be found – in a quieter, more
bucolic version – on “Chiquitita” (feat. the flute stylings of pioneer DJ Rocca, now a partner of
cosmic disco legend Daniele Baldelli). The more cinematic, fast-paced and dreamy beat of the
no less captivating “Little Monster” might evoke the mischievous spirit of the Mayas' minor
mythological creatures, while ode to the magical herb Marijuana (feat Thomass Jackson)
proudly tramples into the debate that such a provocative title inevitably provokes: "psychedelic
drugs are powerful tools to reach a higher level of consciousness about what surrounds us, but
we must learn how to complete this psychic journey by ourselves, notably through meditation
and love.
In the end, El Hijo del Maiz is an album-length confirmation of Iñigo Vontier's uniqueness, and
his adherence to Lumière Noire's policy of letting artists fully express their vision – while letting
their passions guide their idiosyncrasies and explorations of innovative electronic signatures

'Utopia' is the ninth studio album from the iconic artist Björk, out November 24th via One Little Indian Records. The album's artwork was created in collaboration of M/M, Jesse Kanda and James Merry and reflects the records sonic direction, optimism, lightness, utopia.
Of the album she explained to Dazed this Summer that, Maybe that's why it became a utopian theme - if we're gonna survive not only my personal drama but also the sort of situation the world is in today, we've got to come up with a new plan, If we don't have the dream, we're just not gonna change. Especially now, this kind of dream is an emergency.'
Björk wrote, produced and recorded the album between Reykjavik and New York, working closely with Arca and writing for, conducting and recruiting a thirteen piece flute orchestra which will be on the road with her next year.

Two raw extended trips from the mind of STL in a rare foray beyond his self-run Something imprint. Stephan Laubner applies his usual auteur principles to these groove experiments, whose sounds circle round each other cagily, rough meeting smooth, organic meeting synthetic, all combining in a propulsive form that's classic STL. Shifty hats on 'Crank Notion' provide an insistent shuffle through which nauseous pads plot a dissonant course. 'Neat Buzzl' is a grimier excursion in the undergrowth, little creatures scurrying left and right while the kick maintains its forward stomp. Join STL and Assemble Music in these off-map excursions and see where you emerge.