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Morikawa Seiichirou, vocals, bass
Yamagiwa Hideki, electric & classical guitar
Takahashi Ikuro, drums & percussion

je prie pour que la goutte ne tombe pas
(I pray that the drop does not fall) is the first international release by Japanese trio Chi To Shizuku. While they have released five albums and a 7” in Japan, their spectral, haunted rock songs haven’t yet reached a much wider audience overseas. With this album, then, a live recording taken at Koenji HIGH, Suginami, Tokyo on 23rd November 2021, the unique, quartz-like character of Chi To Shizuku’s music is writ large, the bleak bliss of their songs carved onto twelve-inch vinyl.
Perhaps the best-known member of Chi To Shizuku, at least for audiences with an ear turned to Japanese psychedelia, is drummer Takahashi Ikuro, known for his membership of almost every group worth a damn from that scene – Fushitsusha, Nagisa Ni Te, Ché-SHIZU, Kousokuya, High Rise, Maher Shalal Hash Baz, LSD March, the list goes on. But the core of Chi To Shizuku’s music is the collaboration between vocalist, bassist and lyricist Morikawa Seiichirou, and guitarist and arranger Yamagiwa Hideki. Morikawa is a member of long-running punk/goth group Z.O.A., and has also played with YBO , Zzzoo, and as collaborator with Takeshi and Atsuo of Boris in A/N; he’s also recently been performing with Mitsuru Tabata. Yamagiwa’s history takes in stints with Katsurei and Cock C’ Nell, and he also recently guested with la scene 裸身.

All this contextual information does relatively little, though, to prepare you for the unique vibration of Chi To Shizuku’s lustrous songs. They shimmer in the same half-light, perhaps, as Shizuka and the quieter moments of LSD March, sharing a similar poise and classicism, and there’s a tenderness and wracked poetry to Morikawa’s voice that reminds of the emotional intensities both of traditional Japanese folk, and of British folk music: on “Musuu No Nemuri No Naka De Kumo Wo Tukamu”, the combination of his singing, backed with gorgeously plangent guitar, reminds of no-one so much as it does The Pentangle or Spriguns Of Tolgus. Chi To Shizuku’s love for the ballad as form gifts their music an archaic, sometimes arcane resonance, and from what you can hear on this album, it’s clear they’re in love with graceful melancholy.

But this is not a folk album, by any means; it just shivers with the same eternal spirit. There are also hints of prog rock, and you can catch some passages of scratchy, distended free rock, on the extended spirit invocation of “Nanhito Hanhito”. je prie pour que la goutte ne tombe pas is an extraordinary album, a melancholy surprise, that reminds dedicated listeners of the seemingly bottomless well of great music to be found via the Japanese underground in its many forms. Perhaps Michel Henritzi says it best, though, in his liner notes, when he writes, “Chi To Shizuku’s music reminds us that our life is a dream that lasts only a season, and that oblivion will follow.”

Recorded at Koenji High Suginami, Tokyo, 23 November 2021
Mix & Mastering: Taku Unami, photography : Noriko Akiyama
Liner notes by Jon Dale Printed by Alan Sherry

Tucked in the heart of Koreatown, Los Angeles, lies The Libra Hotel—the titular architecture of Nick Malkin's new album and site of his musical and psychogeographic exploration. Unlike most musical "site-specific" studies, Malkin remains wholly ambivalent to the documentarian approach, instead sharpening an auteur-like focus on the site as a conceptual and highly expressive backdrop. The Libra is musically explored as a space that houses a noir fragmentation of identity—the exhausted trope of a complicated protagonist walking through rain-soaked street corners and fumy neon lights—where an inner monologue is rendered in both miniature and at a cosmic scale. Casting aside stifling tropes around field recording, ambient, and improvised music, Malkin's work finds its own unique fidelity and emotional core through the assembly and reassembly of memory. Nearly every sound on the album—from frayed saxophones, lambent pianos, and dissected jazz drum kits—are multiplied, shattered, and reconstituted into shapes that adorn The Libra in a motion-blurred fog. The narrative of the Hotel suddenly appears as if out of the mist, with intersecting characters interacting within its walls by happenstance. Adminst the languid set pieces, wraith-like sonic grains gravitate around wide subbass beams that give structural form to The Libra, a narrative tension like when a scene is shot from hundreds of different perspectives: an image both luminous and veiled.

Much like Frank Sinatra's own spatial residency immortalized on "Live at The Sands," "At The Libra Hotel" showcases an exuberant view of entertainment, hospitality, and a form of masculinity, one that can quickly detourn into darkness. Knowing this, Malkin extracts a melancholic core out of The Libra locale. The flickering shadows of American decadence are shown in their ephemeral honesty, lines that trace how even in everyday life virtue is tested, sanity is tested, even reality is tested within the confines of desire, within the night. The album is draped in fleeting textures, carefully arranged with a trance-like microtonality, the faint inflections and articulations of a jazz band cascading into dissipated stillness. Voicemails about changed locations and covert eavesdropping on guests' whispered conversations provide an atmosphere of missed connection and voyeurism—a purloined letter of desire receding into a vanishing point. Like the music itself, The Hotel, a chapel perilous at the intersection of desolation row, the center of it all, yet simultaneously at the edge of town, becomes a structure between libidinous virtuality and actuality—our inevitable half-light.

Ultimately, the pensive atmosphere of "At The Libra Hotel," powerfully asserts a plea for the kinds of intimacy only possible in transient spaces. Here, memory cascades into a force that feels like something supernatural, perhaps even religious, yet always subject to the infidelity of our imagination. Here, the album opens into its primary psychodrama, the transient nature of subjectivity itself and how this becomes fractured in the tumult between our commitments and desires. Within this nocturnal space, to quote Louise Bourgeois, "you pile up associations the way you pile up bricks. Memory itself is a form of architecture."

For her new and most radical album »Electroacoustic Works for Halldorophone«, Martina Bertoni used the electronic instrument at EMS Stockholm to create four pieces that are massive in scale and incredibly intimate, sonically restrained and emotionally overwhelming—almost ambient and always demanding your full attention.

Martina Bertoni returns to Karlrecords with »Electroacoustic Works for Halldorophone,« her most radical album yet. The foundation for the four electroacoustic pieces was laid during a residency at Stockholm’s legendary Elektronmusikstudion (EMS) that the Berlin-based cellist and composer used to explore the curious instrument, originally designed by Halldór Úlfarsson in 2008, as an algorithmic system in order to examine tunings and the mathematical relationships between Aiming to analyse and understand their interaction beyond the composer’s control, Bertoni sought to engage more deeply with the concepts of time, tuning, and, most importantly, control. Accordingly, her four »Electroacoustic Works for Halldorophone« seem both massive in scale and incredibly intimate, sonically restrained and emotionally overwhelming— almost ambient and always demanding your full attention.

While the halldorophone—famously used by Hildur Guðnadóttir for her »Joker« score—roughly resembles a cello and can be played like one, it is an electronic instrument. The vibration of its strings is being picked up, amplified, and then routed through a speaker. This creates a feedback loop that becomes increasingly complex depending on how much gain is added to individual strings. Úlfarsson gave Bertoni a carte blanche for how to handle the instrument, but she stresses that she relied on »minimal interventions—some string strumming and plucking« that set the interactions of different sounds and frequencies into motion. »I decided to not approach it like a cellist would,« she explains. »Instead I used it as a kind of generative organ by turning it into a feedback machine, with tuned feedback triggering more feedback depending on the tuning, which was based on tetraphonic scales that I could apply on the four main strings as well as the sympathetic group of strings.«

Bertoni recorded the material in the EMS studio, later composing and arranging the four complex pieces in her home in Berlin, after which they were mixed and mastered by Ciaran O’Shea. While this can be considered a compositional abstraction process, traces of her concrete work as a performer are firmly ingrained in the music. »The halldorophone doesn’t have a line output, just a double set of speakers, which is why I recorded all sounds with two microphones in the EMS studio,« she explains. »That’s why there’s plenty of breathing sounds here and there—label owner Thomas Herbst and I jokingly refer to the album as my ›chamber music record‹.« And indeed, there is a striking sense of intimacy to these four pieces throughout which individual sounds, harmonic frequencies, and even subtle rhythmic figures seem to move both on their own accord but also according to a underlying vision that steers their interplay.

Indeed, »Electroacoustic Works for Halldorophone« is an album built on and marked by contrasts. The soothing polylogue of single sounds in the higher register on opener »Omen in G« is counterpointed by massive bass drones, while the second piece, »Nominal in D,« plays a cunning game of repetition and difference by combining thick textures with all kinds of rhythmic elements. »Fades in C«—the longest of the four pieces, clocking in at 17 minutes—unlocks the emotional potentials of the sonic qualities of the halldorophone, sounding at once serene and anthemic, and »Organon in D« closes the album by underscoring how Bertoni’s unconventional approach allows her to seamlessly transform simple, quiet tones into complex, towering walls of sound.

Clear Vinyl


Her sound remains vast and yearning, with gut-punch drums pushing through explosions of colored powder; her voice is a chrome-plated sigh, and her agile melodies soar effortlessly. - Pitchfork *BEST NEW MUSIC*
she achieves some serious cinematic grandeur. - Stereogum
Simply too sublimely crafted to ignore. - Consequence of Sound
A catchy ethereal piece of pop - Brooklyn Vegan
Rose's layered, reverb-laden vocals hit like waves of sunlight, warming her lines almost to the point of wordlessness. - Paste Magazine


"Hila. A record about loss. What persists beyond the range of ordinary perception? The place mourning keeps returning to - not quite transcendence, not quite doubt. The edge of what we can see."
Frankie Rose has spent fifteen years building one of the most quietly distinctive bodies of work in American independent music. Bursting out of the shackles of her legacy on 2024's Love As Projection, 2026's Hila builds on the muscular, dance-ready songwriting and transcendent melodies to result on Rose's most exploratory and affecting record of her career. Imbued with yearning melodies and brooding post-punk dynamics, Hila is Frankie Rose at her most impressionistic and expansive.

Self-produced at her home studio featuring collaborations with drummer Justin Welch (Elastica/Lush), Hila was recorded following extensive touring with The Jesus & Mary Chain and Swervedriver. The result is the most confident, searching music Rose has produced; muscular in its production yet emotionally vulnerable in its diffracted neon glow. A record informed by loss and the way grief mutates our senses, it's fitting that Rose channels the nuanced darkness of later Coil, at times the pounding EBM-production of Skinny Puppy and the near-spiritual alien-ness of Cocteau Twins. On Hila, the doors of perception are constantly melting, revealing the porous nature of the seen and unseen. The result is a synesthesia that flips the senses.

If Love As Projection was an outward-looking record looking to embrace the world, Hila brings the dark cosmos into inner space. Rose's love for 80s production and soaring melodies remain, they're cornerstones to her craft after all, but there's something more assured and gothic underneath the massive waves of sound. Opener Olo shimmers into a pulsating, cinematic brooder, Rose's vocal transcending and swan diving between registers in the chorus breakdowns. First single Cant Be Wrong serves as a transition from the optimistic pop of Rose's previous album, introducing a thumping 80s funk rhythm track under the soaring vocal performance. The ebullient Shadow Twin is that song's sibling, recalling major label-era Strawberry Switchblade melancholy mixed with Robin Guthrie's twinkling guitar work.

Hila blossoms darkly from here on in, blowing out into a glacial wide-screen sonic dynamic. On Rainman and the title track the listener is transported to a rain-soaked, nocturnal cityscape ridden with desire, moonlight cutting through blinds, intoxicating chasms without bounds. Rose's use of saxophone and digital synthesis recalls the nightmusic of Hats-era Blue Nile or the more ambient end of Emeralds' catalog. Indeed, in the towering synthetic cello sounds that climb into the mind on Hila, there's a distinct flavour of the instrumentals on Bowie's Low. This is musick to play in the dark, to light the way a little, just enough to trick the senses.
Leading into the strobe-filled haze, single Manifest pounds forward with a massive Industrial 4/4 beat and post-punk/goth musicality, an exercise in unlit ecstasy. For Best Of Times, the liberal saxophone passages feel like a suppressed, 80s Michael Mann soundtrack with Frankie Rose's effortless, melodic vocal performance probing, searching for connection. Navigating through the dry, iced landscape into a rising sun, closer Velvet Refrain flips the melancholy of the preceding passages. With a massive sound dripping with harmony, the clanging guitar and vocal duet feels they're sound-tracking an unexpected happy ending after bouts of darkness."

"Originally released in 1979 on Sly & Robbie's Taxi label, this album was Black Uhuru's second LP. Recorded at Channel One it set forth a new sound in recorded music technology. The songs blend into dub versions and the mixing is simply stunning. The track Shine Eye Gal also features guitarist Keith Richards"
(but hey, nobody's perfect).

"Hear the meticulous song writing of Michael Rose, joined by Puma Jones & Duckie Simpson, to complete the vocal line-up.

Sly & Robbie and the Taxi Gang created a sublime sonic masterpiece at Channel One studio in Jamaica. They were at their absolute peak of their powers, before being launched as global superstars with Grace Jones.

Black Uhuru went on to be an extremely popular live outfit, touring endlessly around the world, breaking down barriers and making new inroads to territories previously unknown to Jamaican artists.

This Classic reissue is a must for all reggae collectors."

With Random Constraint Satisfaction Problems, the ever elusive and shape-shifting Thomas Bush offers up a new album of category scrambling song craft. Since earlier solo efforts like Old And Red (2018), Preludes (2022) and The Next 60 Years (2024), Bush—currently based in Malmö—has traced a digressive path that has proven him capable of everything from murky wobbling dirges to uptight head-bopping laments to crystalline synth chords that hang precariously in the air over your new favourite bass line. Like its title, the album's songs/tunes/opportunities for pleasure offer the listener further evidence of a sensibility that is equal parts ambiguity and clarity.

In addition to his solo work, Bush has worked with a range of collaborators in one-off configurations and longer term projects like RAP (with Guy Gormley) and cATHOLIC CHURGH (with Jon Auman). Critical responses to Bush's output have often focused on his predilection for certain folk-ish impulses and instrumentation, but, judging from releases like 2026's guld, his definition of "folk music" seems to have as much to do with A Guy Called Gerald as it does with Shirley Collins or John Martyn.

For all of its diversity, what unites Bush's ever-expanding body of work is its dual commitment to experimentation and a job well done.

“Random Constraint Satisfaction Problems was recorded at Vista Studio 1, Malmö between 2022 and 2025. After creating an account at academia.edu for the purpose of reading a text now forgotten, I began to get emails asking me questions such as ‘Thomas Bush, did you write “Brucellosis and Sacroiliitis: A Common Presentation of an Uncommon Pathogen”?’ or ‘Are you the Thomas Bush who wrote “ATR-dependent phosphorylation of FANCA on serine 1449 after DNA damage is important for FA pathway function”?’, which began to make me wonder if I was, or if not, perhaps I should.

The resulting work is an attempt to find meaning in this, and other chaotic and ambiguous situations through analysis using materials and equipment available to hand. Being sensitive to signs and following them with enthusiasm. Both the source material and evaluation is presented.”

Archimboldos have clawed their way out of the starcaves of their primordial past and into the tranquil light of a coral garden on their third full length album, Crusta Arcana, a gumbo stewpot of transcendent electronica suffused with tribal rhythms and liquid ambience. Across a stereo field smeared with tolling bells, post-industrial folk percussion, and tinkling keys, Archimboldos soundtrack a science fictional journey, not into the depths of space, but deep beneath the waves.

In the past the Chilean duo of Nicolás Carcavilla and Felipe Crocco have described their music as “liminal shrimp folk.” Here they continue this strange exploration when they visit the court of the prawns, producing stately electronic chamber orchestrations. Perhaps these are the frequencies used for ritual dream initiation into the mystery schools of drowned Atlantis. Weaving an ancient sacred science, Archimboldos take listeners on a mystic vovage into their singular crustacean mythology, the crusta of their hidden arcana.

Archimbolodos are masters of conjoining cyclonic and centrifugal lines of electricity into spellbinding incantations. These deep-sea transmissions envelope the listener into aquamarine forcefields that are as hallucinatory as they are hypnotic. Navigating these strange fantasias could lead one to getting lost at sea, but the work is buoyed by the somnolent melodies of lonely harpsichords and swelling synth pads whose sustained tones reach towards distant shores. Sailing across a vast expanse of oceanic harmonies and percolating percussion, these pieces are as precise as the hand of a sailor on the rudder, moving with the tide.

Casting their net wide across eight pieces, Archimboldos have made a big catch. From the emotive electronic counterpoint found on “Bursting Armor” to the blocks of seaweed tangled sonic sculpture trawled up from the ocean floor on “Aphelion IX.” Other songs are like samples of biological ambience collected from luminous tide pools: resplendent tones placed into a Petri dish of sound, swirled, cultured and fermented until it undulates with the rhythmic movement of microscopic lifeforms. Alternating between rippling minimalist sonority and pounding, progressive, synth-heavy entrancement, Crusta Arcana charts its own idiosyncratic itinerary of instrumental invention.

All the while light is down streaming from the heavens to pierce the waters, here calm, there choppy. The intrepid musical captains commanding Archimboldos have laid a course for new archipelagos of the imagination, guided by heavenly constellations.

-Justin Patrick Moore, author of The Radio Phonics Laboratory, Telecommunications, Speech Synthesis and the Birth of Electronic Music

Windy & Carl Meet Optigan Conservatory is a purposefully misleading title for the first collaborative work from four friends who met close to thirty years prior. All active participants in Michigan independent music circles since the early ’90s, Windy & Carl are well-known for their foundational contributions to drift and guitar-born ambient sounds, with songs characterized by deep connections to the natural world and a hard to pin down yet impossible to miss emotional vulnerability.

Optigan Conservatory is another duo, made up of Frank Rotondo (leader of Detroit area free music ensemble Laughing Gas) and Fred Thomas (songwriter and producer most often associated with his band Saturday Looks Good To Me), who have been making minimalistic and time-defiant electro-acoustic sounds since 2016. The album came together almost effortlessly in a very short timeframe, but the idea had been building steam for many a year.

In the last days of 2024, Windy & Carl and Optigan Conservatory got together, falling into a mode of sound creation that was almost hyper-natural. Without any discussion outside of the usual stream of jokes and chatter, the quartet set up and started communicating. Added to Windy & Carl’s hovering augmented chord voicings and vaporous guitar drones were electric piano and synth bedding from Frank & Fred. After the initial sessions, all involved parties took time to consider what they’d made, adding new layers and editing the pieces into more definitive articulations.

A beautiful and hermetic energy larger than the sum of its parts is captured in the process. There are echoes of the earliest releases from Windy & Carl as well as refractions of the same opacity that surfaced in the early kranky catalogue.

Erleben Sie den packenden Soundtrack des australischen Horrorklassikers "Wolf Creek" (2005) wie nie zuvor – neu remastert und auf Red+Black Splatter-Vinyl gepresst, mit exklusivem Artwork und Liner Notes. Der Komponist Francois Tétaz erschuf mit Klavier, Alan Lambs einzigartigen Telefonleitungsaufnahmen aus dem Outback Westaustraliens und einem Streichquartett einen Soundtrack, der als philosophischer Kontrast zum Horror von "Wolf Creek" fungiert. Eine eindringliche Mischung aus atmosphärischen Klanglandschaften, sparsamer Instrumentierung und unterschwelliger Bedrohung – die Musik fängt die Einsamkeit und Bedrohlichkeit des Outbacks in jeder Rille ein. Exklusive Collector's Edition für alle Horrorfans, Soundtrack-Sammler und Vinyl-Liebhaber gleichermaßen.

The Go’s Free Electricity, the group’s storied, long-lost album, finally gets a proper release! The Go appeared in Detroit in 1996, led by Bobby Harlow and featuring Dave Buick on bass and Jack White on guitar. Following the release of their 1999 debut, Whatcha Doin’, and a few lineup changes, the band hit the studio with Dion Fischer on lead guitar, John Olson (of Wolf Eyes) on saxophone, and Cary Loren (of Destroy All Monsters) to record their sophomore effort. The session found the band and their producer, Matthew Smith (Outrageous Cherry), exploring the outer edges of rock and roll, with blaring lead guitars, copious amounts of reverb, and a heavy jazz influence thanks to a heavy diet of ‘60s free jazz. The results erupt from the speakers with a cavernous sound, like some haunted frequency beamed across the time barrier from the Grande Ballroom circa 1968, often sounding more like records by Pharoah Sanders and Sun Ra than the records being made by The Go’s peers in the ‘00s rock and roll scene.

Free Electricity was written, composed, and arranged by Bobby Harlow (except track one, which was written by Harlow and Dion Fischer; and track five, written by Harlow and Cary Loren). Free Electricity was mixed and produced by Matthew Smith, engineered by Jim Diamond at Ghetto Recorders, and mastered by Jim Kissling at Jim Kissling Mastering in Detroit, Michigan. Guest appearances by folks from Destroy All Monsters and Wolf Eyes only reinforced the album's musical direction. Weird or not, this was an inspired recording made by an inspired group of musicians. There was a feeling of excitement and adventure happening at these sessions, it shines through mightily on this album.

Fresh off of their 2020 offering Adult Themes, El Michels Affair is back with a new full-length release. Titled Yeti Season, this newest album has everything we've come to expect from EMA's patented cinematic style of instrumental soul music. Where Adult Themes inspired a soundtrack to an imaginary film, Yeti Season brings us to a different place in time_with new inspirations. Taken with Turkish-styled funk and an almost Mumbai-esque take on soul, El Michels Affair offers us a different kind of drama and imagination with Yeti Season. If you've been following along, this shouldn't be viewed as too far a departure for El Michels Affair. The first single off of Yeti Season showed their hand back in 2018. A double-sided banger, that release brought the musical textures to the fore that dominate this record. The first song, titled "Unathi," is fully realized with the beautifully haunting-yet-hopeful vocals of Piya Malik, formally of 79.5_another Big Crown artist. Singing in Hindi, Piya's ethereal voice is telling us to work and strive together toward progress. Even if you don't understand her language, you can still hear the urgency of purpose, creating a lasting vibe that sits on top of it all. Leon Michels explains that Piya had a vital influence on this record: "When Piya started singing in Hindi, she had a different voice, a different tone. I knew we had to do something together." And so Piya appears on three other songs on Yeti Season: "Zaharila," "Murkit Gem," and "Dhuaan." Each providing particular signatures to the album. "Zaharila" is a building and changing love song punctuated by blaring trumpets, driving drums, and Piya's pleading lyrics. While the more upbeat "Murkit Gem" opens with a fuzzed out, Wu-Tang-esque baseline that buoys Piya's stylings. The psychedelic guitar and Piya's changing tones and textures singing about an all-consuming love are what pushed "Dhuaan" on to the second single from Yeti Season. There is also a vocal appearance from Shannon Wise of The Shacks, yet another Big Crown artist. Her song called "Sha Na Na," lies more in the familiar EMA vein: melodic, hypnotic, soulfully visual. But between Shannon's airy singing, the jumpy baseline, moody vibes, the active drum lines, it sounds like a pensive walk home after a strangely dramatic night. So what is Yeti Season? It could be more of a feeling than an actual place or time of year. It's a heavy album_as evidenced by the signature musicianship and dramatic vocal expressions. But it's also a hopeful record, with phrasings, textures, and chord changes that hint at something better_or fuller_coming our way. You hear it in songs like "Ala Vida," with its stabby, pulsing chords laying a bedrock for EMA's bright, atmospheric horn lines. Or even in "Fazed Out," which leaves you with a feeling of determination, a striving for resolution even though the driving, march-like song structure should accompany some conquering army. This persistence has to come from the fact that Leon Michels and company finished this record during the lockdown. It was a tough and troublesome time. But look at what has come of it: Yeti Season_a record of high and heavy drama, but also one of hope and promise. It may take a year like 2020 behind us to find hope in a winter big footed creature like a Yeti, but that's where we are.

When everything around is racing blindly toward ruin, change direction and spin as fast as you can until you defy gravity and rise above the ground into blissful madness. "K-drone", the debut album by three renegades—Jakub Šimanský, Michal Vaľko, and Ján Podracký—is like a hallucinatory Calvary with five stations. Each station is a time-loop capsule, a tiny utopia sneering at the phantom progress of the world outside.

The opening track, "Speedrone", is pure vertigo; for seven long minutes, there's nothing to hold onto. Šimanský’s banjo cuts through the air, Vaľko’s hurdy-gurdy sounds like someone scraping a rusted sheet of metal with a handful of nails, and Podracký’s bass recorder hums like a slowly intensifying migraine. "Sine" is like a train journey through a barren wasteland, where the images outside the window constantly repeat like a bad trip. "Pro DJ" starts like a gig in a bar at the end of the line—a gig that never actually goes anywhere. It’s as if all three are locked in a spasm, their repeated motifs turning into haunting earworms. "Alien Radigue" shifts into a strange idyll in a clearing in the middle of the forest, where an unknown bird species trills in the background. The end and definitive dissolution come in "Slush", where everything suddenly slows down. Šimanský plucks a simple guitar melody, Podracký’s harmonica drifts from side to side like a boat gently rocking by the shore, and Vaľko’s hurdy-gurdy drones like a drunken mosquito buzzing around.

"K-drone" sounds like an acid anti-western movie recorded in a tucked-away burrow, like smoke-soaked folk and experimental campfire songs echoing through a deep forest. It evokes Third Ear Band's "Alchemy", it screeches and repeats like some of Henry Flynt's experiments, and you could easily imagine hearing it drifting from one of the windows on the cover of Hala Strana's eponymous album.

Jakub Šimanský is the bard of Czechoslovak guitar primitivism, an earthy folk sommelier whose fingerpicking you may also know from the duo Šimanský Niesner. Michal Vaľko, aka Line Gate, needs no introduction to fans. He has released three albums on mappa, and his hurdy-gurdy meditations hold an important place in the drone and minimalist music scene. "Den", "Apex", and "Trap" have become essential listening. Ján Podracký is a self-taught composer and musician whom you might know from various participatory music projects, such as an orchestra where all the players play diatonic harmonicas. Besides harmonicas, he has long explored a wide range of flutes. In short, a pied piper who will guide you through other worlds.

John Tchicai (1936 – 2012) was one of the most important free improvising saxophonists of the 20th Century: an artist of rare vision and aptitude whose lines soared and stood out even in the most hallowed company, and whose body of work as a leader / composer is among the most singular and distinct within the entire canon of that music. But Tchicai’s importance doesn’t end there. Born in Copenhagen, Denmark, to a Danish mother and a Congolese father, his life and career represent a crucial bridge between the European and American traditions of free jazz. Initially trained on violin as a child, Tchicai shifted his focus to the clarinet and alto saxophone during his mid-teens, and began touring Europe as a professional musician by his early 20s, which landed him at a socialist youth festival in Helsinki, Finland, where he met the trumpeter Bill Dixon and saxophonist Archie Shepp. Impressed by what they heard, Dixon and Shepp encouraged the young saxophonist to move to New York, and in so doing changed the history of jazz forever.

Tchicai’s arrival in New York marks the rare occurrence of a European player joining the intimate circle that was first wave of American free jazz. Following his landing in the city in November of 1962, in addition to regularly sitting in with Don Cherry’s group, Tchicai began playing with Bill Dixon's band alongside Archie Shepp and Roswell Rudd, forming the nucleus of the foundation of the New York Contemporary Five - one of the most important groups of the era - which counted Tchicai, Shepp, Cherry, Don Moore, and J. C. Moses as its members. From the ashes of this group, Tchicai would go on to found the legendary ensemble, New York Art Quartet, with Roswell Rudd, Milford Graves, and Lewis Worrell, as well as working within Albert Ayler's band, recording “New York Eye and Ear Control”, Shepp’s band, recording “Four for Trane”, the ensemble that recorded John Coltrane's “Ascension”, and the Jazz Composer's “Orchestra”.

By the time he decided to return to Denmark in 1966, had Tchicai chosen to record little else, his legacy within the history of music would have been ensured. Incredibly ambitious, his arrival home marked the beginning of an incredible period of activity which saw him radically expanding his creative explorations, which by the end of the decade would include becoming a founding member of Amsterdam's Instant Composers Pool and helping to record John Lennon and Yoko Ono's “Unfinished Music No.2: Life with the Lions”. This, however, was proceeded the formation of a new orchestra, Cadentia Nova Danica, led by Tchicai, dedicated to radical cross-disciplinary exploration. Remaining together between 1966 and 1971, the group and its shifting membership regularly fell into collaboration with artists and composers, notably Musica Elettronica Viva, who existed beyond the realms of jazz, as well as participating within multi-media events that incorporated the visual realms.

Cadentia Nova Danica’s only two LPs - “Cadentia Nova Danica” (Polydor, 1968), and “Afrodisiaca” (MPS, 1969) - are effectively Tchicai recorded efforts as a leader, and are legendary. There’s little mystery, once heard, why the later landed on Thurston Moore’s iconic “Top Ten from the Free Jazz Underground”, published by Grand Royal in 1996. Sadly, despite playing extensively during their five year run, with exception of a CD documenting a performance at Jazzhus Montmartre, in 1966, until now there has been no other publicly available recordings that allow us to capture a glimpse of this astounding band at work. Alga Marghen / Formalibera’s vinyl pressing of a never before released body of recordings, made in Copenhagen between 1969 and 1970, changes that in the most exciting of ways.

Comprising three pieces - “Mc Gub Gub, (I–VIII)”; “Ode to Skt. John”; and “Pladepip” - the material on this stunning LP comes from two specific events. The first, which encompasses the first side, “Mc Gub Gub, (I–VIII)” was recorded by Cadentia Nova Danica - in this instance, Tchicai, Sune Weimar, Theo Rahbek, Christian Kyhl, Niels Holt, Jørgen Thorup, Michael Schou, Morgens Bollerup, Allan Gregersen, Ole Matthiessen, Pierre Dørge, Willy Jaegert, Anthony Barnett, and Jon Finsen - on May 29th, 1969, at the ABC-Theatre in Copenhagen. Penned by Tchicai, the piece is a sprawling, evolutionary composition at the outer reaches of free jazz, rooted in large blocks of colliding tonality and rhythm - a sound only accessible to larger ensembles - that push territories explored by Charles Mingus to previously unimagined heights, threaded by moments of hard blown fire. Writhing like a stormy sea - skronking and devilish - “Mc Gub Gub, (I–VIII)” is a work of profound complexity that singlehandedly illuminates not only Tchicai’s singular vision as a composer, but also the power and uniqueness of Cadentia Nova Danica during the band’s most vital period.

The two pieces - “Ode to Skt. John” and “Pladepip” - taking up the flip side, were recorded on February 21st, 1970, at the Danish Broadcasting Corporation’s Radio House, and are the outcome of Cadentia Nova Danica’s extended residency there between 1969 and 1970. In many ways, these two recordings offer some of the best insights into the broad collaborative approaches that defined the band, in this case encountering them working with Danish experimental composer, Svend Erik Werner, who was among the earliest in his country to embrace stylistic pluralism and the use historical forms within a modern context. “Ode to Skt. John” - based on aspects of Gregorian music - was penned by Werner, incorporating heady improvisation by the members of Cadentia Nova Danica, this time made up by Tchicai, Sune Weimar, Hugh Steinmetz, Theo Rahbek, Christian Kyhl, Michael Schou, Morgens Bollerup, Ole Kühl, Torben Enghoff, Mauritz Tchikai, Kjeld Ipsen, Willy Jaegert, Ole Matthiessen, Ole Thilo, Pierre Dørge, Steffen Andersen, Jon Finse, and Clause Bøje. The piece is a fascinating binary of the composed and improvised, utilising the band’s large scale to introduce a remarkable sound within its slow progressions and furious, driving free moments, in this incredible meeting of worlds.

The album’s final piece, “Pladepip”, is arguably its most historically significant: an entirely singular piece, unlike anything in Tchicai’s recorded canon as his foray into musique concréte. Drawing upon two recordings of full-band improvisations by Cadentia Nova Danica, for its creation Tchicai also gouged the surfaces of 78rpm records in his collection to skip and create repeated phrases and patterns, creating a stunning sound collage of hard angles and abrupt phrase, that creates a striking counterpoint to the band’s flowing improvisations that bookend those passages. The result is an engrossing listen and easily one of the most unique and culturally important gestures in the entire history of musique concréte.

Truly incredible, Alga Marghen / Formalibera’s vinyl pressing of this never before released body of recordings, made by John Tchicai’s Cadentia Nova Danica, in Copenhagen between 1969 and 1970, offers an unprecedented window into one of the most important groups working in Europe during that period, significantly expanding their rare and slim discography to date. Accompanied by extensive exploratory liner notes by veteran jazz writer, Ed Hazell, this is easily one of the most historically important archival releases of the year and is impossible to recommend enough. Absolutely essential on every count.

Buckshot returns with The Package, his latest solo album and his first to be entirely self-produced. The Brooklyn legend handles every beat himself this time, with features from General Steele of Smif-N-Wessun bringing the Boot Camp Clik brotherhood full circle.
Co-founder of Duck Down Music with Drew "Dru-Ha" Friedman, Buckshot has spent over three decades building one of hip-hop's most respected independent labels while staying prolific on the mic: a solo studio album, three with producer 9th Wonder, one with KRS-One, four with Black Moon, and four with the Boot Camp Clik. He's the voice behind "Straight from Crooklyn, better known as Brooklyn," a line that still echoes through the culture, prominently featured on two Crooklyn Dodgers tracks.

This is the first leader album by Akira Miyazawa, one of the greatest tenor saxophonists in Japanese jazz history. It features first-class jazz musicians including Sadao Watanabe (as, fl), Akira Nakano (tp, tb), Takeshi Inomata (dr), and Masahiko Sato (p). Without a doubt, this is one of the most important works in the history of Japanese modern jazz. The title also reflects Miyazawa’s love of fishing, and the jacket features him as a figure casting a fishing line.

In the early 1960s, beat groups from the Dutch Randstad dominated the national charts. Yet far from the big cities, in the clubs of Drenthe, one band was already being billed as “Beatgroup Number One”: Cuby + Blizzards. But frontman Harry Muskee never embraced that label. Raised on broadcasts from The Voice of America, he possessed a deeper understanding of the blues than most of his contemporaries. Muskee didn’t want to sing ‘songs,’ as he called them, he wanted to sing the blues, raw and unfiltered, in the tradition of Howlin’ Wolf, John Lee Hooker and Muddy Waters.

Their debut single “Stumble & Fall” was recorded in the Bavohuis, a simple gym hall in Amsterdam, with Addy Kleingeld as producer. But the debut album Desolation marked a turning point, recorded at the Phonogram Studios in Hilversum with renowned blues producer Tony Vos, it captured the band exactly as Muskee intended.

The resulting album became a jewel of Dutch music history. Never before had the Netherlands heard a blues singer who poured his emotions into a recording with such conviction and authenticity. Muskee even outshone his British peers. Eric Burdon (The Animals), Paul Jones (Manfred Mann), Mick Jagger (The Rolling Stones) and Van Morrison (Them).

At the 1968 Grand Gala du Disque (the Dutch equivalent of the Grammys), Muskee received an Edison Award for Desolation, handed to him by cabaret artist Wim Sonneveld, whose lukewarm speech couldn’t diminish the significance of the moment.

Sixty years later, the legacy of this groundbreaking album still resonates, an essential document of European blues and a defining moment in the story of Cuby + Blizzards.

This 60th anniversary edition of Desolation is now available as an expanded 2LP-set including the original 1966 album plus fifteen bonus tracks. The gatefold version features songs “Things I Remember”, “Stumble & Fall”, “L.S.D. (Got A Million Dollars)”, is a limited edition on blue vinyl and includes new liner notes by Dutch Blues authority Johan Derksen.

The sleepy calm of Klondyke, Louisiana, is shattered when an unknown man ruthlessly shoots his way out of a courtroom, abducting a girl hostage at gun-point and tearing out of town in a stolen car. Who is he? What is his concern with the girl, with a multi-millionaire’s secluded house, and with a great oil rig out in the Gulf of Mexico?

Fear Is The Key is a 1972 British action flick directed by Michael Tucher starring Barry Newman (Vanishing Point) and Suzy Kendall, based on Alistair MacLean's 1961 eponymous novel. The film is probably best remembered for its spectacular and lengthy car chase sequence, which necessitated a ten-minute plus action cue that demanded split-second timing so that each bar would blend perfectly with the chase sound effects. Realizing composer Roy Budd was just 25 years old when he recorded this score, makes it all the more impressive. Fun fact: this is the feature film debut of Sir Ben Kingsley so make sure to give it a whirl, especially if you're into hard-driving British jazz. In any case, this soundtrack too will surely satisfy fans of the jazz-funk and library music found on labels such as KPM and Music De Wolfe.

The soundtrack of Fear Is The Key is available as a limited edition of 500 individually numbered copies on pink marble vinyl and includes an insert with liner notes.

Feel the poison in your veins… “The Venom In The Mouth Of God” is Combichrist at their most expansive and most honest, a record that tears open the gap between who we are and who we perform ourselves to be, and leaves it bleeding. Andy LaPlegua has been one of industrial metal's defining forces since the early 2000s, fusing EBM brutality with hard rock muscle in a way few acts have managed to replicate. This new album plays like a descent and a reckoning in one. The opening run from "ODR" through "Born Deströyer" lands like a controlled demolition: dense, mechanized, merciless. Mid-album the mood shifts and stretches, with "Each Scar A Vision" and "The Way We Want To Be Seen" pulling at something more psychological - the masks we wear, the versions of ourselves we construct for others. "Demons Wanna Be Summoned" features King 810, the Michigan-bred rap-metal outfit known for their confrontational intensity - a collaboration that fits the album's relentless atmosphere like a blade in a wound.

Feel the poison in your veins… “The Venom In The Mouth Of God” is Combichrist at their most expansive and most honest, a record that tears open the gap between who we are and who we perform ourselves to be, and leaves it bleeding. Andy LaPlegua has been one of industrial metal's defining forces since the early 2000s, fusing EBM brutality with hard rock muscle in a way few acts have managed to replicate. This new album plays like a descent and a reckoning in one. The opening run from "ODR" through "Born Deströyer" lands like a controlled demolition: dense, mechanized, merciless. Mid-album the mood shifts and stretches, with "Each Scar A Vision" and "The Way We Want To Be Seen" pulling at something more psychological - the masks we wear, the versions of ourselves we construct for others. "Demons Wanna Be Summoned" features King 810, the Michigan-bred rap-metal outfit known for their confrontational intensity - a collaboration that fits the album's relentless atmosphere like a blade in a wound.

'As I Slip Into the Sky reflects a particularly small sliver of time compared to Where the Smoke Goes, with recordings taking place in early 2025, while Johnny was bed-bound in an assisted living facility with multiple sclerosis. Alabama born, Portland based artist Joel Nelson helms the nearly entirely electronic backdrop, posing a new canvas for Johnny, with Buchla Music Easel bubbling up between Johnny’s lines. This album captures Johnny in a remarkably tender and emotive form. Love and all its permutations. The tangled, but caring nature of familial love, (“But you and me, we can talk on the phone every day. I would never leave you behind”), to the anguish and euphoria of romantic connection. Johnny has a remarkable ability to pose questions, ("What is real love like?), and provide answers that reflect the truest of realities, absent cliche ("I don't know. His curly hair, short on his head, his smile, his smile, his smile...that is what real love is like").
'Joel Nelson's nimble work across a small array of analog synthesizers creates a flowing backdrop to Johnny's stream of consciousness. At times, Broadcast's fuzzed out ballads come to mind, while at others, early Oneohtrix Point Never's gauzy, distant drones anchor beneath Johnny's slippery syntax.
'Johnny recorded his poems while confined to a hospital bed, through an iPhone laid gently on his chest. Assisted by the caring presence of friends John Albea and Lauren Jones, we can hear through these recordings Johnny immersed in his world of words, taking in the world of sounds Joel had provided for him. We hear his breath, at times we hear the harsh sibilance captured by the iPhone microphone, but more than anything, we hear the tenderness and poetic resolve of his caring soul. He was incredibly grateful for the past years of connecting with the small cohort of Birmingham-affiliated musicians and artists who upheld him as the unofficial poet laureate of "The Magic City", Birmingham, AL. Perhaps most appropriately, Johnny closes the album out in a state of gratitude:'

"My funeral was perfect
I was buried wearing a very charming jacket
A very charming jacket I just happened to have on when i died
He was always the lucky one, Mary-Ellen said
I've been looking for a nice casual jacket like that I could wear to casual little outdoor parties and to my funeral all my life
But Johnny just had one
Probably someone left it in his car
He was so lucky
It doesn't even make sense
But its true
He really was that lucky"