Поиск:make a move

Here are 4/5 of the early work of Dj Ultramars, before he created his own label, Mars Assault Records.

Dj Ultramars drew inspiration from records from the begining of Hard Techno; from some work of the Spiral Tribe, but also just from the musical impression he had after attending his my first free parties.
Those tracks corresponds to a certain moment in the history of the free party movement, so a release on Toolbox Killerz was logical.

The tracks have been edited so that the arrangements would be more relevant to nowadays standards, and to alow a better sound quality on vinyl. Back in 1997, we didn't know better about vinyl cutting & premastering, so we went to a legacy cutting studio that had made all the cuts for Rock & Pop for decades, and they didn't understand the specifics of such Tekno music. Therefore on their first release, those tracks didn't make much sense without the highest frequencies... This time we have their ultimate cuts, the way they should always have been cut on vinyl, thanks to the legendary Hervé @ DK mastering studio.

James Brown wants to know one thing before he and his band begin Sex Machine. “Can I get into the thing, really?,” he asks. His cohorts enthusiastically respond in the affirmative. And for the next hour and change, Mr. Dynamite gets into it and more, turning in a sweat-soaked, feet-moving, hip-swiveling, emotion-purging, in-the-red, drop-everything-you’re-doing-and-dance performance for the ages. Ranked by Rolling Stone among the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time, the sweeping 1970 effort towers as a testament to Brown’s inimitable legacy as well as the peak powers of his voice, vibrancy, and bands.

Sourced from the original master tapes, pressed at Fidelity Record Pressing, and housed in a Stoughton gatefold jacket, Mobile Fidelity’s numbered-edition 180g 33RPM 2LP set presents Sex Machine in audiophile sound for the first time. It explodes with the energy the lightning-strike music demands. Dynamic, immediate, present, airy: Everything from the brassiness and fluidity of the horns to the snap and decay of the snare to the swell and carry of the organ comes across in full-range perspective.

Then there’s Brown’s superhuman singing, which here emerges with a purity, naturalism, and transparency that ensure you feel everything. Screeching, shouting, pleading, moaning, preaching, stinging, commanding, testifying, crooning, humming: The Godfather of Soul contributes one of the finest vocal performances known to man. This definitive 55th anniversary reissue of Brown’s monster funk statement further exhibits a combination of clarity, solidity, separation, and imaging that helps bring to light what he and his crack ensembles committed to tape. Both in the studio and on the stage.

Just how lifelike does this reissue sound? Senior Mobile Fidelity Sound Lab engineer Krieg Wunderlich, who handled the remaster, notes: “There were some artifacts that sounded a bit like mistracking. But they turned out to be breath blasts on the vocal microphone. That is part of history. JB was workin' hard, and breathin' hard. And there was an edit the timing of that was truly strange. Again, a part of history.”

Originally marketed as a live album, Sex Machine contains six songs recorded in the studio and later overdubbed with canned crowd noise and reverberation. Save for “Low Down Popcorn,” the tracks on the latter half stem from a phenomenal performance captured in October 1969 at Bell Auditorium in Brown’s adopted hometown of Augusta, GA. The special relationship between the singer, the audience, and the location is palpable.

As the 1960s gave way to a new decade, Brown experienced immense success and dealt with unexpected change. Soul Brother Number One soon expanded his idea for an official live album captured in Augusta when the ensemble that backed him on that date morphed into the original version of the world-famous J.B.’s just months after the show. The virtuosic abilities, sticky chemistry, and rhythm-forward nature of the J.B.’s prompted him to book a one-off session in Cincinnati, OH, on a late July night.

Anchored by brothers William “Bootsy” Collins and Phelps “Catfish” Collins, the group — as well as two different drummers — laid down a nearly 11-minute rendition of “Get Up I Feel Like Being Like a Sex Machine” and a thrilling medley of “Bewildered,” “I Got the Feeling,” and “Give It Up or Turnit a Loose.” A pair of then-recent studio singles cut in separate locations in 1969, “Brother Rapp” and “Low Down Popcorn,” each featuring his prior group, took care of the second LP worth of material that complements the originally planned live set.

Complicated? Somewhat. Unusual? Definitely. But just as he elevated the expectations for all present and future R&B artists, Brown not only makes it all work. He makes it positively electrifying.

“Get Up I Feel Like Being Like a Sex Machine” is alone deserving of a dissertation on the art of funk music, seeing it moves up and down akin to an oil derrick, witnesses Brown unleashing a trademark series of grunts, squeaks, and “good god” asides, and glides to a hypnotic groove that won’t quit. Or look to the syncopated rhythms of “Brother Rapp (Part I and Part II),” one of multiple pieces here that signify the point where Brown began viewing every instrument as a percussive tool. Brown closes the three-song medley with his new band with a skedaddling “Give It Up or Turnit a Loose,” which provides jolts on the order of sticking your finger into a socket.

Not that the actual live material falls short in any way. Setting an insistent tempo for the vitality that follows, “I Don’t Want Nobody to Give Me Nothing” positions Brown as a role model, leader, and self-sufficient entrepreneur. All simmer and boil, the short and sweet “Licking Stick” dares you to keep pace. The floating, almost comforting “Spinning Wheel” spotlights the instrumental prowess of Maceo Parker and company, and functions as a seamless segue into the tender, horn-saluted “If I Ruled the World.”

And Brown and his mates still aren’t done. Just try to resist the one-two closing punch of “I Can’t Stand Myself (When You Touch Me)” and “Mother Popcorn.” Mercy.

Ain’t it funky? Sure ‘nuff.

The tapes for “Ronnie McNeir Makes A Move” were found in Mickey Stevenson’s extensive master tape collection. A full new LP of classic McNeir is an absolute treat for his many soul fans; particularly in Europe where he is so admired.
Ronnie recorded over twenty tracks with Mickey Stevenson’s production company in 1971. Eleven of these were featured on his RCA LP “Ronnie McNeir”, but another ten were left in the vaults.

The title track, ‘Let’s Make A Move’ is an urgent, exciting funk sound, composed with Ronnie’s frequent writing partner, Andre Moore. ‘I’m Sorry’ is an earlier version of ‘Gone Away’ which featured on the 1972 RCA “Ronnie McNeir” LP, without the female singer’s vocal response track.
‘Say You’ is the Motown song first recorded by the Monitors in 1965. It has a more laid-back treatment here, giving it a whole new dimension. We issued the single version on a Kent Select 45 in 2022; both versions are featured on the CD. Another re-envisaged Motown number is ‘The Girl’s Alright With Me’ which features Hodges, James, Smith & Crawford’s backing vocals − as do other tracks on this album. Surprisingly, Bob Dylan’s ‘Blowing In The Wind’ is also covered; in a pleasing, jaunty treatment.

‘My Day Will Come’ is a slow-burning number Ronnie co-wrote with his wife Mona. It is one he is particularly proud of and has been picked up by modern soul DJs as a potential crossover hit. ‘Tell Your Mama’ is a sensuous, Marvin Gaye-influenced groove, while ‘East Side, West Side’ is more streetwise, dealing with the social problems that face many young people.

As a multi-instrumentalist, heavily influenced by jazz, it comes as no surprise that Ronnie would record two jazz / soul instrumental jams which he simply named ‘Ronnie’s Bag #1’ and ‘Ronnie’s Bag #2’. The tracks are keyboard-lead, piano and possibly organ – or more likely one of the early synthesisers that Ronnie pioneered. ‘Ronnie’s Bag #1’ is more jazz-oriented, while ‘Ronnie’s Bag #2’ goes funky.

KRONERT003 continues the label’s mission: honest, floor-ready house music with depth and character. Warm low-end, rolling grooves and hazy chords shape an EP that feels tailor-made for late-night floors and after-hours rooms. Kronert delivers functional but emotional tools with his unmistakable touch. Subtle details, careful sound design and a strong sense of movement make each track both a DJ weapon and a story on its own, a modern house record that aims straight at the dancefloor without losing soul.

KRONERT003 continues the label’s mission: honest, floor-ready house music with depth and character. Warm low-end, rolling grooves and hazy chords shape an EP that feels tailor-made for late-night floors and after-hours rooms. Kronert delivers functional but emotional tools with his unmistakable touch. Subtle details, careful sound design and a strong sense of movement make each track both a DJ weapon and a story on its own, a modern house record that aims straight at the dancefloor without losing soul.

Luca Attanasio hails from Sydney, Australia but has made global moves with his grooves already on labels like Limousine Dreams. He brings his class to Pilot here - one of the very many labels in Burnski's orbit. Opener 'All 4s' amps you up with the insistent hi-hats, which bring air and dynamism to a warped low end and fresh tech drums. 'Pistol Pete' is another fulsome cut with a broad-stroke bassline and wub-wub effects on the synths to make for a wafty but driving vibe. 'Bust Up' taps into a dark garage low end with cosmic motifs up top and a perfect blend of headiness and physicality.

From 1968 through to the mid 1970’s the reggae beat began to slow down,some say due to the extreme heat hitting down onto Kingston Town and its surrounding enclaves. People needed something less strenuous to dance to. The Ska and Rocksteady Sounds (see 101 Orange Street KS007) that rocked Jamaica previously, had now found a slower tempo and become more ‘Dread’ lyrically to suit the times. Reggae music has always moved within the social climate it found itself in and this set here, as we ‘Return To Orange Street’ was ROOTS ROCK REGGAE TIME....

The Rastafarian message that runs through this collection of ‘Reality’, sometimes labelled ‘Sufferers’ music,is strong and works on many levels. It can come across on a heavy rhythm and vocal cut. Its example represented here by Prince Jazzbo’s ‘Dread in a Earth’ and ‘I Roy’s ‘Roots Man Time’, moving through to the popular new sounds of the DJ’s working over an old rhythm and alongside its existing vocal. As with Busty Brown working with Delroy Wilson's ‘Know Your Friend’ and Mr Jah Stitch working over Johnny Clarke’s ‘Roots Natty Roots’ to produce an even more dreader ‘True Born African’. The heartfelt lyric can also convey this message as we can see when Horace Andy laments ‘Where is the Love’ and Delroy Wilson again shows us on his ‘Who Cares’ cut. The great Twinkle Brothers also put the message across on their two cuts we have here, ’Too Late’ one of their lost classics if ever there was one and the thoughtful ‘It’s Not Who You Know’,being another prime example.

Orange Street itself is always at the heart of all reggae's musical changes and some singers also ride these waves as Mr Cornell Campbell shows us here with two cuts. The mournful ‘Too Be Loved’ and his uplifting ‘Girl of My Dreams’, which uses the same rhythm as our previously mentioned Prince Jazzbo’s 'Dread in a Earth’. Showing us that firstly you can’t keep a good rhythm down and secondly that two if not more great songs can work from the same source point. The light hearted ‘Vengeful’ lyric also worked in this period when artists spared off to each other on records to vent their frustrations. As we can hear here with Mr Lee Perry’s ‘You Funny Boy’. The song snipping back at a previous employer over what he felt were his misdoings to an under appreciated Mr Perry. We have culled these tracks together to show that the Dread Roots feel of the 1970’s came across in many guises and even in earlier songs these sentiments were also prevalent. As represented in Slim Smith’s almost bluesy feel in ‘Trying To Find a Home’, never a truer statement in Kingston's ghetto areas.

Well we hope you enjoy this musical journey and make a connection with messages portrayed here, as Mr Monty Morris points out on his contribution to this collection ‘Times Are Dread’.... Dread indeed.....

Like a head resting on a train window, gazing at the horizon without anxiety, Jesper Ryom's debut album breathes a wind of freedom and propels us toward the unknown, to no destination in particular.
Beyond the sensations of movement it evokes, this work is a marvel of unexpected mixtures. Seamlessly transitioning from progressive sounds to genuine French touch inspirations, it sails through the ages while maintaining a dreamlike homogeneity. This long-awaited offering from one of Copenhagen best-kept mysteries invites listeners on a captivating journey

At the beginning of the 1960s, at the Berklee College of Music, Byard Lancaster met some feisty friends: Sonny Sharrock, Dave Burrell and Ted Daniel. It is easy to see why he rapidly became involved in free jazz. Once he was settled in New York, he appeared on Sunny Murray Quintet, recorded under the leadership of the drum crazy colleague of Albert Ayler.



In 1968, the saxophonist and flutist recorded his first album under his own name: It’s Not Up To Us. The following year he came to Paris in the wake of… Sunny Murray. He would come back to France in 1971 (again with Murray) and in 1973 (without Murray for a change). This is when he met Jef Gilson, the pianist and producer who encouraged him to record under his own name again.

On Palm Records (Gilson’s label), he would release four albums: Us, Mother Africa, Exactement and Funny Funky Rib Crib.



A few months after recording “Us”, Lancaster recorded “Mother Africa” along with Clint Jackson III, a trumpeter, partner of Khan Jamal or Noah Howard on other recordings.

On march 8th, 1974, Lancaster and Jackson headed up a group composed of Jean-François Catoire (electric and double bass), Keno Speller (percussion) and Jonathan Dickinson (drums).


Together, they create an immediate impression. From the first seconds of “We The Blessed”, they develop a free jazz which rapidly abandons any virulence under the effect of blues and soul based interventions.

When Gilson’s composition “Mother Africa” begins, listeners are transported into the studio, listening to the musicians setting up: chatting and joking… Then comes the melody: a dozen or so notes of a repeated theme which is accelerated and deformed according to their whims… The jazz played by the association Byard Lancaster / Clint Jackson III is rare: creative AND recreational. “We the blessed”, is apt listening to this again today!

This CD edition contains a bonus track, the magnificent “Love Always” that was originally released on the fourth (and last) volume of the Jef Gilson Anthology series released in 1975.


Recorded on 8th March 1974, it is a beautiful 15-minute-long modal jazz piece. Four notes from the bass (the relentless Jean-François Catoire, who makes up the rhythm section alongside drummer Jonathan Dickinson and percussionist Keno Speller), and the group is up and running!

On piano, Gilson shows the subtle tact of a sideman, leaving the lions’ share of the place to the horns. This allows us to hear the trumpet of Clint Jackson III and the alto (which sometimes sounds almost flute-like) of Byard Lancaster each staking their claim in a long hallucinatory march which moves from moments of direct exaltation to profoundly sensitive collective playing.

**Includes double sided insert with liner notes and photos*

Al Mati was the pseudonym of eccentric Portuguese-born, Dutch-based artist Alberto Mesquita. The name translates to ‘Alberto Friend’, with ‘Al’ short for Alberto and ‘Mati’ meaning ‘friend’ in Surinamese.
Alberto’s story comes across like a mythical character from a European Kerouac novel, but instead of writing it down, he poured those adventures and characters into his record. The music and the comic-style artwork, drawn by his friend Bruno Scoriels, work as one, with Alberto himself becoming both the story and the character within it.

Raised under Salazar’s regime in Lisbon, where all men were conscripted to Africa, he refused, a pacifist. This put him at odds with his father, born in Angola and a prominent lawyer tied to the dictatorship. Unable to accept his son’s stance, the rift forced Alberto to flee Portugal as a deserter, leaving everything behind.

He sought a new life in Paris, where he met Bruno Scoriels. The pair busked to get by, and young and broke, set off on adventures across Europe. On one trip to Barcelona, they crossed the Pyrenees on foot through a five-kilometre train tunnel, not knowing if they would make it out alive. The train later featured on the cover of Some Shit, a nod to that hazardous journey and the strange turns of his life.

From there he moved to Belgium, where he met Jolanda, his future wife who also features on the album. They lived in The Netherlands, then back in Belgium where they married, before returning to Portugal under false pretences. The regime promised deserters immunity, but it proved untrue, and Alberto was forced to flee again — this time with a young family, using Bruno’s passport to escape to The Netherlands.

They settled in the Gliphoeve flats in Amsterdam’s Bijlmermeer, a vibrant immigrant community. This melting pot of cultures inspired Alberto musically. He started a studio in their flat where musicians from Suriname, Angola, the Antilles, Brazil, Mozambique and Portugal came and went, jamming, rehearsing, recording and forming bands including Albatros, Comoção and Mati Africa, performing internationally and at iconic Amsterdam venues like De Melkweg and Paradiso.

Being an immigrant was tough. Alberto was stateless for years, drifting across countries. Some songs voiced his frustration with the Portuguese regime, others were playful or simply love notes to his wife and kids. He passed away in the Netherlands in 2021, leaving Some Shit open to interpretation. But when you picture Europe in the 1970s — the politics, the upheaval, and his need to connect people across cultures — you can hear an artist shaped by contrast, who poured his experiences, feelings and love into music.

Musician and visual artist by day, bat researcher by night: Mathilde Nobel brings both worlds together on her new album Guadirikiri on Nous'klaer Audio. Unlike the first album, Guadirikiri features (almost) no vocals. Instead, its compositions took shape through Mathilde's deep fascination for bats. Creatures that, much like her, navigate and make sense of the world through sound. By night, Mathilde travels across the Netherlands to study their calls, movements, and patterns. Using ultrasonic detectors and thermal cameras, she's been gathering and archiving recordings and visuals, gradually building what she calls an orchestra of bats - shaping and inspiring what became Guadirikiri.

Sugaring a Strawberry, the sophomore record from Julia, Julia, is a study in coming undone—on purpose. Recorded at COMA, Julia Kugel's home studio, and mixed through a custom Flickenger clone, the album drifts in and out of clarity like memory itself. It's emotionally retrospective, creatively unvarnished, and deeply human. You can hear it in the hiss, the warmth, in the vocals so raw they're like an open window. These songs weren't engineered for perfection. They were built to breathe. Her long-time collaborator and husband, Scott Montoya, mixes it all so loosely that you can hear the air between tracks— a space that makes the music feel inhabited rather than recorded.


"Bound" opens the album like a secret passed between sisters, solemn and unspeakably close. It begins with the softest of touches: hushed guitar, a near- whispered delivery that carries the intimacy of someone singing only for one other person. It's a love song, but not romantic, more ancestral in the way long bonds can be. All glow and undercurrent, "I Know," is like hearing someone hum through a wound. The track arrives as if it had been waiting, coiled and complete, to be sung. Its pulse is slow but insistent, anchored on a hypnotic loop and a vocal that's half-incantation, half-confession. One of the most outward-facing songs on the record, "Feeling Lucky," opens like a cigarette flicked in the dark– smoky and a little bit slick. Built on a skeletal beat and a nearly detached vocal, it leans into a sarcastic swagger that barely masks the ache beneath. The delivery is droll and glazed, the instrumentation is sparse and a little woozy, leaving space for her voice to sway—a shrug of a song, stylish in its sadness. "A Love That Hurts" drifts in on soft, fingerpicked guitar and a dry, close-mic vocal that feels both haunted and immediate. The mix is stripped down and analog-warm, letting tape hum and silence frame the emotion. Julia sings like she's remembering something she doesn't want to, each line a slight unraveling. Like the rest of the album, "A Love That Hurts" doesn't push toward resolution. It sits in the ache, sifts through it, makes it beautiful.

Sugaring a Strawberry doesn't seek catharsis so much as stumbles into it. There's a quiet volatility to these songs like they might fall apart if you press too hard. It moves in shadow and softness, asking questions it doesn't answer. It doesn’t end with closure. It ends with truth.

This debut album captures Massive Dread at an early stage of his career when he was starting to make a name for himself as a unique voice in reggae. The production has that classic late-70s roots vibe—deep basslines, steady drum rhythms, and dub influences mixed with Massive Dread’s distinctive vocal style.
The album contains a mix of vocal tracks and deejay toasting, showcasing Massive Dread’s versatility. His style helped bridge the gap between the roots reggae era and the rising dancehall movement.

180-gram Vinyl incl. insert with sleeve notes.
Musicians
Drums: Lowell ‘Sly’ Dunbar
Bass Guitar: Robert ‘Robbie’ Shakespeare
Lead Guitar: Winston ‘Bo Peep’ Bowen
Organ: Ansel ‘Pinkie’ Collins

AOKI takamasa and Tujiko Noriko’s 2005 album »28« has become a cornerstone in the artists’ respective discographies. 20 years after its initial release, Keplar issues it on vinyl for the very first time. Three years in the making, »28« saw the sound artist and the avant-pop singer-songwriter combine their distinct aesthetics for an album that defied categorisation. Their combination of advanced electronic experimentation and pop appeal paved the way for a new generation of artists and turned »28« into an enduring fan favourite. Remastered by Stephan Mathieu, the reissue comes with a brand-new artwork by Joji Koyama and a changed track listing—authorised by Takamasa and Tujiko—for the vinyl version to fit it on a single LP, while the digital version remains identical to the original release.

Tujiko and Takamasa first shared the stage together after the turn of the millennium. Both were emerging solo artists, with Takamasa a mainstay on the Progressive Form label and Tujiko forging a connection with Mego in Vienna, Austria. »I simply liked Noriko’s voice and music, and since we often performed at the same events, it felt like a natural progression for us to start working together,« remembers Takamasa. They first collaborated in 2002 for two shows at the Fondation Cartier in Paris and at SonarLab in Barcelona, respectively. The first joint piece was a rework of Tujiko’s »Fly« from »Hard Ni Sasete (Make Me Hard)« by Takamasa, appearing as the album opener »Fly2« on »28.«

After that, the Paris-based Tujiko and Takamasa, still based in Osaka, worked sporadically and remotely on new material. For the first two years of their collaboration, the two met in the context of live events or Takamasa’s visits to the French capital to discuss their process and exchange hard drives while also occasionally sending each other CDrs in the mail. »Aoki made beats and sounds that complemented my music perfectly, building the foundation on which my voice could float,« Tujiko says today. Takamasa used hardware such as the Nord Modular, the Korg Z1, and the Korg ER-1, while also working with different kinds of software and plug-ins as well as Logic. Tujiko was using Cubase, her preferred piece of gear at the time being an AKAI MPC.

After Takamasa moved to Paris in 2004, this enabled the duo to finish the album together in person. Starting with its subtle use of glitches to the almost-anarchic way in which it deals with the structures of a song, »28« came to be an incomparably intricate album. 20 years on, it remains timeless because of its flawless synthesis of the cutting-edge avant-garde ideas of early 2000s electronica with an idiosyncratic but accessible pop sentiment. Both artists look back fondly—though not uncritically, with Takamasa noting a certain »youthfulness« in his contributions—to the album that was titled after their respective age at that time. »Maybe we should make ›51‹ now?,« quips Tujiko. See you in three years, perhaps.

One Instrument welcomes Morning Seance, composer and sound artist, originally from Italy and based in Vienna. On this debut LP, Morning Seance traces a drifting narrative composed of unstable harmonies, fluid structures, and ghostlike forms. The album unfolds like a dream told in fragments, oscillating between fluctuating pulses and decaying transmissions, from nocturnal stillness to acoustic mirages. The first half of the record moves through zones of suspended tension and evanescent contours, where tracks like “Be faster than your own depression” and “The tenderness of our own autobiography” sketch fragile architectures of affect. The second half enters a more spectral terrain — “Breakfast in a night club,” “A visit to the Brion-Vega tomb” — not places, but agglomerates of sonic sensation, detached from any personal frame.

With each piece, the music dissolves and reconstitutes itself, resisting finality or form, and doing so with an indestructible joy that hums beneath the wreckage. This is degenerate ambient music: anti-geometric and subject to emotional weather — not a refuge, but a slow collapse of structure and purity, where atmosphere gives way to excess and disobedience.

The album is crafted entirely from a single source: the Roland Alpha Juno-1. Despite this constraint, it achieves a vast sound spectrum, transforming one synthesizer’s voice into a layered landscape of textures and moods.

The electronic music of Morning Seance is built on constant variation and intricate, looping patterns with no clear beginning or end. This variation is not simply applied to an audio element, but enacted as a compositional logic — avoiding mechanical combinations and obvious rhythms. The result is a mutable mass of audio matter and tonal debris, guiding the listener through richly divergent environments.

GATEFOLD DOUBLE VINYL WITH SPOT UV FRONT COVER

Following the skewed-unself-help-brilliance of ‘Sus Dog’ (which marked his first full foray into songs, abetted by Thom Yorke), and its companion piece ‘Cave Dog’, Chris Clark returns to the dancefloor’s simple, but no less affecting pleasures, with ‘Steep Stims’.
“I found it hard to pull away from listening to this record, hard to stop making it, I had to remove myself from the Stims and stop enjoying it at some point. The album feels like nature to me. I love it when electronic music feels more naturalistic than acoustic music, more potent, that’s the devil’s trick, the promise of electronic music.” comments Chris.
“I used an old synth - the Virus on all of the tracks. I used it at Mess in Melbourne - run by my friend Robin Fox - I loved it so much I had to buy one when I got back to the UK, it took a while to find. They’re a bit clunky to program but make some of my most favourite sounds.”
‘Steep Stims’ marks a back-to-basics approach, invoking the early years of gung-ho creativity enforced by limitations in technology at the time. “Most of the tracks on this album capture the spirit of making music on old samplers, which don’t have much memory time”, explains Clark. “It reminds me of making ‘Clarence Park’, my first album, where I would have to finish tunes in the session, as they would be saved on floppy disks and I couldn’t easily go between tracks. This new record is just a few synths and a few choice sounds; the writing is the important thing.”
Made quickly, ‘Steep Stims’ reflects the immediate rave energy of his live show, but that’s not to say it’s basic floor fodder, as it’s rife with personality, synth magic, and knack for melody. Although swift and impressionistically captured rather than laboured over, it’s still formidably deft, with plenty of oddball weirdness lurking beneath the dancefloor.
Soft, orange, scorched, brutal, the opening track ‘Gift and Wound’ captures the classic dance music dread / awe / euphoria combo perfectly, before ‘Infinite Roller’ merges sparkly-minimalism with snarling bass and soft sines, which turn more dense and metallic as it progresses.
The melancholic smoke belch of ‘No Pills U’ gives strong classic vibrations, which is belied by its creation, made in just 20 minutes. “I love working quickly sometimes”, comments Clark. “Inspiration hits, rough and ready. It’s off the cuff but also screams ‘don’t gild the lily with nonsense, keep it simple keep it clean’”. Segueing into its elder brother, the piece becomes bigger and beatier on ‘Janus Modal’, where it permutates for over 7 minutes of fluttering, beatific club majesty.
At ‘18EDO Bailiff’ you inexplicably find yourself at a clearing, things have suddenly got much quieter. You enter a decrepit and eerie old house, and as you move through its unsettling interior, you arrive at ‘Globecore Flats’. A real piano tuned to 18 notes per octave gives the pair of tracks a haunted, olde worlde feel, which promptly gets eaten by a huge tech step tearout monster, birthing a strange but exotic beast.
The white hot ‘Blowtorch Thimble’ is all hooktasm-rave-hyper-amen-energy, whilst acidic flute leaps around like Ian Anderson on pingers throughout the catchily simple jump-up lurch of ‘Civilians’.
“‘In Patient’s Day Out’ is like some sort of Morricone-does-kraut-rock-with-drum-machines, but that’s probably just in my head” says Clark. “I made several versions of this then went with the early mix but cranked through some choice outboard because it just had something.”
Drumless, yet still full of exhilarating-big-trance-drama, ‘Who Booed The Goose’ flashes by in stroboscopic fast forward, then ‘5 Millionth Cave Painting’ gives a palate cleanser, letting “the virus with its delicious broken, luxurious reverb have a moment”, before ‘Negation Loop’ swoops down in all its glory, with Clark’s tweaked vocals leading deconstructed trance breakdowns, tape edits and brutal noisebursts.
An antidote to the bombast of its predecessor is ‘Micro Lyf’, which closes the set on a poignant note, of sorts. Muted staccato gives way to field recordings “that gradually put it in this outside space; alien in a meadow somewhere nameless. It feels like a sinkhole. The record kinda swallows itself up and then is gone”, ends Chris.

For his last solo record ‘Through a Room’, Bill Nace shifted his usual saturated guitar sound and added tapes, hurdy gurdy, doughnut pipe, bird calls and the mysterious Japanese taishōgoto. Setting up for the final night of his three day residency at OTO with only the taishōgoto soundchecked, Nace hoped that Parker would arrive with his small soprano as its opposite. “I’ve been interested in state change, you know, playing until there’s a shift in time.” Known for his development of multiphonics to produce a constantly shifting pattern, Evan Parker has evolved an instantly recognizable sound - his work the soprano most distinct. Happily, it was the soprano Evan brought with him and as soon as the two start to play they entwine - taking off in a double helix of keys and reed primed for endless reconfiguration. Space warps under the velocity of playing, the pitch rising unrelentingly. It felt like unending lift off in the room, sheer energy until the last note makes remember your feet have been on the floor the whole time. Total time bending shredding.

–

"They had never played together before. They had never even met each other before this springtime 2024 concert at London’s Café Oto.

Evan Parker, circular breathing maestro of the saxophone, a legend in the universe that is Free Improvisation since the late 1960s and Bill Nace, one of the most intriguing experimental “noise” guitarists of the 1990s/2000s underground scene.

For those of us who have been enamored by the live and documented work of both these gents, this Café Oto duo was a must-hear event. It could have gone anywhere musically and that would have been totally fine. Particularly with Evan having a history of being thrown into a variety of challenging collaborations throughout his career, employing the learned elegance of trust in his own sensitivity to listening, responding, leading, following, sparring, intertwining, dialoguing, creating in the instant and, essentially, dignifying the non-hierarchical grace of chance.

The aesthetics of socialist consideration in Evan Parker’s playing, in his community of expanded and personal technique, for a younger player such as Bill Nace, strikes an exemplary model. This notion of respect would be entirely the reason Nace, when offered a residency at the most critical “new music” room in England, would request to play in duo with Parker.

Bill Nace came to prominence mostly during the apex of experimental music activity in and around Western Massachusetts in the early days of the aughts, with a focus on visual art and free improvisation guitar action. He could be found in the daytime hours, his head hanging down over a notepad, penning fine-tuned illustrations and abstract line drawings, while in the evenings he’d be attending any number of basement noise gigs, many of which he’d be participating in. His guitar style came across as being informed as much as by the physicality of his writing utensils in friction to the page as it was to his hearing and redefining of radical recordings ranging anywhere from the Black Unity Group to Black Flag.

Utilizing various metal files and other small cylindrical objects Bill would allow his guitar and amplifier to be in tandem with the improvisatory movements of his body as the instrument balanced, intentionally and, at times, precariously, upon his lap. The performances came across thrilling and daring and they would be mostly in the context of venues nothing more than a low-ceilinged damp and dank New England basement, a clutch of people hanging onto rusty pipes or sitting up on dilapidated washer/dryer machines, the shards of Bill’s “file guitar” sounds ringing out like the most alive music on Earth.

By the time Bill reached Café Oto in early 2024 he had relocated to Philadelphia all the while releasing a succession of collaborative LPs on his Open Mouth label to present his developing progression of solo and collaborative work. He also would find himself considerably engaged with playing the electric taishōgoto, a keyboard-activated string instrument from Japan which can exist as a one, two, four, five, or six string oblong sound object. Bill’s approach to the taishōgoto would not be too unlike his approach to the traditional electric guitar, though no outboard implements such as files, sticks, and rocks are utilized. The similarity would lie wholly with Bill’s full immersion of high velocity action-playing where, with the taishōgoto, an electric drone beauty occurs. The flurry of sonics and resultant harmonics emanating from the amplifier (which Bill opts to dial into with borderline loud-as fuck volume settings) furthers the meta-mantra properties of the instrument in an astounding display of drone dynamism.

This sound world of Bill’s two-stringed taishōgoto on this Café Oto night worked beautifully with Evan Parker’s improvisatory saxophone conceptions. The duology achieved instant lift off at ground zero only to find it’s eventual finale as if it were organically ordained. Time seemingly morphed from its ancient human construct of control, rendered inconsequential to the torrential transcendence of the room wildly activated by the magic resonance of the multi-directional pan-spatial sonance of the music as if it were some beatific blessing. It was one of those nights where art as a liberating force of spirit gifted the listeners with an offering of exaltation and joy. It was entirely mystical and mind blowing. A night of Total Music."

Thurston Moore, London, 2025

The story begins with Kevin Morby absentmindedly flipping through a box of old family photos in the basement of his childhood home in Kansas City. Just hours before, at a family dinner, his father had collapsed in front of him and had to be rushed to the hospital. That night Morby still felt the shock and fear lodged in his bones. So he gazed at the images until one of the pictures jumped out at him: his father as a young man, proud and strong and filled with confidence, posing on a lawn with his shirt off. This was in January of 2020. As the months went on and the world dramatically changed around him, Morby felt an eerie similarity between his feelings of that night and the atmosphere of those spring days. Fear, anxiety, hope and resilience all churning together. The themes began twisting in his mind. History, trauma and the grand fight against time. Having the courage to dream, even while knowing the tragedy that often awaits those who dare to dream. While his father regained his strength, Morby meditated on these ideas. And then, he headed to Memphis. He moved into the Peabody Hotel and spent his days paying tribute and genuflecting to the dreamers he admired. In the evening, he would return to his room and document his ideas on a makeshift recording set-up, with just his guitar and a microphone. The songs, elegiac in nature, befitting all he had seen, poured out of him.Produced by Sam Cohen (who also worked on Morby’s Singing Saw and Oh My God), This Is A Photograph features musical contributions from longtime staples of Morby’s live band, as well as old friends and new collaborators alike. If Oh My God saw Morby getting celestial and in constant motion and Sundowner was a study in localized intent, This Is A Photograph finds Morby making an Americana paean, a visceral life and death, blood on the canvas outpouring. As Morby reminds us early on, time is undefeated. So what do we do while we’re still here? This is a photograph of that sense of yearning

Seven Blood make music that manages to move the listener despite its hard-hitting sounds. Metal meets Emo-Core. Their songs revive the seemingly lost connection between volume and emotionality. However, they refrain from imitating existing bands and create their own sound, which complements the music of their youth with the band's own character. It all started in spring 2023. Anfy, Azaria, and Oli were going through strong personal crises, had known each other for several years, and decided to do what helps most in such a situation: process the pain together through songwriting. Shortly after, Josi joined and completed the band. Their lyrics deal with personal struggles and observations of our society, whether it's the toxicity of individuals or the ignorant attitude of an entire species. Seven Blood embed these lyrics in a brutal wall of sound that gives their thoughtfulness a furious undertone. The combined force of drums, bass, and guitar rises behind the vocals and is complemented by the ethereal and sometimes biting sounds of fanfares and synths. All of this culminates in a musical high that gives the listener the feeling that everything, and simultaneously nothing, is okay.