Buscar:minimal man

Im vergangenen Herbst hat Kat Frankie das Publikum mit ihrem Projekt B O D I E S überrascht, erstaunt, zu Tränen gerührt und begeistert. Auf ihrer Tournee hat sie unter anderem die Elbphilharmonie und die Berliner Philharmonie ausverkauft. Die Show hat mit ihrem A-capella Ensemble die Zuschauer*innen zu Standing Ovations hingerissen. Der Klang von B O D I E S ist in der Tat ein ganz Besonderer: Ohne Instrumente auf der Bühne liefert das achtköpfige Ensemble eine erstaunliche Bandbreite menschlicher Emotionen ab. Manchmal unglaublich kraftvoll, manchmal zärtlich und nachdenklich, reichen Frankies Kompositionen hierbei von leidenschaftlich bis verspielt. Und dann ist da natürlich noch die schiere körperliche Kraft von acht Frauenstimmen in Harmonie.

Auf dem Album B O D I E S erkundet Frankie die Möglichkeiten des mehrstimmigen Gesangs noch weiter. Während einige Lieder dem Publikum bereits bekannt sein werden, sind neue Werke wie „Wonder“ und „Petrichor“ reine A-Capella Kompositionen. Frankie hat dabei auf eine Hauptstimme verzichtet, um sich stattdessen auf satte Harmonien und die Erzeugung einer wohlige Wärme zu konzentrieren. Kat Frankies Gesang auf „All of It“ ist ebenfalls minimalistisch, doch er sprüht nur so vor Sehnsucht und erhebt sich über den mantraartigen Hintergrund des Ensembles. In „Joan Didion“ geht es – das gilt es zu beachten – nicht um die Autorin, sondern um die Entfremdung und den Kummer ihrer Protagonistin. Das Epos „Versailles“ ist inspiriert von der Geschichte des Frauenmarsches in Versailles im Jahr 1789, einem Protest von Pariser Marktfrauen, die über den Brotmangel verärgert waren. Schließlich schlossen sich den Frauen Tausende von Menschen an und daraus entstand eines der bedeutendsten Ereignisse der Französischen Revolution.

2024 Re-Edition

Strangelove's personal Inventory of NZ 1980's odd pop; 'Kiwi Animals' recasts the local charts in a parallel universe of misfit melodics, gonzo-tronics & strange waves. Channelling South Pacific voodoo and edge of world melancholia, the album highlights electronic tangents from iconic NZ groups Blam Blam Blam & Headless Chickens. It dredges the cassette revelations of art avante-gardists' Drone & Kim Blackburn, alongside bittersweet moments from Rupert & Norma O'Malley. There's the infectious minimal wave of Ballare and a reprised electro-boogie dance suite (?!) from Tom Ludvigson & Graeme Gash. The furthest depths of Flying Nun's catalog are also plundered- a brilliant earworm from Stiff Herbert and a mysterious "Roger" Knox birthday promo. Mining disparate seams of a local indie label awakening, the various tangents of 'Kiwi Animals' congeal with a future/primitive sensibility and an underlying Antipodean mischievousness…

When dub and dope beats entered into an open relationship in the mid-nineties and created a casual hybrid with trip hop, Jean-Yves Prieur aka Kid Loco was one of the first French people to be there. With singles like "She"s My Lover" and "Love Me Sweet" and the album A Grand Love Story, the producer proved himself to be a loverman indeed, with a knack for bedroom moods, charming little melodies and a comforting balance between minimalism and lush arrangements . As a keyboard all-rounder, Guillaume Méténier aka Soul Sugar has been featured on numerous Kid Loco productions for more than twenty years. From the synthesizer to the clavinet, from the Fender Rhodes to the Leslie organ, the "Funky Frenchman" is no stranger to any keyboard instrument. The Hamburg label Echo Beach, which has already issued dub commissions for a number of pop and new wave classics, thought it was time to change that. Dub masters such as Rob Smith, Noiseshaper, Dubmatix, Paolo Baldini and many others remixed for the label. Songs by Martha & The Muffins, The Police, David Bowie, Grace Jones and Robert Palmer, among others. In order to honor the music of Florian Schneider, Ralf Hütter and their respective fellow Kraftwerkers with a dub set, they turned to Kid Loco, who has now established himself as a musical all-rounder, and who immediately invited his long-time accomplice Soul Sugar brought on board. The calculation really worked out.

Sophie Zelmani’s 2010 album I’m the Rain is a delicate and introspective collection of folk-inspired tracks, reflecting her signature soft vocals and acoustic sound.

The album blends minimalist arrangements with heartfelt lyrics, creating a soothing, atmospheric listening experience.

Standout songs like “You Can Always Long For May” and “If I Could” highlight Zelmani’s poetic songwriting and emotional depth, exploring themes of love, loss, and introspection. Her subtle use of acoustic guitar, gentle melodies, and whispery vocals evoke a sense of calm and reflection throughout the album. I’m the Rain solidifies Zelmani’s reputation for creating deeply personal and timeless music. For fans of intimate, folk-inspired singer-songwriter styles, I’m the Rain is a must-listen, offering a tranquil escape into Zelmani’s beautifully crafted world. I’m The Rain is a limited edition of 1000 individually numbered copies on white coloured vinyl.

Oscar Smit (DJ Oscar) has been a fan and collector of, especially the latest, Christmas music
since the 1980s. As a connoisseur, he is invited almost annually by the national Dutch radio.
As a journalist, he writes for the Christmas blog Christmas A Go Go and music magazine
OOR.
“Nowadays, there are many young acts active in the Dutch underground scene that I find
original and good. I enjoy their concerts, which usually take place in small clubs. Being a
huge fan of Christmas music, I got the idea to ask a couple of my favorite young artists to
record a contemporary Christmas song. They could do this with complete freedom. Dutch
electro-garage duo De Delegatie chose to cover a song by Daniel Lohues (singer of Skik) and
Herman Finkers from 2009. The choice of the Haarlem electro-wave band Dorpsstraat 3
goes even further back. In 1976, Dutch ‘volks’singer Andre Hazes had his very first hit with
this Christmas song. The Amsterdam punky female trio Earwurms recorded a contemporary
and adapted version of ‘Jingle Bells’. Schlager punk trio Yodel Queen also includes two
women. They provide an impression of a flexitarian at the Christmas dinner. Both girl bands
are appearing on vinyl for the first time. XA4 is Xavier Boot. He has already released an
album on Philip Glass’s label and treats us here to minimal Christmas music. In contrast,
there is the maximal danceable dark-electro from the Amsterdammer Raderkraft. He has
already released a few records and is quite well-known abroad. On this record, Stippenlift,
a one-man project from Amsterdam, has the most experience with Christmas music. Every
year, he writes a new Dutch-language track, usually sad or melancholic in tone. This very
danceable song sounds optimistic for his standards. Truus de Groot is a category of her
own. She has been making music since the early eighties, in bands like Nasmak or Plus
Instruments. She is still active and proves that you can still make urgent music after such a
long time. She is an example for many young musicians. Her song is a variant of the music
from the timeless Charlie Brown Christmas film.” — Oscar Smit.

Oscar Smit (DJ Oscar) has been a fan and collector of, especially the latest, Christmas music
since the 1980s. As a connoisseur, he is invited almost annually by the national Dutch radio.
As a journalist, he writes for the Christmas blog Christmas A Go Go and music magazine
OOR.
“Nowadays, there are many young acts active in the Dutch underground scene that I find
original and good. I enjoy their concerts, which usually take place in small clubs. Being a
huge fan of Christmas music, I got the idea to ask a couple of my favorite young artists to
record a contemporary Christmas song. They could do this with complete freedom. Dutch
electro-garage duo De Delegatie chose to cover a song by Daniel Lohues (singer of Skik) and
Herman Finkers from 2009. The choice of the Haarlem electro-wave band Dorpsstraat 3
goes even further back. In 1976, Dutch ‘volks’singer Andre Hazes had his very first hit with
this Christmas song. The Amsterdam punky female trio Earwurms recorded a contemporary
and adapted version of ‘Jingle Bells’. Schlager punk trio Yodel Queen also includes two
women. They provide an impression of a flexitarian at the Christmas dinner. Both girl bands
are appearing on vinyl for the first time. XA4 is Xavier Boot. He has already released an
album on Philip Glass’s label and treats us here to minimal Christmas music. In contrast,
there is the maximal danceable dark-electro from the Amsterdammer Raderkraft. He has
already released a few records and is quite well-known abroad. On this record, Stippenlift,
a one-man project from Amsterdam, has the most experience with Christmas music. Every
year, he writes a new Dutch-language track, usually sad or melancholic in tone. This very
danceable song sounds optimistic for his standards. Truus de Groot is a category of her
own. She has been making music since the early eighties, in bands like Nasmak or Plus
Instruments. She is still active and proves that you can still make urgent music after such a
long time. She is an example for many young musicians. Her song is a variant of the music
from the timeless Charlie Brown Christmas film.” — Oscar Smit.

Oscar Smit (DJ Oscar) has been a fan and collector of, especially the latest, Christmas music
since the 1980s. As a connoisseur, he is invited almost annually by the national Dutch radio.
As a journalist, he writes for the Christmas blog Christmas A Go Go and music magazine
OOR.
“Nowadays, there are many young acts active in the Dutch underground scene that I find
original and good. I enjoy their concerts, which usually take place in small clubs. Being a
huge fan of Christmas music, I got the idea to ask a couple of my favorite young artists to
record a contemporary Christmas song. They could do this with complete freedom. Dutch
electro-garage duo De Delegatie chose to cover a song by Daniel Lohues (singer of Skik) and
Herman Finkers from 2009. The choice of the Haarlem electro-wave band Dorpsstraat 3
goes even further back. In 1976, Dutch ‘volks’singer Andre Hazes had his very first hit with
this Christmas song. The Amsterdam punky female trio Earwurms recorded a contemporary
and adapted version of ‘Jingle Bells’. Schlager punk trio Yodel Queen also includes two
women. They provide an impression of a flexitarian at the Christmas dinner. Both girl bands
are appearing on vinyl for the first time. XA4 is Xavier Boot. He has already released an
album on Philip Glass’s label and treats us here to minimal Christmas music. In contrast,
there is the maximal danceable dark-electro from the Amsterdammer Raderkraft. He has
already released a few records and is quite well-known abroad. On this record, Stippenlift,
a one-man project from Amsterdam, has the most experience with Christmas music. Every
year, he writes a new Dutch-language track, usually sad or melancholic in tone. This very
danceable song sounds optimistic for his standards. Truus de Groot is a category of her
own. She has been making music since the early eighties, in bands like Nasmak or Plus
Instruments. She is still active and proves that you can still make urgent music after such a
long time. She is an example for many young musicians. Her song is a variant of the music
from the timeless Charlie Brown Christmas film.” — Oscar Smit.

Japanese ambient owes a great debt to Masahiro Sugaya, whose work has been re-assessed and taken on all the more importance in recent years. The now cult musician and composer released his The Long Living Things album in 1988 for the performing arts company he belonged to, Pappa Tarahumara. Though it was overlooked for many years, it is now in sharp focus and gets a deserving reissue on vinyl for the first time ever by P-Vine which he also belonged to, and has long been overlooked by all but a few enthusiastic music lovers. One track from it was Grammy-nominated and rich of the record is minimalistic, with soft interwoven sequences that keep you afloat amongst the warming pads.

Jonas Munk closes his ambient trilogy with mammoth drone pieces, multi-layered guitars and hymnal krautrock. "Mirror Phase" concludes a trilogy of minimal ambient albums in Munk's (Causa Sui) own name. These eight compositions, based on guitar and synthesizer loops, marks a return to the warmer sounds Munk is often associated with. Sonic structures that slowly and gradually evolves and changes, like cloud formations in the sky. The title track, "Mirror Phase", is Munk's most expansive drone opus so far. It's a carefully arranged piece where sounds that oscillates with the same interval, but at different phases, are continuously added, hence creating shifting patterns throughout the track's nearly 18 minute duration. Elsewhere, in "Transition", multi-layered guitars creates the sonic equivalent of waves gently splashing on the shore. "At a Distance" creates a haunting, and hypnotic, soundscape by using slightly out-of-tune analog synthesizers, summoning the transcendent krautrock of Popol Vuh. And "Rise", as well as the closing track, "Return to Nowhere", recalls the glistening sounds of his Manual releases. "Mirror Phase" might just be Munk's ambient oeuvre reaching its zenith. The CD edition comes with an extra CD with Jonas Munk's 2021 album, "Altered Light", which has previously only been released on digital download and streaming.

Wajeed's brilliant Dirt Tech Reck brings some Latin flair to this new 12" from Michele Manzo. 'NiNos Del Mar' is bright and sunny and hella lively from the off with opener 'Liquida' layering up warm, soulful chords and percussive drums with an exotic vocal loop. It's a great mix of organic and synthetic sounds and it radiates warmth and energy for any dance floor. 'Quasi' is a house shuffler with more minimal drums but still a sun-kissed sound thanks to the steamy vocals and tropical percussion which flutters over the relentless groove. Summer may be nearly over, but this one keeps the vibes well and truly alive.

Known for the monolithic force of their music and their inventive production techniques, The Body"s albums are benchmarks in the expansion and evolution of heavy music. Tightly packed with deceptively nuanced arrangements and exhilarating, challenging distortion, their compositions are possessed of an unmistakably singular sound. The Crying Out of Things is no exception; a culmination of all that The Body have done before, highlighting their mastery of dynamic and monumental music that pushes toward the unmistakable sound of oblivion The Body have produced a wealth of groundbreaking collaborations with the likes of Full of Hell, Thou, Uniform, BIG|BRAVE, OAA, and Dis Fig. The duo"s benchmark albums have, over the past 2 decades, changed the perceptions and directions of heavy music. The Crying Out of Things" embrace of noise is a comprehensive display of the multitude of expressions possible with abrasive sound, a skill that The Body have pioneered and refined. "I think for us the key to the way we use noise is, it"s not the only element," says Buford. "You"ve gotta really listen if you"re into noise. But it also has to have dynamics. Where, say, BIG|BRAVE (who have a similar ethos) expresses it in this more intellectual, minimalist way, The Body comes from an instinctual, maximalist way. We"re trying to cover it ALL." The Body stand alone in their ability to connect disparate influences and collaborators into a wholly original, potent and singular work. Alongside producer/engineer Seth Manchester, the duo"s voracious and omnivorous musical appetites have pushed the studio as an instrument into new avenues to conjure profound feelings from the music. The Crying Out of Things cements The Body"s place as a leader of heavy new music, their boundless creativity, their defining ability to convey anguish, created with a visceral clarity to devastating impact.

Known for the monolithic force of their music and their inventive production techniques, The Body"s albums are benchmarks in the expansion and evolution of heavy music. Tightly packed with deceptively nuanced arrangements and exhilarating, challenging distortion, their compositions are possessed of an unmistakably singular sound. The Crying Out of Things is no exception; a culmination of all that The Body have done before, highlighting their mastery of dynamic and monumental music that pushes toward the unmistakable sound of oblivion The Body have produced a wealth of groundbreaking collaborations with the likes of Full of Hell, Thou, Uniform, BIG|BRAVE, OAA, and Dis Fig. The duo"s benchmark albums have, over the past 2 decades, changed the perceptions and directions of heavy music. The Crying Out of Things" embrace of noise is a comprehensive display of the multitude of expressions possible with abrasive sound, a skill that The Body have pioneered and refined. "I think for us the key to the way we use noise is, it"s not the only element," says Buford. "You"ve gotta really listen if you"re into noise. But it also has to have dynamics. Where, say, BIG|BRAVE (who have a similar ethos) expresses it in this more intellectual, minimalist way, The Body comes from an instinctual, maximalist way. We"re trying to cover it ALL." The Body stand alone in their ability to connect disparate influences and collaborators into a wholly original, potent and singular work. Alongside producer/engineer Seth Manchester, the duo"s voracious and omnivorous musical appetites have pushed the studio as an instrument into new avenues to conjure profound feelings from the music. The Crying Out of Things cements The Body"s place as a leader of heavy new music, their boundless creativity, their defining ability to convey anguish, created with a visceral clarity to devastating impact.

"""Many Tribe fans consider the band’s next album, 1993’s Midnight Marauders, to be its magnum opus. But you don’t arrive at the perfect nocturnal LP without first releasing a focused work like The Low End Theory, which winnowed the colorful expanse of People’s Instinctive Travels into a seamless listen. The Low End sounds minimal in comparison and is a mostly drum’n’bass record of subtle bells and whistles. Tribe represented freedom, and some 30 years after The Low End Theory, it’s still a sonic marvel and one of the best hip-hop albums of all-time."" "

The Boysnoize Records catalogue contains more than a decade of milestones in the life of Angeleno DJ and producer PILO. His signatures—a focus on sound design, and a digital crunch evocative of hardware rather than software—are present from the very beginning, but the evolution of Pilo’s skill and sophistication is clear as he stretches from electro to experimental to techno and back again in a slowly oscillating gradient. Yet despite his dozen or so releases in just as many years, G.L.A.M. (dropping November 8th, 2024 from BNR) is Pilo’s first proper album. That the record embraces the cyclical nature of time is apropos; the artist’s journey towards self-actualized mastery always ends with a new beginning.



Over the eight tracks of G.L.A.M., Pilo reaches deep into the dream that first ignited the passion that has driven him since. For a chosen few internet-connected American teens in the aughts, the sounds of European electro (and electroclash) trickled down their ethernet cables and instilled a fantasy of exotic, sartorial, sexually-fluid hedonism that felt a world away from the hard-edged masculinity of the hip-hop and skate cultures dominant at home. Pilo opens G.L.A.M. expressing this idealized fantasy with the track “Superstar DJ,” channeling the tongue-in-cheek self-celebritizing of Miss Kitten and The Hacker’s seminal work. “I’m a superstar, come meet me at the bar,” hiss Pilo’s heavily effected vocals, over a bassline of chopped mentasm synths driven by a swift, club-ready rhythm. The fingerprint of 2000’s electro a la International Deejay Gigolo Records is recognizably present, yet Pilo is too adept, too confident in his studio abilities to let his tracks rely on the retro. A great joy of this album is the future-facing richness of its production, always nodding to its spiritual guide of the past, while constantly breaking new sonic ground.



G.L.A.M. continues with “Girls Rule The World,” its vicious, droning bassline and sticky, titular hook making it the perfect electroclash soundtrack for a revenge plot on an ex-boyfriend. “What you Want” offers an instrumental exercise in “synthesizers are the new guitars,” and Pilo’s FX chops really shine as he warps and distorts his sounds into an undiscovered dimension existing somewhere between both. “Loverboy” enters the more melodic, Legowelt-inspired realm of electro, pushing above and beyond the foundation of analogue minimalism with flourishes of impressive sound design to construct something both climactic and cathartic. Scopa lends her perfect coldwave sprechgesang to titular track “G.L.A.M.,” with Pilo’s vocal processing offering surprises throughout and his FX chains wielded as instruments unto themselves.



On the track “A Slow Thinning Halo,” Pilo might be conjuring the haunting vocal chops and chiptune simplicity of early Crystal Castles, but the whiplash snap of his drums and sizzling production are all his own. “Spend the Night” is G.L.A.M.’s least nostalgic—and most unashamedly pop—offering, with the mic being passed between Sana and DEEVIOUS (previously featured on Pilo and Boys Noize’s 2023 track “Pvssy.”) DEEVIOUS’ sultry singing rides atop the bassline as it hypnotically struts across the floor, while Pilo’s skillful arrangement, deft rhythm programming, and atmospheric control elevate the songcraft into full-spectrum worldbuilding.



As the penultimate track, the contemporaneity of “Spend the Night” serves as transition away from the album’s previous, past-leaning exercises, allowing Pilo to step fully into the future with “One Last Embrace.” The closing track still references aughts sounds, but it borrows so widely and prolifically that Pilo’s reassemblage can only be described as singular. Here, Pilo pushes his engineering into psychoacoustic territory, as the eerie, beautiful melancholy of “One Last Embrace” explodes into a thrashing bassline that warbles like a drowning memory, struggling against the sinking weight of time. Pilo allows it to survive for 16 electrifying, gut-wrenching bars before letting go. In G.L.A.M., as in Pilo’s career, as in life, every ending can only be a new beginning.

This self-titled LP marks the fifth release of Scottish artist Murray Collier’s Dip Friso project, his longest running alias and the solitary vanguard of his own Real Landscape imprint. Across the six tracks he delivers another collection of warped percussive loops, heavily manipulated guitar work and psychedelic sound experiments that drift between popular music forms ('I’ll Get to Hiding') and whittled down takes on electric blues and shoegaze ('Another Country’). The former features the instantly recognisable croon of Still House Plants vocalist Jess HK embellishing a backdrop of tape loop alchemy, an inspired pairing given the shared history of Glasgow dwelling. ‘Thin Ayrshire’ (written with Hannan Jones) treads a similar path with Collier’s own beyond-unrecognisable voice featuring, broken suddenly by a brief flash of 12th Isle’s Loris S. Sarid & Innis Chonnel’s ‘Spalted Water Portal’ thanks to a recycled tape spool. ‘A Sorry Business’ takes on avant-jazz inspired puddle skronk, a stunted casio bleep propelling forward guitar dirge and cymbal crashes, whilst Australian minimal wave heroes The Systematics are paid homage via a farewell cover of their track ‘Midnight on Balancing Day’ (here ‘Midnight’).

All in, the album sees the project incorporating more instrumentation and a full use of vocalists, leaning less heavily on gauzy sample collage styles and providing a more introspective look at the hazy, dubwise world Collier has been building for the past half a decade.

Michael Mayer albums don’t come round too often, which is one of many reasons why his fourth collection, The Floor Is Lava, is a genuine event. It’s been eight years since his last one, the collaborative & released on !K7; its predecessors, Mantasy (2012) and Touch (2004), took their sweet time, too. It’s no real surprise, given the many hats Mayer wears – globetrotting DJ, revered remixer, inveterate collaborator, and boss of both Kompakt and Imara – that his solo productions are relatively sparing. But this also speaks to their quality: Mayer’s name on a record sleeve is a sign of quality, of music that’s both looking to the future and calling back to the past, that balances the imperatives of the dancefloor and the loungeroom, that’s as exploratory as it is functional.

On The Floor Is Lava, Mayer seems to be taking the temperature of both the music that surrounds him (past and present), and the ides of the industry he works within. There’s that iconic album title, for a start. “The album’s mindset,” he says, reflecting on those four words together. For Mayer, it’s partly a critique of the way the industry boxes in both producer and listener, focuses them on genre, on market, on the next new thing: “Being a free minded spirit that transcends genres has become an uphill battle.” A battle worth fighting, though, and with The Floor Is Lava, the result is an album that’s varied, quixotic, idiosyncratic, charming, and deeply, addictively listenable.

Throughout, Mayer finds thrills in exploration and juxtaposition, allowing unexpected things to blossom and giving them their life, their platform, throwing the listener exciting curveballs: “It’s a DJ album by a DJ that’s easily bored.” Either easily bored, or endlessly curious, The Floor Is Lava is rich with ideas. It opens with “The Problem”, which looks back to look forward, embracing the rickety way early house productions threw samples together with gleeful abandon. Mayer mentions Pal Joey, and the scene around Rockers Hi-Fi and their Different Drummer imprint, as reference points, and you can hear that freewheeling spirit throughout.

It’s followed by “Vagus”, a slinky, sensual minimal house number that Mayer describes as his “musical catnip”. The flow of these two opening cuts defines the dynamic of The Floor Is Lava, defining the dialectical drive at its core: thesis and antithesis leads to synthesis, but with a welcome prickliness that means you’re always excited, always engaged. It’s also productive in the way it derives energy from rubbing genres and sounds against each other, in unexpected ways, for maximum musical frisson. There’s psychedelic techno on “Feuerstuhl”, more minimal techno with “Ardor” (Mayer mentions ‘Immer 1’ era 90s minimal as inspiration), slippery, Shepard-tone breakbeat through “Sycophant”, a lovely, lush vocal turn on the poppy “The Solution”.

The album closes with the melancholy “Süßer Schlaf”, where Mayer sets a poem by Goethe to one of his most haunted, moving pieces of music yet, in abstract tribute to a lost friend. It’s one of the most affecting moments on The Floor Is Lava. There’s also an update on 2020’s wild Brainwave Technology EP, with the surrealist glitter-stomp of “Brainwave 2.0” (check out those handclaps!),where Mayer’s thinking about the socio-political precipice of the now: “I’m reading with great interest about this whole complex of how humanity is about to cross so many lines and the implications that the resulting financial and educational inequality will bring.”

That’s The Floor Is Lava: then and now, brainwaves and nerve structures, problems and solutions, genres on fire; the real, the unreal, and the surreal. An album for the easily bored and the endlessly curious. Mayer has the last word, telling us all you need to know about the album’s spirit: “Burning for the cause, being zealous, being addicted to the heat of the night, the exuberant powers of music.”

Michael Mayer veröffentlicht nicht oft Alben, was einer von vielen Gründen ist, warum ‘The Floor Is Lava’ ein echtes Ereignis ist. Es sind acht Jahre vergangen seit seinem letzten Werk, dem Kollaborationsalbum &, das auf !K7 erschien; seine Vorgänger, Mantasy (2012) und Touch (2004), ließen ebenfalls auf sich warten. Es überrascht nicht wirklich, da Mayer viele Rollen gleichzeitig erfüllt – weltreisender DJ, vielbeschäftigter Remixer, unermüdlicher Kollaborateur und Chef von sowohl Kompakt als auch Imara – weshalb seine Solo-Produktionen eher sparsam ausfallen. Doch das spricht auch für deren Qualität: Ein Album mit Mayers Namen auf dem Cover steht für Qualität, für Musik, die sowohl in die Zukunft blickt als auch auf die Vergangenheit verweist, die das Gleichgewicht zwischen den Anforderungen des Dancefloors und des Wohnzimmers hält, die genauso erforschend wie funktional ist.

Auf The Floor Is Lava scheint Mayer sowohl die Musik um ihn herum (vergangen und gegenwärtig) als auch die Strömungen der Branche, in der er arbeitet, zu reflektieren. Da wäre zunächst der ikonische Albumtitel. „Die Grundhaltung des Albums“, sagt er, drückt sich in diesen vier Worte aus. Für Mayer ist es teilweise eine Kritik daran, wie die Industrie sowohl Produzenten als auch Hörer in Schubladen steckt, sie auf Genres, auf den Markt und auf das nächste große Ding fokussiert: „Ein freier Geist zu sein, der Genres überschreitet, ist zu einem steinigen Weg geworden.“ Ein Kampf, der sich jedoch lohnt, und mit The Floor Is Lava ist das Ergebnis ein Album, das vielfältig, eigenwillig, charmant und tiefsinnig, aber auch süchtig machend ist.

Im gesamten Album findet Mayer Freude an der Erforschung und Gegenüberstellung von Stilen, lässt unerwartete Dinge erblühen und gibt ihnen Raum, überrascht den Hörer mit spannenden Wendungen: „Es ist ein DJ-Album von einem DJ, der sich schnell langweilt.“ Entweder langweilt er sich schnell oder er ist unendlich neugierig – The Floor Is Lava ist reich an Ideen. Es beginnt mit „The Problem“, das in die Vergangenheit blickt, um nach vorne zu schauen, und die wilde Art, wie frühe House-Produktionen Samples mit fröhlicher Unbekümmertheit zusammenwarfen, aufgreift. Mayer nennt Pal Joey und die Szene um Rockers Hi-Fi und ihr Label Different Drummer als Referenzpunkte, und dieser freie Geist zieht sich durch das gesamte Album.

Es folgt „Vagus“, eine sinnliche Minimal-House-Nummer, die Mayer als seine „musikalische Katzenminze“ beschreibt. Der Fluss dieser beiden Eröffnungstracks definiert die Dynamik von The Floor Is Lava und den dialektischen Antrieb im Kern: These und Antithese führen zu einer Synthese, jedoch mit einer willkommenen Schärfe, die dafür sorgt, dass man immer aufgeregt und engagiert bleibt. Zudem gewinnt das Album Energie, indem es Genres und Klänge auf unerwartete Weise aneinanderreibt, um maximalen musikalischen Nervenkitzel zu erzeugen. Es gibt psychedelischen Techno in „Feuerstuhl“, mehr Minimal Techno mit „Ardor“ (Mayer erwähnt ‘Immer’ Ära Minimal als Bezugspunkt), gleitenden Shepard-Ton-Breakbeat in „Sycophant“ und einen lieblichen, üppigen Vocal-Auftritt im poppigen „The Solution“.

Das Album schließt mit dem melancholischen „Süßer Schlaf“, in dem Mayer ein Gedicht von Goethe vertont und eine seiner bisher eindringlichsten und bewegendsten musikalischen Kompositionen schafft, als abstrakten Tribut an eine verschiedene Freundin. Es ist einer der ergreifendsten Momente auf The Floor Is Lava. Ebenfalls gibt es ein Update der wilden Brainwave Technology-EP von 2020, mit dem surrealistischen Glitzer-Stampfer „Brainwave 2.0“ (hör dir diese Handclaps an!), in dem Mayer über den sozio-politischen Abgrund der Gegenwart nachdenkt: „Ich lese mit großem Interesse über diesen ganzen Komplex, wie die Menschheit dabei ist, so viele Grenzen zu überschreiten und welche Auswirkungen die daraus resultierende finanzielle und bildungstechnische Ungleichheit haben wird.“

Das ist The Floor Is Lava: Damals und heute, Gehirnwellen und Nervengeflechte, Probleme und Lösungen, brennende Genres; das Reale, das Unreale und das Surreale. Ein Album für die schnell Gelangweilten und die unendlich Neugierigen. Mayer hat das letzte Wort und sagt uns alles, was wir über den Geist des Albums wissen müssen: „Brennen für die Sache, leidenschaftlich sein, süchtig nach der Hitze der Nacht, den überschwänglichen Kräften der Musik.“

Kenner von Richard Swift wissen, dass sein Katalog umfangreich und phantasievoll ist, vollgepackt mit ebenso vielen ausgefeilten, eiskalten Klassikern wie verrückten Ein-Take-Experimenten. Diese Kleinode kommen in allen Formen und Größen, und während das den Eingefleischten nichts ausmacht, ist der Einstieg in die Musik von Swift für den Neuling schwierig: Wo soll man anfangen? Was kommt in die engere Wahl? Wie viele Crooner? Wie viele wilde Lieder? Vor diesem Hintergrund präsentiert Secretly Canadian "4 Hits & A Miss - The Essential Richard Swift", einen bescheidenen Versuch, die siebenundvierzig Minuten und vierzehn Songs zusammenzutragen, die die Uneingeweihten einführen können. Wenn Sie Richard Swift nicht kennen, lassen Sie sich von dem unvergleichlichen Kevin Morby aufklären: "Es gibt einen alten Pfadfindermythos, von dem ich als Kind gehört habe, dass man eine Kapelle bauen kann, wenn man die richtige Person mitten in den Wald setzt, bewaffnet nur mit einem Schweizer Taschenmesser. Wenn ich an diesen Mythos zurückdenke, denke ich an Richard Swift, der, wenn man ihn mitten im Wald mit einem 10-Dollar-Radio-Shack-Mikrofon absetzte, irgendwie ein Studio bauen konnte und in diesem Studio eine Kapelle des Klangs errichtete. Tatsächlich hat er genau das in seinem eigenen National Freedom Studio mitten in den Wäldern von Oregon getan, in einer Stadt namens Cottage Grove, wo er unzählige Stunden seiner eigenen Musik und der anderer Leute aufgenommen hat. Diese Kapellen des Klangs werden - und ich habe es bereits erlebt - kommende Generationen in Ehrfurcht versetzen und inspirieren, so wie es die Steinkapellen im frühen Europa tun. Beide lassen die Menschen verblüfft zurück und fragen sich: Wie konnte etwas so Massives und Schönes mit so minimalen und archaischen Mitteln gebaut werden - und in Richards Fall so schnell? Nach ihrem Tod scheinen die meisten Künstler endgültig zu ruhen, ihre Kataloge ruhen für immer neben ihnen. Aber Richard scheint aus dem Jenseits rastlos zu sein, und die Arbeit, die er hier unten auf der Erde begonnen hat, geht weiter. Sein letztes Album, The Hex, wurde nur wenige Monate nach seinem frühen Tod im Jahr 2018 veröffentlicht, und jetzt haben wir mit 4 Hits and A Miss eine Sammlung seiner beliebtesten Songs sowie einen neuen, noch nie zuvor gehörten Track "Common Law", aufgenommen um 2012. Ob Gelegenheitsfan oder Swift-Purist, 4 Hits & A Miss ist entweder ein perfekter Startpunkt oder ein Ziel für uns eingefleischte Fans, um wieder einmal etwas Neues zu finden, das uns beeindruckt und inspiriert. Wie ein versteckter Raum in seiner bereits beeindruckenden Kapelle gibt es immer etwas Neues von unserem geliebten Freund und Helden, dem verstorbenen großen Richard Swift, zu entdecken." Viel Spaß!

2024 Reissue

The syndicate manifests its sonic potential in full glory. Giving rise to this collection of colossal heavyweights, Sentry demonstrates its spotless record of selecting certified heavyweights for the discography once again, twenty-fold. Stepping into the ring are some of the scene's most prolific artists alongside a plethora of promising, choice newcomers.

Boasting more than an hour of supercharged sound system pressure with names like Caspa, Truth, Bukez Finezt, Nomine and Youngsta himself on the controls - the subsequent inferno proves to be an authoritative display of quality bass music, that is sure to reach roaring stacks of speakers all around the globe for years to come."

"Vintage flavours transmute into fiery low-end excursions in 'Sun Ra' as Onhell reigns with fire and brimstone and makes way for what's to come. Rolling on, Taso lays waste with dimly lit half-time flows as we enter the smoke-filled mansion of Argo's meticulously crafted 'Since Then' - a prime cut of hip-hop infused breakbeats and bass.

Abstrakt Sonance & Substance set the heater into overdrive and blunts aflame as we proceed into the shelling of 207's 'Gypsy Dub' - then promptly being crunched to bits by 'Crocodile' - encapsulating Dayzero's cold-blooded dance floor armaments. Brace yourself for battle as we step to the drums of Caspa's tribal warfare, full-frontal assault engineered for the club.

Unrestrained power surges propelling us onwards in Coltcut & Ourman's decidedly high-grade collaboration as listeners march through Khiva's haunting sound system belter 'Teeth' and a zealous dosage of Dubstep as envisioned by Truth. Led through eerie alleys and pressure-ridden environments with LSN on the buttons, the onslaught proceeds with the relentlessly driving 'R U Broke' in Mr. K's signature style.

Opus merciless injects straight fury in an auditory form in the spiked 'Lime Pickle' - Bukez Finezt keeping pace with a murderous Cembalo-ridden thug anthem, lunacy! Minimal instrumentation to its fullest effect, Sukh Knight's 'Modulate' keeps it spicy - as does the claustrophobic sub-bass chiming by Leftlow. Thanom ignites what's left of the residual air in 'Tumble It' - dangerous goods.

The subsequent time bomb armed by A:Grade & Feonix, cast into the abyss that is Nomine's space-bending 'Judas' - big speaker business. The clock strikes its final hour - Youngsta & Cimm finish off the survivors with a no-holds-barred showdown, the 'Last Judgement' executing its massive verdict.

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