Cerca:m fix

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

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Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

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Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

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Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

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"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

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Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

The FIXX has been heralded as one of the most innovative bands to come out of the “MTV” era. For four decades, the style and substance of the band has always created a special connection with its audience. The FIXX’s themes are often complex, introspective and thought-provoking, but not without widespread mass appeal. The band has garnered three #1 hits, five more in the Top 5 and a dozen which reached the Top 10. With millions of albums sold worldwide, songs such as “One Thing Leads To Another,” “Red Skies” and “Saved By Zero” remain everyday staples on the playlists of the Rock, AAA and Alternative radio stations that continue to break new acts inspired by the era that The FIXX helped to define. The FIXX’s classic lineup remains intact, Cy Curnin (vocals), Jamie West-Oram (guitar), Rupert Greenall (keyboards), Dan K. Brown (bass guitar) and Adam Woods (drums). The alt rock pioneers return with their new studio album EVERY FIVE SECONDS,their first in nearly a decade, on June 3, 2022!

MARIAH CAREY's diva vocal gets a proper retro revamp over a synth heavy classic on "HUMAN EMOTIONS." It'll be hard not to smirk when this comes on. A totally recontextualized Fab 4 deep cut gets reworked on the B-Side. McCARTNEY vs. a very spaced out HALL & OATES classic.1

Rampaging into their 25th year as purveyors of the most ruthless extreme metal, Goatwhore return with perhaps the strongest album of their storied career. Angels Hung From The Arches Of Heaven is 47 minutes of their trademark blend of death, black, thrash and sludge metal delivered with breathless intensity and an unrepentant bloodlust, making for one of the most thrilling records to come out of 2022. Featuring beasts such as the savage “Born Of Satan’s Flesh” that thrashes along relentlessly and drips with evil, the old school crossover flavored “Death From Above” with its guttural chorus, and the epic, chilling title track that is as haunting as it is heavy they cover a lot of sonic territory, everything having that signature Goatwhore feel while constantly doing something a little different. The title of the record - like all Goatwhore releases - is both deep and direct - “It is a basis of human despondency, the arc of life and its relationship with the personal abyss of overwhelming emotion and thought. A mixture of esoteric ideas and biblical scripts and the journey to the places some people care not to venture on mental paths. The rise and fall of the self and how the abyss can be a turning point for some and a passageway to oblivion for others. It is blunt and to the point, just like countless aspects of life.”

Der Soundtrack zur erfolgreichen BBC-Fernsehserie ‚Around The World In 80 Days‘, komponiert vom legendären Filmkomponisten Hans Zimmer, dem Komponisten von ‚Bleeding Fingers‘, Christian Lundberg, und dem Produzenten Russell Emanuel. David Tennant spielt den unwahrscheinlichen Weltenbummler Phileas Fogg, der sich auf den Weg macht, in 80 Tagen um die Welt und wieder zurück zu reisen. Zusammen mit seinen Begleitern Abigail Fix (gespielt von Leonie Benesch) und Passepartout (gespielt von Ibrahim
Koma) versuchen sie das fast unmögliche Unterfangen, den Globus in 80 Tagen zu umrunden.

Please note early release date! Vinyl colour is green with black splatter. Hailing from La Rochelle (France), the band kicks out fun, raw garage punk with a slightly off-kilter-charm that seems to define the current sound coming out of France. Their sound is an absolute burner that features grimy guitar solos and conjures up the smell of sweat and spilled beer. In other words, it’s fuckin’ rock’n’roll. The band is brainchild of songwriter and guitarist Ugo Martinez (Charles Howl / Jerry Tropicano / Skeptics) created in 2014 in La Rochelle. In 2016 came the first 7” from the band release on Frantic City Records - FR, Followed by the band’s first LP SUMMERIZZ released 2017 on Adrenalin Fix Music - Beast Records - Stryckhnine Recordz, the band hit the road on multiple occasions with great returns from the audiences, most notably at the Binic Festival 2017. With two full years of touring the band went back to their favourite studio Swampland - FR and under the supervision of Lo Spider recorded their sophomore album BRAIN DAMAGE released 2019 on US label Dead Beat Records. In 2020 the band now composed of bassist Willy Barre (Ivresse Publique / Boulevard Boys), drummer Hugo Suquet (Thee Maximators), and guitarist / Vocalist Ugo Martinez, recorded their third LP THEE BLACK ALBUM to be released in 2022 on Dirty Water Records (London) and long-time partner and friend Adrenalin Fix Music. For fans of: Thee Oh Sees, Black Sabbath, Jay Reatard, fuzz, and farfisa.

Track list: 1. Mean As Fuck / Intro 2. Bite It 3. Sound Of The Underground 4. Pills And Wine 5. Jail Time 6. Talk, Drink, Bleach 7. The Ants 8. Mash Potatoes 9. Lightnin’ Never Strike Twice 10. HIYW

The Independent - 5 star Glastonbury set review “Making their Glastonbury review, IOW collective Plastic Mermaids are a joy to behold at the Croissant-Neuf stage.” New single 'Girl Boy Girl' Girl Boy Girl is an uncomfortable place, an unspoken awkwardness and tension. Always convoluting, never resolving. Just like this perpetual frustration when a relationship isn’t right but none has the language or understanding to fix it. And then thinking that adding a 3rd party to the mix is going to solve the problems…oh dear. We took some inspiration from the song ‘Night Call’ on the Drive soundtrack and also some of the slower Daft Punk tunes. Kinda wanted it to feel like something you’d stick on cruising in your car after dark in the 80’s. It has been two years since Plastic Mermaids released their critically acclaimed debut ‘Suddenly Everyone Explodes’, and now they return to spread some eagerly awaited blissed out joy with new single Disco Wings & b side Environmental with their second album due next year. The band have been working hard in the studio teaming up with producer Ant Whiting, who has worked with the likes of MIA, John Newman and Lana De Ray, in what proved to be an exciting mix of creative ideas.

Lee Baggett began a new chapter of his eclectic and varied songwriting career with the 2021 release of Just A Minute, and he’s continuing his experimental streak with his latest full length, Anyway. The seasoned musician is changing his stripes again with this 10-song collection by leaning into a more rollicking sound at times, as evidenced by the brisker feeling “Fruit Dog,” the album’s lead single, and the bustling and twangy penultimate track, “Highway Roll.” By embracing more country-tinged sonic elements like banjo, organ-sounding keys, and harmonica, Baggett is able to weave through winding narratives that poignantly parse through the challenging nature of change and evolution. On “Highway Roll,” he confronts how landscapes and settings he once knew are now unrecognizable, and takes that motif a step further on “Earlier Than The World” by achingly and vividly describing “concrete and rubble” amongst a sea of delicate, yet biting guitar riffs. Escape seems to be a viable option for Baggett with “Sink In My Dreams” and “Dust In The Wind” serving as the album’s soothing remedies, inviting the listener to sit back and get lost in Baggett’s mesmerizing guitar playing. His nimble guitar work is a prominent fixture on Anyway, acting as a crux at several key points. It resonates forcefully and feels emotionally charged. Just take the meandering bridge on “Earlier Than The World” as a prime example of how Baggett can aptly convey feeling through riffs.



Delving deeper into Anyway finds some familiar sounds, with songs like “Oh Well” and “Anyway” evoking the seaside melancholy of Baggett’s prior works. But there’s decidedly more intimacy hidden in the crevices of his words and hooks. Throughout, Baggett uses his refined storytelling skills to share his relatable fears and coping mechanisms, his river-like path to unexpectedly finding love, and his musings on an ever-changing world, amongst other experiences. His conversational disposition, folk-styled lyricism, and emotive sonic backdrops make for an immersive listening experience. - Tom Gallo

New one by Montreal singer-songwriter Deb Edison, working once again as The Submissives and willfully unchanged from 2016's Do You Really Love Me? cassette (Fixture). Six years into the most tumultuous period in global history since WWII – a pandemic, right-wing infiltration, attempts at government overthrow, climate catastrophe looming, a near-complete loss of the moral compass, conspiracies lording over facts natural resources running out – and Deb's still here, staring a hole through the floor/your head. "No one ever changes," she coos on "In a Pinch," and these songs are a textbook example of that sentiment, and her artistic embodiment of psychosexual desire, ready to shatter some lives and walk away looking for the next one. "I'm waiting for your signal/I'm several years older," she drones on "Sick Kinda Love," further reinforcing a long-held stance that the obsession, internalization of feelings, and the human power dynamic of The Submissives are on the menu once again. You'll find whatever it is you want to find in here, just dig in. Deb might even be talking about you, though there's a good chance she's not, and if you don't have the goods you can be sure she's gonna be doing all she can to passively drive you away. "Chirp Like a Bird" reads as Deb's bottom-looking-up retort to Whitehouse's "Wriggle Like a Fucking Eel," and might even be more severe, because she doesn't need microphonic feedback and screaming to intimidate. If you're in for surface thrills, scrape up the Shaggs-esque rock stumble, swooping viola, and behind-the-beat bash tapping out each of these eleven tracks. This is how it is; you get what you get, and you might be upset, but that's all on you. You'll never get to the bottom of this sketch. TRACKLIST: A1 Wanna be your thing A2 When it was all new A3 In a pinch A4 Sick kinda love A5 Chirp like a bird A6 I'm a mirror B1 Goodbye Betty B2 Four five B3 Isn't you B4 Think of me B5 Sweetly

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

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Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

=

Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

Musician and sound/video installation artist Steve Batespresents a solo ambient/noise album ofmelodic smear, radiostatic blur, panoramic noise clouds and dissolving tones. Made primarilyunder the self-imposed 'limitation' of a Casio SK-1, this is his first entirely solo full-length albumin almost a decade. All The Things That Happen showcases the more deliberate, intensive, noise-clustered side of Bates' wide-ranging sonic sensibilities and practices. An isolation record (like so many), itcombines an ineffable melancholy with claustrophobictension and simmering political rage.Powerfully composed from layers of glistening distortion-drenched melody, pulsing and droningoscillation, bursts of blown-out chords, sweeps of static and sheets of crackling hiss, Bates hasmade an impressively dynamic, ardent and iridescent noise album of real depth and underlyingdevastation."This was supposed to be an ambient record; quiet, minimal and sad. These tracks all startedoff that way but I kept reaching for more texture and noise. Somehow the noisier the record got,the less sad it was also. I was listening to, and loving, a lot of music by Andrew Chalk and I hadfinished a year-long run of listening to Eno's 1 and 4. I preferOn LandtoMusic for Airportsalthough I love both.On Landjust has a darkness and uncertainty that appeals to me. Addingmore noise also got me excited about ways this material could be played live even though italso felt like that could never happen again.In 2022, I opened for Godspeed You! BlackEmperor in Saskatoon to give it a try and waspleasantly pleased to hear it all live and loud."A fixture of Winnipeg's burgeoning punk and social justice community in the 80s-90s, Batesplayed in hardcore and indie rock bands (Pull My Daisy, Bulletproof Nothing) prior to foundingthe Send + Receivefestival in 1998. A crucial development in putting Winnipeg on the map foravant music and sound art, Bates helmed Send + Receive for seven years, then moved toTiohti:áke/Montréal, became Sound Coordinator at Hexagram (Concordia University), releasedsolowork on Oral and two albums with his Black Seas Ensemble on Dim Coast, and pursuedmyriad other ongoing audio research, installation and collaborative projects. Relocating toTreaty 6/Saskatoon the year before pandemic,All The Things That Happenis Bates' mostrecent purposive and purely 'recorded' work.Thanks for listening.

COLD GAWD ist der Name, unter dem der in Kalifornien lebende Multiinstrumentalist Matt Wainwright stürmische, verletzliche Shoegaze-Musik mit offenen Stimmungen und R&B-Melodien kreiert. Inspiriert von diesen Klängen, präsentieren COLD GAWD eine verfeinerte, modernisierte Version des Genres. Das insgesamt zweite Album der Band, "God Get Me The Fuck Out Of Here", nahm im Winter 2020 Gestalt an, während Wainwright lange Solo-Schichten in einem Coffee Shop in Chicago arbeitete. Angetrieben von dem Traum, in seine Heimatstadt Rancho Cucamonga zurückzukehren und alte Freunde aus früheren Hardcore-Bands wiederzutreffen, verkroch sich Wainwright mit seiner begehrten rosa Jazzmaster, einer Reihe von Effektpedalen und einem Laptop und schrieb das gesamte Album in einem Monat. Im März 2021 zog er zurück in den Westen ins Inland Empire, wo er bei Gabe Largaespada im Open Ocean Sessions zum Aufnehmen und Abmischen buchte. Obwohl er jedes Instrument selbst einspielte, haben die Ergebnisse das lebendige Gefühl einer geübten Live-Band (was COLD GAWD jetzt sind, da sie zu einer sechsköpfigen Band angewachsen sind). Kaskadenartige Gitarrenwände wirbeln, wallen und plätschern, umrahmt von versunkenen Rhythmen und Wainwrights entfernter, geschlagener Stimme, die in violetten Dunst gehüllt ist. Wainwright nennt die thematischen Gemeinsamkeiten zwischen Shoegaze und R&B als zentrale Muse, die beide obsessiv auf Liebe, Lust und Sehnsucht fixiert sind, in abwechselnd grandiosen und molligen Formen. Textlich schwankt das Album zwischen schräg und verzweifelt, sehnsüchtig und resigniert - mit Ausnahme von "Comfort Thug", einem grüblerischen, größtenteils improvisierten Spoken-Word-Stück, das durch den bemerkenswerten Mangel an schwarzen Musikern im Shoegaze inspiriert wurde. COLD GAWD ist hier, um das zu ändern. "God Get Me The Fuck Out Of Here" kanalisiert Unwohlsein und Melancholie in hauchdünne, energiegeladene Hymnen über Flucht, Veränderung und Introspektion. Das erdrückende Schlussstück "Passing Through The Opposite Of What It Approaches" wabert und schwebt wie drohende Gewitterwolken, unter denen Wainright singt (und sein Bandkollege Arturo Ramirez schreit), was einem Mission Statement so nahe kommt, wie es das Album bietet: "leave what you know / and get grown / everyday / remember / why you left".

COLD GAWD ist der Name, unter dem der in Kalifornien lebende Multiinstrumentalist Matt Wainwright stürmische, verletzliche Shoegaze-Musik mit offenen Stimmungen und R&B-Melodien kreiert. Inspiriert von diesen Klängen, präsentieren COLD GAWD eine verfeinerte, modernisierte Version des Genres. Das insgesamt zweite Album der Band, "God Get Me The Fuck Out Of Here", nahm im Winter 2020 Gestalt an, während Wainwright lange Solo-Schichten in einem Coffee Shop in Chicago arbeitete. Angetrieben von dem Traum, in seine Heimatstadt Rancho Cucamonga zurückzukehren und alte Freunde aus früheren Hardcore-Bands wiederzutreffen, verkroch sich Wainwright mit seiner begehrten rosa Jazzmaster, einer Reihe von Effektpedalen und einem Laptop und schrieb das gesamte Album in einem Monat. Im März 2021 zog er zurück in den Westen ins Inland Empire, wo er bei Gabe Largaespada im Open Ocean Sessions zum Aufnehmen und Abmischen buchte. Obwohl er jedes Instrument selbst einspielte, haben die Ergebnisse das lebendige Gefühl einer geübten Live-Band (was COLD GAWD jetzt sind, da sie zu einer sechsköpfigen Band angewachsen sind). Kaskadenartige Gitarrenwände wirbeln, wallen und plätschern, umrahmt von versunkenen Rhythmen und Wainwrights entfernter, geschlagener Stimme, die in violetten Dunst gehüllt ist. Wainwright nennt die thematischen Gemeinsamkeiten zwischen Shoegaze und R&B als zentrale Muse, die beide obsessiv auf Liebe, Lust und Sehnsucht fixiert sind, in abwechselnd grandiosen und molligen Formen. Textlich schwankt das Album zwischen schräg und verzweifelt, sehnsüchtig und resigniert - mit Ausnahme von "Comfort Thug", einem grüblerischen, größtenteils improvisierten Spoken-Word-Stück, das durch den bemerkenswerten Mangel an schwarzen Musikern im Shoegaze inspiriert wurde. COLD GAWD ist hier, um das zu ändern. "God Get Me The Fuck Out Of Here" kanalisiert Unwohlsein und Melancholie in hauchdünne, energiegeladene Hymnen über Flucht, Veränderung und Introspektion. Das erdrückende Schlussstück "Passing Through The Opposite Of What It Approaches" wabert und schwebt wie drohende Gewitterwolken, unter denen Wainright singt (und sein Bandkollege Arturo Ramirez schreit), was einem Mission Statement so nahe kommt, wie es das Album bietet: "leave what you know / and get grown / everyday / remember / why you left".

A rediscovered untitled Mass by Adriaen Willaert "Missa Ippolito", a
hidden ode to the Cardinal of Ferrara, Willaert's patron.Adriaen Willaert
must have already been a prolific composer before he assumed the
position of kapellmeister at the Basilica of San Marco in Venice
After all, a second Mass of his was included in a large, illuminated choral
manuscript that was produced for the Illustrious Brotherhood of Our Blessed
Lady in 's- Hertogenbosch, the Netherlands (the first Mass in this manuscript,
Missa sex vocum super "Benedicta," can be found on the LP Adriano 2). The title
page of the Mass does not mention the name of the composition, only that of the
composer, Adrianus Willart. It was catalogued as a Missa sine nomine, a Mass
without a name. It is assumed that the work was composed between 1522 and
1527, at a time when Willaert was a member of the music chapel of Cardinal
Ippolito d'Este in Ferrara, Italy. At first glance, what's striking about this
composition is that one of the tenor voices sings a cantus firmus (a "given, fixed,
foundational voice" that provides the basis for each movement of the Mass, to
which the other voices are added) that always consists of the same 13 notes: mi
ut mi sol mi ut fa mi fa mi re mi.
In an article about the Mass, the musicologist Joshua Rifkin claims to have
discovered a sogetto cavato delle parole in this sequence of notes. This is a
compositional technique common for the time in which the notes of a melody, in
this case the cantus firmus, are derived from the vowels of certain words. The
notes used for the tone poetry are those of the Guidonian hexachord, a series of
the 6 notes ut-re-mi-fa-sol-la.
For example, the word Maria (Ma-ri-a) can be "translated" into the notes la mi la.
The cantus firmus of the Mass, according to Rifkin, fits the words "Primus
Ippolitus Cardinalis Estensis" (Ippolito I, Cardinal d'Este) perfectly. The Mass is
thus almost certainly (via a hidden message in the music) an ode to the Cardinal
of Ferrara who was Willaert's patron. This rediscovered untitled Mass by Adriaen
Willaert, which we have now sung as a world premiere, can therefore rightly bear
the name Missa Ippolito.

(LTD NUMBERED 2LP EDITION)

Pressed to vinyl by public demand, this double 12" collects three previously released live and extended versions of Craven Faults studio tracks, and one brand new unreleased track entitled "Ravelands Brow". Recorded and filmed during lockdown in the old textile mill Craven Faults calls home, this acts as proof of concept. Proof that these shadowy analogue journeys can translate live. Proof that a fixed start point, and set of rough coordinates, is all that"s required. The destination is never the same. Limited edition numbered double vinyl 12" + DL

AM006 is by Berlin's ML, titled 'Life always breaks your heart'. Two 30-minute pieces were written, constructed, collaged and fixed together by himself. It's an important story, so there's a copy from ML below and also ours was written by Bokeh Version Industrial to do it justice.

Hallucinated Brazilian poetry read by text to voice engines, supernatural thrillers ripped from Youtube, the clang of cutlery and distant canteen conversation, that noise wire fencing makes when you rake it with a stick, crickets chirping over odd dance emotions, a sample you think your recognise but can’t name…..

The trivial is cosmically important, the cosmically important is trivial. ‘It’s about the product’ - all of life’s a sample. You contain universes.

Alice in Wonderland, late night sessions with kosmische guitar legends, ethnographic chants from an unknown land, “There’s no monopoly of knowledge / there’s no monopoly of power”: forecasts from global political trends, China will be important they say, someone’s whistling a tune that doesn’t exist, I’m thinking of times long before I was born . . .

Growing naturally like a beautiful montage from his field recordings (a rich library of personal psychoacoustic details) and his 150 Session on NTS, ML's Life Always Breaks Your Heart is mixtape-concrète:

Gamelan of the soul, Bio-Curry-Wurst in Kreuzberg, zither overlays the booms of the squatter’s homegrade grenades…

Mark Leckey vs. Alvin Curran, Gustav Flaubert vs Cabaret Voltaire, free association flashbacks with the timestamps mixed up, with added bass guitar, OP-1, Ableton, distinguishing the ‘real’ instruments becomes unimportant….they’re absorbed by memory foam….

No country, no flag – outernational without a cause!

There is no purpose, there is only reverie.

ML -

"A useless ruin, things are falling apart, even in our deepest, we long for harmony. A hypothetical path, for obscure reasons, fades into transparency. The mediocrity of Western culture, sicken by P.R., life offers a chance, a place for enthusiasm. The texture of the world, them can read it in your eyes. In the heart of schizo-culture, distance, suddenly shortened, forms characters as symbols. Deafen by mass media, embittered by unsettled chemistry, the willing body, forever in transition. The pre-invented existence, owned by language, creates a passage towards chaos. Paragraphs of currents, amplify the feelings, while silence leaks into the new luxury of time. Gentrification of sentiments, beneath our palms, all these memoirs. A modern consciousness, stretching over years in narcissistic differentiation. In touch with another human spirit, blowing backwards, beneath dark waters. We put our hands on your body, onto a new landscape, employed by metaphysical mutations. At the edge of the cosmos, prairies and mountains hide the truth in tactical silence. Apparently so, a number of months ago, above our head, a landscape of journals. Mystical content, statistically insignificant. A new patio, them crawled through the walls."

Saib is the prolific producer and guitarist whose insatiable desire to create comes from his childhood: passionate about Bossa Nova, Japanese Anime Soundtracks, Jazz as well as old school Hip-Hop, he draws his inspiration from composers and musicians such as Yoko Kanno, Joe Pass and Nujabes. Bathing in the cosmopolitan culture of Casablanca, a melting pot at the crossroads of the two African and European continents. This diversity is a constant in his music, where groove and melody are skillfully mixed in a style inspired by the classic hip-hop productions of the 90s. Hip Hop beats form the backbone of Saib’s musical palette, as his style skips from Jazz flavors to lounge experiments and to upbeat four on the floor grooves ... and sometimes within a single track.

Saib’s hyper-productivity has allowed him to release, over the last five years, seven albums and more than a dozen EPs and singles, including releases on labels such as Chillhop Music, Cold Busted, Majestic Casual and Blue Note Records. Saib’s tracks are a regular fixture on Editorial Playlists including Spotify’s “Jazz Vibes” (2 million Likes) and “lofi beats” and have accumulated more than 500 million plays on streaming platforms.

Saib’s new LP, “Unwind” maintains the stupendous head-nodding grooviness that listeners have come to love from the young producer with a healthy added dose of Tropical and Lounge/Bossa-jazz influence. Album and single artwork done by star-Moroccan photographer Ismail Zaidy (IG: @l4artiste) who has seen his work featured in GQ Middle East, Art Basel, BASE Milano, Vogue Arabia, and has done partnerships with The Sims and Adobe. LP design work done by Jakarta label mainstay, Robert Winter. “Unwind” also includes features by Rotterdam’s ØDYSSEE and legendary Hip-Hop MC Masta Ace. Jakarta is ecstatic to share such a career-defining work, arriving digitally and physically September 16th, 2022.

The albums 1st single, “Mushroom Samba” arrives Wednesday, June 29th along with the vinyl pre-order announcement. The track is deliciously groovy, and is a perfect example of the kind of sunny, jubilant grooves to be encountered on the LP. Saib takes the lofi-expertise he’s become known for since his 2015 debut and brings a freshness to the beat-genre. The song is perfect for the onset of summer and will have you humming along to the brass refrain by the songs end.

2nd single, “Pennywise,” will be released July 13 and features legendary Hip-Hop MC Masta Ace on the album’s only vocal track. The track is a surefire splash of hip-hop that’s both nostalgic and forward-moving. Ace sounds as fresh as ever, flowing over a head-bobbing beat with lush, tropical guitar inflections. While the beat brings to mind sandy shores and sun rays, Ace’s two verses invoke skyscrapers and boomboxes, making “Pennywise” a perfect track for your summer hip-hop fix.

Saib’s 3rd single is the stunning, swirling, and utterly smooth “Cosmic Dust” with Rotterdam producer ØDYSSEE arriving August 10. Keeping with the tropical essence, the track comes and goes like waves on a beach. Soft sounds flow like water before the drums and bass wash in, building to a saxophone and piano heavy crescendo. Like the tide, the beat recedes and the track ends as gently as it began, leaving you wanting to hear it all again.

Single 4, the moody “Suave” arrives August 24 and is bossa nova at its core. What starts off with a familiar Brazilian groove quickly takes a hip-hop turn, with a smooth bass drop and crisp drums layered over bossa nova keystrokes. Warm / timeless saxophone punctuate the track, providing a mellow break between basslines and closing out the end. “Suave” is a sunny and soul-soothing fusion of bossa nova, jazz, and hip-hop, perfect for closing out the summer with.

“Unwind” is a project steeped in the beats that keep you moving and grooving but with a sonic and visual aesthetic palette that goes deeper and groovier than the surface level lo-fi artists that have proliferated in the last 5 years. Ranging from FloFilz and eevee imbued vibrations to Jonwayne-styled beats, Saib brings forth a sonic spa session that invokes a state of calm that leaves you an uplifting and energetic plateau. Dig it.

Ben Auld writes songs whose heartbreak and wonder reveal themselves
moments after the warmth of their beauty sinks in, like slipping into the
ocean on a bronzy morning
Whether he's singing about bookstores and porches or ghosts and space
stations, the Bristol, UK-based singer-songwriter imbues his straight-to-tape gems
with a radiant AM pop warmth. And on Lemongrass, due ia Earth Libraries, that
comfy songwriting crackles and pops somewhere between Roger McGuinn and
Gram Parsons. Auld's debut record brims with homespun charm, dazzling
melodies, and lyrics that burrow deep into the heart.
Throughout the album, the immaculately arranged compositions provide the
perfect frame for smooth and rosiny vocals. Utilizing a series of reel-to-reel tape
machines, Auld chose to meticulously stack his instrumentation rather than
simplify; some songs have dozens of instrumental tracks, all assembled on tape.
"I'd record three tracks, bounce that over, and then record another three. I did it
alone and it took a long time to figure out what was possible," he says. "I went
through two four- track recorders, an 8- track 1/2" reel- to- reel, and finished the
album on a TASCAM 388. One of the biggest challenges of the album was fixing
all the broken old gear."
With each new listen, Lemongrass becomes a fonder friend, Auld's heart-on-hissleeve lyricism and intimate songwriting building a deeper nest. "The time is
ours/ Our time is now," he insists on the psychedelic wonder of "Our Time Is
Now", more certain and wide-eyed than urgent. Through first love and heartbreak,
dawns and apocalypses, Lemongrass keeps turning, collecting flickers of astral
bliss with each rotation, Auld's thumping heartbeat at the core.

"“The New Backwards” was conceived by Peter “Sleazy” Christopherson in 2007, revisiting stray tracks which hadn’t seemed to gel with the material he had chosen for the more somber “Ape of Naples” from 2005, COIL’s initial posthumous release, a sort of requiem and a kiss-goodbye to his then recently deceased partner John Balance.

Significantly different to its sister release, this album collects the brilliantly chaotic and outrageously rhythmic material from the original sessions for the album that was begun as early as 1993 and had originally been conceptualised as the follow-up to “Love’s Secret Domain”. These songs are as diverse and wild as the places they originated from, partly infamously spawned in Sharon Tate’s former home in the Hollywood Hills, the Nine Inch Nails home base in New Orleans and London’s Swanyard, remixed and restructured with the help of long-term friend Danny Hyde in Thailand, this collection has its own unique flow and an atmosphere not found on any other COIL release.

Both “AYOR” and “Backwards” had by the time the album was first released already become favourites in COIL’s manic live performances. Some of the other tracks had only leaked in demo versions and are here presented updated and polished as Christopherson and Hyde intended them to be heard. It is interesting to consider Balance’s vocal contributions, too. Whilst on the albums COIL did release at the time this material was first put aside (“Black Light District” and “ElpH”) his voice is all but absent, his vocal performances and his lyric writing here are arguably more closely indebted to the previous “Love’s Secret Domain” era, especially the epic “Copacaballa” is noteworthy in that respect.
The New Backwards” effectively became the final official COIL studio release of all new material whilst Peter was still alive and is here presented for the first time fully supervised by Danny Hyde, its co-creator.
The stunning cover uses a detail from artist Ian Johnstone’s “Cubic Raven” painting, licensed from the estate of IJ..

It is high time to rediscover this timeless album with the Infinite Fog release boasting eight further tracks of previously unheard material from the same sessions, rough working stages and surprising remixes which will surely delight the dedicated COIL archaeologists, as they shine yet another light on the creative process and on what could have been.

Recorded at Swanyard, London and at Nothing Studios, New Orleans, 1996.
Thanks to everyone there, especially Trent Reznor who made it all possible.
Written & Produced by Coil & Danny Hyde.
Remixed by Peter Christopherson & Danny Hyde, Bangkok 2007.
For that session Coil were: Peter Christopherson, Jhonn Balance & Drew McDowall.
Mastered by Jessica Thompson.
Front artwork by Ian Johnstone.
Artwork licensed from The Estate of Ian Johnstone.
Layout Cold Graves and Oleg Galay."