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Tombolo Rumble Vol I. is here! The first volume of a list of selected releases by different artists from around the globe. Proud to be presenting four tracks by four upcoming and established legends on the panorama of electronic music: Unknown Mobile, DJ Dog, Poly Chain and Abdul Raeva.

First artist on the list is Unknown Mobile, an amazing producer and dj based in Montréal, Canada. You may know him well from his well received releases across some of the dance sphere labels like Planet Euphorique or Pacific Rhythm among others. What you can find in his track is a 4×4 upbeat house atmosphere that goes along with crazy synths, and a beautiful armony creating a perfect melting for the dancefloor. Second track is by DJ Dog, the fun aka of DJ Fett Burger, a Norwegian legend based in Berlin founder of projects such as Sex Tags Mania or Trushmix. He comes with a downtempo, jumpy track, with very fun percussions and synths that will make you feel as if you are walking on Mars. Third track is by Estonian duo Abdul Raeva. Huge track for the club, upbeat techno with acid baselines on a fast bpm percussion. And last but not least, we have Poly Chain, a Ukranian artist that is getting a lot of attention due to her strong mixes as well as her productions, delivering some fat broken beats with acid baselines as well.

Repressed, note new price!! This young four-piece from Colorado roamed the basements and punk houses of America for a couple years as the band 10-4 Eleanor, and after building quite a following among the sweaty/bearded segment of the underground, they opted for a new band name and a fresh start in 2011. Thus ushered in the era of Elway, and along with it comes their Red Scare debut, Delusions. It marks an ambitious step up for the band as they ditched their home recordings and enlisted audio guru Matt Allison at Atlas Studios (Alkaline Trio, Lawrence Arms, LTJ, Smoke or Fire, etc). Rest assured, this one retains all the guts and grime that these guys are known for, but with more intricacy and nuance than you'd expect from your average "beardo" punk band. Delusions is thematically inspired by two things: our society's regard for God and having to deal with maniacal loved ones; and these brainy rockers from the Rocky Mountains are sure to capture plenty of attention with this impressive beginning. 01. 3/4 Eleanor 02. Passing Days 03. Spent So Long 04. Whispers in a Shot Glass 05. San Mateo 06. Song for Eric Solomon to Sing 07. Kristina's Last Song 08. The Tired Old Whore's Bedside Book 09. Aphorisms 10. It's Alive! 11. Tapout Endorsement: The Musical

In July 1973, Blue Note Records headed to Montreux, Switzerland to showcase several of the label’s stars at the Montreux Jazz Festival. Live albums all titled Live: Cookin’ with Blue Note at Montreux followed from Bobby Hutcherson, Ronnie Foster, Bobbi Humphrey, and Marlena Shaw, but one of the performances by Donald Byrd remained unreleased in the Blue Note vaults. Now, nearly 50 years later, that recording of the great trumpeter’s dynamic set will be officially released for the first time ever on what would have been Byrd’s 90th birthday: December 9, 2022.

That summer, Byrd was fresh off the release of his hit crossover fusion album Black Byrd, the first of his innovative and incredibly successful studio collaborations with producer Larry Mizell. But in a live setting the band had a rawer, harder edge, as this searing set attests. Byrd led a 10-piece band that included Larry Mizell on synthesizers, Fonce Mizell on trumpet and vocals, Allan Barnes on tenor saxophone and flute, Nathan Davis on soprano and tenor saxophone, Kevin Toney on electric piano, Barney Perry on electric guitar, Henry Franklin on electric bass, Keith Killgo on drums, and Ray Armando on congas and percussion. The set list includes Larry Mizell’s tune “Black Byrd” along with otherwise unrecorded Byrd originals like “The East,” “Kwame,” and “Poco-Mania,” as well as an excellent cover of Stevie Wonder’s “You’ve Got It Bad Girl.”

Mit dreißig Jahren aktiven, schändlichen Dienstes unter ihren Gürteln sind NECROPHOBIC unbestrittene Legenden des Death- und Black-Metal-Undergrounds. Die 1989 von Schlagzeuger Joakim Sterner gegründete Band aus Stockholm vertrat von Anfang an eine einzigartige und furchtlose Vision und bestätigte ihr Können 1993 mit dem mittlerweile legendären Debütalbum The Nocturnal Silence. Indem sie den selbstbewussten Dilettantismus und die primitiven Klänge, die viele ihrer Kollegen schätzten, hinter sich ließen, schufen NECROPHOBIC eine kühne und lebendige eigene Identität und zauberten eine dicht melodische, aber unendlich verruchte Version von makabrem Extrem-Metal hervor, die seitdem von unzähligen weniger bekannten Bands nachgeahmt worden ist. Mit ´Bloodhymns´ veröffentlichen NECROPHOBIC ihr viertes Album, das ursprünglich 2002 veröffentlicht wurde. Die schwedischen Black-Death-Metal-Legenden legen dieses Album als eine von insgesamt neun Wiederveröffentlichungen neu auf. Wie bei den bisherigen Wiederveröffentlichungen der Klassiker von NECROPHOBIC ist auch diese ein Muss für jeden Black & Death Metal-Maniac! Eine gut produzierte schwedische Mischung aus Death Metal mit Black Metal-Zutaten, die zu einem dunklen und kalten Wahnsinn führt. Wie schon die früheren Veröffentlichungen ´Hrimthursum´, ´Death To All´ und ´Satanic Blasphemies´ in diesem Jahr, wurde auch ´Bloodhymns´ von Dan Swanö im Unisound Studio remastered.

AN EXCLUSIVE NEW LABEL DEDICATED TO JAZZ, HARD BOP, R&B AND SOUL MASTERPIECE IN STRICTLY LIMITED CLEAR VINYL EDITION.

Limited Clear Vinyl edition, 500 copies! Recorded in NYC in 1958 and originally released in 1959 as “The Cecil Taylor Quintet - Hard Driving Jazz” this is in fact the only existing document of the meeting between John Coltrane and Cecil Taylor. Even if caught at an early stage in their career the two masters show great personality and deep respect for each other while trumpeter Kenny Dorham sticks more to his familiar bop idiom.

Cordially backed up by Chuck Israel on bass and Louis Hayes, Coltrane swings madly on Taylor’s dissonant comping producing a rare, fascinating friction between two worlds. A must for every Coltrane maniac out there.

Blue Vinyl

Throughout his productive career, Carl Oesterhelt has proven to be an artist who finds it easy to move between musical genres and concepts. Much of his work has been within classical and chamber music, but he has also scored museum exhibitions and he is sometimes part of The Notwist crew as an angular figure on the Munich scene.

In Umor Rex we have been lucky enough to publish an array of Oesterhelt's universes. In Eleven Pieces for Synthesizer (Umor Rex 2019) we heard his kosmische side, where the connections with Harmonia or Klaus Schulze were amalgamated with ecclesiastical organ pieces and intense semi-automatic rhythms. A deeply melodic, fresh album. Pure syntax of the modern synthesizer. Further, in The Aporias of Futurism (Umor Rex 2021), in collaboration with Andreas Gerth (Driftmachine, Tied & Tickled Trio), Oesterhelt showed what is perhaps his darkest side —a work full of nuances within concrete music and midnight atmospheres. As deep and cerebral an album as it is surprising and catatonic.

Yet it seems that Carl Oesterhelt has another ace up his sleeve. Now he surprises us with The Dualistic Principle, a fantastic album full of weird but charming electronic melodies, rhythms that push the body to movement, sometimes syncopated and abstract, others permanent and fluid. In this work, Oesterhelt invited Johan Simons to give voice to the lyrics. The Dualistic Principle is a sort of rendition of a philosophical review or a nostalgic memory of the glamorous years. There is also underlying humor in the Post / Space-pop / Munich-disc assortment. The Dualistic Principle is the score to an imaginary film of contemporary hedonism.

All music & lyrics by Carl Oesterhelt. Voice by Johan Simons. Additional strings played by the Ensemble für synkretische Musik. Recorded in Munich & Bochum, Germany. Mastered by John Tejada in Sherman Oaks, USA. Artwork by Daniel Castrejón in Mexico City.

With thirty years of active, nefarious service under their bulletbelts, NECROPHOBIC are undisputed legends of the death and black metal underground. Formed in 1989 by drummer Joakim Sterner, the Stockholm blackhearts propagated a singular and fearless vision from the very start, confirming their prowess with now legendary debut album The Nocturnal Silence in 1993. Eschewing the self-conscious amateurism and primitive sonics that many of their peers held dear, NECROPHOBIC established a bold and vivid identity of their own, conjuring a densely melodic but endlessly wicked take on macabre extreme metal that countless lesser bands have since emulated. With “Hrimthursum”, the 5th full-length album, NECROPHOBIC already injected its blasphemous attack metal with melody and atmospherics, not to mention a great attention to instrumental detail, in the first place when the album was released in 2006. The Swedish black death metal legends are re-releasing this full-length record as first out of nine upcoming re-issues in total. The album will be available as Ltd. CD Jewelcase in slipcase, Gatefold LP & Poster and Digital album. A must have for every black and death metal maniac out there!

With thirty years of active, nefarious service under their bulletbelts, NECROPHOBIC are undisputed legends of the death and black metal underground. Formed in 1989 by drummer Joakim Sterner, the Stockholm blackhearts propagated a singular and fearless vision from the very start, confirming their prowess with now legendary debut album The Nocturnal Silence in 1993. Eschewing the self-conscious amateurism and primitive sonics that many of their peers held dear, NECROPHOBIC established a bold and vivid identity of their own, conjuring a densely melodic but endlessly wicked take on macabre extreme metal that countless lesser bands have since emulated. With “Hrimthursum”, the 5th full-length album, NECROPHOBIC already injected its blasphemous attack metal with melody and atmospherics, not to mention a great attention to instrumental detail, in the first place when the album was released in 2006. The Swedish black death metal legends are re-releasing this full-length record as first out of nine upcoming re-issues in total. The album will be available as Ltd. CD Jewelcase in slipcase, Gatefold LP & Poster and Digital album. A must have for every black and death metal maniac out there!

Johannes Auvinen (Tin Man) and Max Ravitz (Patricia), two devotees in the cult of the TB-303, return to Acid Test with the Celestial Body Music series, a follow up to their 2020 LP Powers Of Ten.

Recorded in Ravitz’s studio in Asheville, NC, Celestial Body Music once again showcases the pair’s penchant for raw yet emotive dance music. With Auvinen’s signature TB-303 programming and Ravitz’s typical melancholic flair, the duo’s styles merge seamlessly over the course of 8 tracks that harken back to the heyday of American techno and house. Following on from Powers of Ten, the pair continue to fix their eyes firmly on the stars, as Celestial Body Music’s song titles conjure visions of listening to Dance Mania 12”s on the ISS. With a tonal palette that features the well-trodden sounds of classic analog hardware like the TR-808, TR-909, TB-303, and SH-101, Ociya demonstrate their ability to breathe new life into these old instruments through thoughtful programming, arrangement, and mixing. This is made all the more significant when considering every song was recorded live to 2-track with no editing over the course of a few days. Sweet and savory both, the new material strikes a perfect balance between emotive sensibility and dance floor appeal.

Johannes Auvinen (Tin Man) and Max Ravitz (Patricia), two devotees in the cult of the TB-303, return to Acid Test with the Celestial Body Music series, a follow up to their 2020 LP Powers Of Ten.

Recorded in Ravitz’s studio in Asheville, NC, Celestial Body Music once again showcases the pair’s penchant for raw yet emotive dance music. With Auvinen’s signature TB-303 programming and Ravitz’s typical melancholic flair, the duo’s styles merge seamlessly over the course of 8 tracks that harken back to the heyday of American techno and house. Following on from Powers of Ten, the pair continue to fix their eyes firmly on the stars, as Celestial Body Music’s song titles conjure visions of listening to Dance Mania 12”s on the ISS. With a tonal palette that features the well-trodden sounds of classic analog hardware like the TR-808, TR-909, TB-303, and SH-101, Ociya demonstrate their ability to breathe new life into these old instruments through thoughtful programming, arrangement, and mixing. This is made all the more significant when considering every song was recorded live to 2-track with no editing over the course of a few days. Sweet and savory both, the new material strikes a perfect balance between emotive sensibility and dance floor appeal.

Hate Propaganda's far too overlooked 2019 debut EP "World War 666" sees a much needed reissue on vinyl, remastered and enhanced by brand new artwork commissioned for the purpose by Xerox master P. Van Trigt. When it was first released on cassette tape back in 2019 by War Arts Productions, this war-torn debut offering of primeval warnoise by the mysterious Portuguese war criminals stood out immediately as a crown jewel debut for the genre and as one of the year's most definitive and underrated manifestations of extreme metal's most hateful and berserk fringe. Packing in nineteen minutes of absolute hatred, the annihilating MLP manifests as a nightmare hallucination of complete violence and negativity, evoking eons of perennial apocalyptic global planetary war and terror on the wings of its nefarious design of achieving maximum annihilation in the shortest amount of time possible. To harness this bleak pantheon of ruin, the Portuguese conquerors have assembled a weaponized and uncontrolled sonic chain reaction where grindcore, black metal, death metal and hardcore punk are all accelerated and instigated into an inescapable payload of death aimed straight at the vital sinews of humanity. A sonic maelstrom churned into shape by an onslaught of obscure violent riffs, psychotic leads and ominous laughter which, parallel to a pulverizing drum performance, emanates from oblivion with an antediluvian, negative aura. Comparisons to bands like Diocletian, Heresiarch, Tetragrammacide and Nuclearhammer will run abound, yet these would be only easy superficial conjectures as this is a manifestation of sonic extremism which dwells on a plain of excellence entirely its own. Its uniqueness transpires particularly in the maniacal drumming which underlines the band's hardcore and punk influences, and is exalted further by an unusually crystalline production and by a masterful onslaught of uber-audible riffs hiding behind nothing and seemingly going in the opposite direction of the homogenous and indiscernible sensorial smothering the genre usually opts to go in. Tracklisting: 1. World War 666 2. Neverending Mass Graves 3. Violent Nature of Human Annihilation 4. Welcoming the Nuclear War With Open Arms 5. Let the Sirens Signal the End of Times

A gonzo crew of shaved-headed, sax-blowing, reverb-stomping maniacs,
the fivesome tore it up on the stages of unsuspecting West Coast teen
haunts and hit the big screen via the 1964 B-Movie Bikini Beach
The album features Penetration, one of the undisputed all-time surf cornerstones!
Back in the 1960s, when surf music was burning up and down the beaches of the
Southern California coastline, it was often a gimmick that made one band stand
out from the others. The Surfaris had the laugh at the beginning of "Wipe Out."
The Chantays had the great guitar run at the beginning of "Pipeline." The
Tornadoes tried Shootin' Beavers ; The Pyramids simply had great surf music and
bald heads.
Their big hit, Penetration, stayed in the top ten (Billboard) for 13 weeks reaching
as high as #4 nationally. Only The Beatles kept the song from going higher. The
Pyramids appeared on American Bandstand (twice), The Bob Eubanks Show,
Shebang, Dave Hull's Hullabaloo, and The Lloyd Thaxton Show. The band went on
to record a handful of killer singles and one album before splitting up in 1965.
Now back in print after 25 years, the Pyramids are back in action and ready to
rock!

Composer François de Roubaix was born in 1939. He didn’t receive any formal musical education, but he became interested in jazz from the age of 15. His professional musical career only spanned ten years, from 1965-1975. During that period he composed for commercials, TV series, shorts, and about 30 feature-length films.

The most striking aspect of François de Roubaix’s music is its versatility: on one hand, it’s his ability to create simple, memorable tunes; on another hand, it’s his bolder experiments with different timbres and recording techniques. He freely combined folkloric and electronic instruments, embracing the advent of the first synthesizers and rhythm boxes. Being a multi-instrumentalist gave him a high degree of artistic freedom, as he spent long hours at his home studio overdubbing various parts of his scores until he would reach the desired result.

Du Jazz à L’Electro 1965-1975 is a brand new compilation album consisting of compositions by Francois de Roubaix. It includes previously unreleased and hard to find compositions from tv-series like Les Survivants and Tarif De Nuit. This compilation also includes compositions for commercials of Cointreau, Muratti and Fiat Coupé. Du Jazz à L’Electro 1965-1975 is available as a limited edition of 1500 individually numbered copies on solid yellow coloured vinyl, housed in a gatefold sleeve with liner notes and background stories about the compositions.

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."

=

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.

2022 Repress

The legendary gig that Joe Strummer, singer from the Punk Rock band 'The Clash' attended and inspired his writing their classic 'White Man In Hammersmith Palais' took place on the 05th June 1977.
At the Hammersmith Palais venue on Shepherd's Bush Road W6, London during the height of Punk Mania. The full line up for the show were all Jamaican artists Dillinger, Leroy Smart, Delroy Wilson (all the first time from Jamaica) and Ken Boothe.
'Ken Boothe for UK pop reggae' who had already scored some hits with 'Everything I own' and 'Crying Over You' in 1974. Joe Strummer was expecting Roots, Rock, Reggae but the Sound System this evening 'Admiral Ken Sound' was playing 'Four Tops all night' as in soul and northern soul that were staple crowd pleasers at the time to warm up the audience, but in Joe's eyes the music should have reflected more Jamaican roots based music. The song also deals with bigger issues of black and white unity, but some people including the Punk Rockers.
'They're all too busy fighting, for a good place under the lighting'. Joe Strummer himself was looking for fun. 'I'm the Whiteman in the Palais....Just Looking for Fun'

The artwork supplied by Punk Artist MAL-ONE has used the two posters that were made for this gig, the reggae promoters 'Star Promotions' poster, that contained a picture of Ken Boothe and the venue's own poster that used text to announce it's line up for that evenings performance. Alongside these lost relics he has also combined the groups own poster for the 'White Man In Hammersmith Palais' single that incorporated the use of rifle target sights, perhaps enhancing the air of violence contained in the songs message.
MAL-ONE has collaged these together joining the two stories as indeed the song lyrics reflected. People often forget that the songs release was in fact as year after the actual gig, we have tied this release to the 40th anniversary of the song's release. Joe Strummer was one of the few voices from the Punk Era that used his lyrics as a weapon to tell the events that were happening around him and their relevance to those times.
The song itsel a Clash Classic and also a Punk Anthem, released on the 16th June 1978. We have compiled this album with songs by these artists, most of which you would have heard that night. As a post script to this story when the Hammersmith Palais sadly closed its doors for the last time after 82 years' service in 1999, the owners thought it fitting to present Joe Strummer with a sign from the venue's entrance. Mr Strummer's understated reply 'I guess I'll have to send a man with a van round to pick it up'.
Hope you Enjoy the set....

Bay Area Thrash Metal legend Blind Illusion returns after 34 years with a follow-up to “The Sane Asylum”, featuring Doug Piercy (ex-Heathen) and Andy Gallon (ex-Death Angel)! Thrash as a primitive, earthy genre has given us many greats: Metallica, Slayer, Exodus, Death Angel, Heathen and the like. But the more calculated, technical, and ultimately colorful inventors of progressive Thrash, a genre that blossomed handsomely after Watchtower’s debut in 1985, are what truly push the limits of Thrash and test its creative bandwidth. Blind Illusion on their new album “Wrath of the Gods”, achieve this to a degree that has seldom been approached, let alone passed, in the rest of Thrash history, just as they did 34 years ago on “The Sane Asylum”. What is most impressive and revealing about this album, however, is not the technical ability of the musicians involved (although there is nothing wrong with their ability). It’s the pure brilliance that shapes every song, and the demonstration of how focusing on the art of songwriting will work wonders for a band. “Straight as the Crowbar Flies” introduces us first to the astral energy this album exudes, with catchy riffing and Marc Biedermann’s raspy, growling vocals. The screeching guitar solos and the abrupt rhythm changes keep the song fresh, but the band’s incorporation of technical Thrash elements crossed with extremely catchy riffing and drum arrangements proves to be the strong attributes of this album. There are numerous instances where the band finds its virtue in slowing down, letting a power chord ring out, and then letting the drums restart and propel the song once again. When the band decides to let their guard down and get cagey or manic with the rhythm, it’s done so with precision and doesn’t come at the expense of the song structure. When they get technical, the notes still vibrate with emotion, and the song doesn’t just become a vacuum for skills to be shown off. This message is most evident in every song, which all feature catchy guitar licks and great guitar riffs. What Blind Illusion does best on this new masterpiece is deliver cleverly-written and fun songs with catchy riffs. At the heart of Thrash, that’s really all you can ask for. The effects of how masterfully composed this album is has lend the production a unique ethos that makes it feel human. This is a group of guys who know what die-hard Thrash fans want to hear, and they know how to put it on their 2022 album “Wrath of the Gods”.

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."

=

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.

What is there to say about this album that hasn’t been said before? Multiple words could be used to describe this album: Timeless. Essential. Masterpiece. Definitive. Sickening. Yes, even sickening falls into this category, because believe it or not, back in 1996 when Cryptopsy released “None So Vile,” it was unlike anything else at the time. From the first drum hits and guitar riffs of “Crown Of Horns,” it would have been obvious, and still is to this day, that Cryptopsy improved on themselves since “Blasphemy Made Flesh.” But then you combine some of the most technical and speedy Death Metal to date with the sickening screams, snarls, growls, and grunts of vocalist Lord Worm, and I’m sure that 1996 was the year Death Metal changed forever. “None So Vile” is a testament to the Death Metal formula, and the odd thing is is that not many have tried to emulate it. I don’t know why. Maybe it might be because of how difficult it would be to emulate an album of this calibur. Cryptopsy is a massive influence upon Death Metal. Many factors contribute to the influence Cryptopsy struck upon Death Metal. One of them is absurdly seen from Flo Mounier’s maniacal drumming. As far as I’m concerned, two words can sum up this man: Speed Demon. But just because he’s speedy doesn’t mean he loses any shed of technicality. But Flo is not alone in making Cryptopsy. With the duo of Jon Levasseur and Eric Langlois on guitar and bass respectively, Cryptopsy was noted for their technical music playing. Just look at songs like “Slit Your Guts,” “Graves Of The Fathers,” and “Phobophile” to see how this duo completely tore apart everything that may have been considered a standard for Death Metal at that time. These two remade the standard by bringing shredding guitar and audible, crushing, and technical bass playing into the mix. The playing by these two is a testament to technical playing. But what truly makes Cryptopsy, and many would agree, is Lord Worm. This man is down right beastly. No true word in the English vernacular could describe what this man brings to Cryptopsy and what he did for Death Metal on “None So Vile.” At this point in time, I don’t think anyone could have anticipated vocals like this. He is downright in-fucking-human. His screams are vicious, his gutteral growls are putrid, and the longevity at which he can perform and hold these vocals is insane. But not only did Lord Worm bring a sickening unnatural vocal style, he brings