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Wounds is the band's long-awaited fifth album - their first in six years, their most eclectic and ambitious work to date. As heavy as it is haunting, the record masterfully blends doom, post-punk, and driving krautrock in a dynamic, hypnotic maelstrom - pushing London's most exciting cult band into intoxicating new territory. "Wounds is a series of songs about the different ways people live with and process 'the wounds' of their lives," explains vocalist Maya. "A strange celebration of that formative pain we have all experienced in some way. The loss and joy of survival - the celebration of finding others like us, the gift of knowing life comes after fire." Wounds was recorded by Mike Bew, on location at Foel Studio. The band could be found working deep into the witching hours, experimenting with new sounds and filling the valleys with cantankerous wails of sound, bursting from amps borrowed from My Bloody Valentine. "The Welsh countryside has a mystical quality to it," says guitarist Adam. "We recorded in a deep, dark valley; misty days and shooting stars at night. You could wander through nearby woods and stone circles during breaks. Foel Studios is woven into this setting with a transcendence of its own - its storied history includes sessions by Electric Wizard, Hawkwind and The Fall." Synths on the album are arranged by Berlin-based Bow Church, an influential figure in the dark electronic scene and a longtime collaborator of the band. His work weaves icy and atmospheric textures into the album's tracks. While meticulously crafted, Wounds captures the visceral energy of Cold in Berlin's renowned live shows. The album's arrangements and raucous sound remain true to the unrelenting intensity and atmosphere of their stage performances - every track retains the sweat, urgency, and immediacy of a band performing in the moment.

Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur's court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word "Camelot" accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of "utopia." In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson's 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python's 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armored knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys's profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy's White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle's extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle's Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one's own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. "Back in Camelot," she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, "I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry." The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping "in the unfinished basement," an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above "sirens and desert deities." If she questions her own agency_whether she is "wishing stones were standing" or just "pissing in the wind"_it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of "multi-felt dimensions" both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of "Camelot," with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to "Some Friends," an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises_"bright and beaming verses" versus hot curses_which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020's achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory "Earthsong," bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to _ a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?) Those whom "Trust" accuses of treacherous oaths spit through "gilded and golden tooth"_cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry_sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in "Louis": "What's that dance / and can it be done? What's that song / and can it be sung?" Answering affirmatively are "Lucky #8," an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the "tidal pools of pain" and the "theory of collapse," and "Full Moon in Leo," which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and "big hair." But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle's confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on "Lucky #8," special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle's beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia's FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad "Blowing Kisses"_Pallett's crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX's The Bear_Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer_and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: "No words to fumble with / I'm not a beggar to language any longer." Such rare moments of speechlessness_"I'm so fucking honoured," she bluntly proclaims_suggest a state "only a god could come up with." (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world_including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth_but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the "charts and diagrams" of "Lucky #8," a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in "Full Moon in Leo," the bloody invocations of the organ-stained "Mary Miracle," and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with "Fractal Canyon"'s repeated, exalted insistence that she's "not alone here." But where is here? The word "utopia" itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek "eutopia," or "good-place"_the facet most remembered today_and "outopia," or "no-place," a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary. Or as fellow Canadian songwriter Neil Young once sang, "Everyone knows this is nowhere." "Can you see how I'd be tempted," Castle asks out of nowhere, held in the mystery, "to pretend I'm not alone and let the memory bend?"

. For Fans Of: The Weather Station, Weyes Blood, Adrianne Lenker, Phoebe Bridgers, Joan Shelley, Lana Del Rey, Cass McCombs, Angel Olsen & Neil Young. Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur’s court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word “Camelot” accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of “utopia.” In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson’s 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python’s 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armoured knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys’s profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy’s White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle’s extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle’s Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one’s own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. “Back in Camelot,” she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, “I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry.” The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping “in the unfinished basement,” an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above “sirens and desert deities.” If she questions her own agency whether she is “wishing stones were standing” or just “pissing in the wind” it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of “multi-felt dimensions” both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of “Camelot,” with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to “Some Friends,” an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises—“bright and beaming verses” versus hot curses which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020’s achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory “Earthsong,” bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to … a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?). Those whom “Trust” accuses of treacherous oaths spit through “gilded and golden tooth” cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in “Louis”: “What’s that dance / and can it be done? What’s that song / and can it be sung?” Answering affirmatively are “Lucky #8,” an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the “tidal pools of pain” and the “theory of collapse,” and “Full Moon in Leo,” which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and “big hair.” But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle’s confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on “Lucky #8,” special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle’s beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia’s FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad “Blowing Kisses” Pallett’s crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX’s The Bear Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: “No words to fumble with / I’m not a beggar to language any longer.” Such rare moments of speechlessness “I’m so fucking honoured,” she bluntly proclaims suggest a state “only a god could come up with.” (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the “charts and diagrams” of “Lucky #8,” a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in “Full Moon in Leo,” the bloody invocations of the organ-stained “Mary Miracle,” and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with “Fractal Canyon”s repeated, exalted insistence that she’s “not alone here.” But where is here? The word “utopia” itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek “eutopia,” or “good-place” the facet most remembered today and “outopia,” or “no-place,” a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary

Dez Dare ventures further into the void than ever before on his 4th album and the 1st to be released via God Unknown Records, ‘A Billion Goats. A Billion Sparks. Fin.’. On past records Dare has fought beasts and beats alike, waging a fuzz war and tackling the biggest topics the world has to face; Doom scrolling, capitalist demagogues, a passionate dislike of the beach in summer. On this record he leaves the sardonic frustration behind for sarcastic existentialism, zeroing in on the big philosophical questions, and the pedantic shards of nonsense that make up our existence. Piling up the synths, noise boxes and guitar pedals, Dez set about building a soundscape of noise and ideas around the nature of reality, time, and how we interact with them. From the music you would play in your last moments, to the reverse Darwinism of modern society, to arguing with time itself, and very boring people talking at you, all is covered here for the aspiring existentialist. The self-produced Australian has spent over 3 decades producing music, releasing and touring bands, and doing live sound for z-grade metal bands. Growing up in the coastal town of Geelong (Djilang) in Australia, he was introduced to the DIY punk and rock scene at 15 and this community and the ideas rooted in the underground music scene have guided his output and ethics throughout his career. This year Dez will be joining forces with label titans God Unknown (Cassels / Duke Garwood / James Johnston + Steve Gullick / KLÄMP / Oneida / Oneida / Laura Loriga / Monster Magnet / Wellwater Conspiracy Soundgarden + Monster Magnet) and will be producing a deluxe version of the release that will include a 12 page comic illustrated by long time collaborator Mike Keane. Across the drone of noise and washed out guitars of the final track, ‘A Billion Voices Screaming, Hello Void!’, the chant repeats “We all return to where we begun...” which encapsulates the message that Dare delivers. We are all made from the same stardust and we all return to the universe that spat us out, we just need to enjoy the many shards of nonsense on that swift descent into the void...with wizards painted on the side." MAXIMUM ROCKNROLL "Early 90s-inspired take on DEVO punk... high energy sucker punches on your ear." Weirdo Shrine "Sludgey-grungey-fuzzed psychedelic-noiserock... I like the fact that despite all the edgy complexity, catchy songs emerge again and again."

With J Jazz volume 4, the BBE J Jazz Bullet Train continues its journey traversing the expansive landscape of modern Japanese jazz. Volume 4 is the latest in the universally praised compilation series exploring the best, rarest and most innovative jazz to emerge from the Far East. Please take your seats for a first-class ticket to J Jazz central. This latest station stop off is with the famed Nippon Columbia label, one of the biggest labels in Japan, whose jazz output embraces every possible style imaginable. Focussing on the key years 1968-1981, J Jazz volume 4 sees compilers Tony Higgins and Mike Peden dig even deeper into their record collections and pull-out tracks that span styles ranging from solo to big band, jazz classical interpretations and heavy jazz rock, to febrile post-bop, white hot samba fusion, and modal psychedelic wig-outs. J Jazz volume 4 features icons such as drum master Takeo Moriyama, keyboard magi Hiromasa Suzuki, Fumio Itabashi, and Masahiko Satoh, and guitar wizards Kazumi Watanabe and Kiyoshi Sugimoto, alongside big band maestros and innovators Nobuo Hara and his Sharps and Flats, and Toshiyuki Miyama’s New Herd. Thunderous basslines nestle alongside glistening runs of electric piano, bubbling synths and air-tight drumming as the heavy psychedelic modal blues of Jiro Inagaki flows with the infectious samba grooves of Takashi Mizuhashi featuring Herbie Hancock; Shigeharu Mukai’s fusion funk epics take the music to another level and Mikio Masuda’s driving keyboard rhythms brings the heat to an incendiary dancefloor zone.

Fachwerk boss Mike Denhert rolls up on TECH-UM 006 with for another heavy selection of intuitive techno jams on his 'TESTET' EP. With the focus squarely on the dance floor the Berlin-born wizard's latest creations makes for another unique voyage into cutting edge techno. Kostik with its dark wall of sound opens the release sporting an gargantuan bassline and metronomic percussion that resonates through the speakers. Freakin' Me offers a slow and low machine funk strut, with its heads-down groove and sassy vocal chops. On the flip Mike hits out hard with Mino. A heady concoction that's one part Chicago, one part Detroit, one part Berlin, coming together to create the perfect party piece. Dehnert then closes with one final gem. Sampling a broken escalator from a NYC train station, he engineers layer upon layer of mechanical madness. Creative clanging. Welding sounds and strikes like a vibrating visionary, he presents a final silvery sonic sensation.

It’s incredibly easy to get a remix wrong — as the back catalogues of far too many major labels, whose slapdash commissioning of the latest hot remixer half-guarantees an unsympathetic mangling of the song, can attest. At their best, remixes can make you look at an artist as though positioned from a different angle or using a different camera; sometimes hearing a song in a different context gives it a completely new meaning. “So you take a piece of a vocal…blah” says master remixer David Morales. “That’s a remix? That represents the artist? That doesn’t represent the artist, it represents you.” In the hands of the insensitive a remix is like chucking a song into the washing machine for a 100 extra spins.

In the hands of a master, things are a little more complex. Heavenly was all but founded on the art of the remix; our departed friend Andrew Weatherall remixed the first ever release, and the label has built up an immense catalogue in the intervening years that demonstrates all that is good about the art form.

Assembled on this compilation are twelve sterling examples of the remix, from Hanspeter Lindstrøm’s reading of Doves’ ‘Jetstream’, which turns their glistening pop into Lieutenant Pigeon meets Italo-disco (in a good way), to Andy Votel’s gentle folk-funk version of Halo Maud’s délicieuse ‘Des Bras’. We delve deep into the vaults for Saint Etienne’s ‘Filthy’, Monkey Mafia turning it into a rump-shaking groove perfectly suited to Q-Tee’s rap, while more recently, Flying Mojito Bros, purveyors of Tex-Mex house groove, reimagine Katy J. Pearson as a lonesome Lone Star lover.

Though not purposely themed, beyond being judiciously chosen as the catalogue’s finest gems, there’s a tiny hint of psychedelia about this set that is hard to ignore. Firstly, there are the acid contributions from Gabe Gurnsey, who knows his way around a coruscating bassline, and from Graham Massey, whose impeccable credentials in 808 State are brought to bear on ‘Valleys’, by young turks Working Men’s Club (acid house being modern psychedelia, whether the rock press approves or not).

Jono Ma, meanwhile, flips Night Beats’ amazing ‘Sunday Mourning’ into ‘Warm Leatherette’ on benzos, creating a disorienting glimpse of a dystopian Sunday that most definitely doesn’t include a genteel read of the papers and a nice cup of tea. On the other side of the miasma is Beyond The Wizard’s Sleeve’s redemptive re-interpretation of M. Craft’s ‘Chemical Trails’, which, alongside Boy Azooga’s ‘Face Behind Her Cigarette’ (Mikey Young remix), Gwenno’s ‘Chwlydro’ (R. Seiliog remix) and and Katy J. Pearson’s ‘Take Back The Radio’ (Flying Mojito Bros Refrito Dub), is issued on vinyl for the very first time.


This dozen tracks — each one curated, remixed and delivered with love (and a teensy bit of impertinence) — is just a glimpse into the catalogue of one the UK’s finest indie labels.

In the alternative reality in which I’d prefer to exist, this what Top of the Pops might sound like; or, at the very least, the jukebox in the Korova Milk Bar. Pop disruption at its best.

By his debut album "Alcatraz" in January 2015, ARAS label head André Galluzzi thrilled with a concept album inspired by occult sounds and psychedelic vocals. "Alcatraz" as a whole is a captivating piece of art, its the essence of a club night. Now after received a wave of icredible feedback from "Alcatraz", the bird returns to ARAS with a bunch of remixes of the hypnotic track "Mathilda". Time to welcome Mike Shannon and Jacek Sienkiewicz to the ARAS family. This remixes will be a blast at the club by its very deep and reduced, futuristic interpretations. Mike, as head A&R of Cynosure and formerly Revolver Canada Recordings over 10 years, has shown an uncanny ability to select and produce tracks which have become go-to fixtures in the sets of the industry's best DJs. Far from pursuing the next one hit wonder or sound of the season, his steadfast curatorial vision and passion for the music have earned him the trust of discerning music connoisseurs the world over. Alongside DeWalta, Mike impressed lately with his album "Residual" on Cynosure/ meander back in March 2016. Jacek Sienkiewicz lives in Warsaw and he is a key figure in Polish electronic music scene. He holds Recognition since 1999, one famous label based in Berlin. With one foot deep in classic Detroit and Chicago dance scene, and the other in modern jazz and classical music, Jacek's tracks for the past ten years always try to find a right balance between the avant-garde and dancefloor, between primal emotions and highly sophisticated sonic wizardry. His latest album "Hideland" has been released in August 2016 on Recognition.