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From a shared love of electronica, aquatic techno funk and tribal rhythms comes this collaboration.

Raw electronics and warm analogue sounds flow and almost breath with life as synths spray atmosphere over washed out stabs which swing from one note to the next.

Layered effects sit alongside glitches and heavily distorted breaks perfectly suited for the rumbling subwoofers of soundsytems.

Written by Mat Carter & Keith Tenniswood at The Cube

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

=

Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

Released on 180m gram RED vinyl. As Beatlemania approached its peak, Jamaican music was undergoing a transition that started with ska, and then morphed into rocksteady, before assuming its ultimate form as reggae. Inevitably these cultures collided, with artists such as the Paragons and Marcia Griffiths establishing a tradition of creating dynamic reggae covers of the Beatles hits that continues to this day. This album extends this lineage, as some of the best reggae Reggae artists set out on a series of version excursions that include some of the Fab Four’s best loved bitter-sweet cuts.

Clear Vinyl

"The making of this album first started as a recollection of music and sound design I've produced over the last couple of years for events and installations - interactive and immersive AV experiences. It was like creating a specific atmosphere for visitors where I'd take them into this sensorial but artificial experience within a very confined spatial domain. This is how the "Climats" concept emerged.

Longer ambient and generative pieces thus found their own space in my repertoire, allowing me to explore more in-depth, non-linear execution with soft, moody and padded textures. Eventually, all this freeform material became available so I could extract parts of it to build more club-centered and straightforward tracks, but nonetheless, the list grew and all this softer-edged, more introspective works were aggregating over time.

At the time of the lockdown, it felt very natural to get back to it and finalize it as a cohesive whole. It was a very healing and a smooth process to work on these. From isolation, I could open this window to thoughts where I made up my very own Science Fiction story while working on the music. I really wanted it to be a one-hour soundtrack experience that I'd listen at home or driving while my mind would travel across all those musical scapes. It was never a formalized script, but the music spoke for itself with themes of anticipation, collapse, utopia, the world as we know it, the near and far future...

Creating the album was quite a sporadic production process that stretched over several years but it all came together and made a lot of sense in the context of the title I chose : TERRAFORM. The narrative of the album simply unfolds from Dawn to Dusk, and the listener navigates through the different climates that each track embodies."

- TENEBRE

First Marianne Faithfull compilation since 2001’s ‘An Introduction to…’ and the first to contain rare and unreleased material since the Island Anthology ‘A Perfect Stranger’ in 1998. Containing 4 previously unreleased recordings including 1 completely unheard song. In addition to the unreleased material, 22 of the 29 tracks on the LP are making their first appearance on vinyl or first appearance since their original release, and on the 2xCD set, 9 recordings are making their cd/digital debut.



This compilation offers a definitive overview of the first 30 years of Marianne’s recording career on the Decca and Island labels, and features versions of all of her notable singles including the original issue of her final Decca 7” ‘Something Better’ / ‘Sister Morphine’ featuring alternate takes unavailable since 1969: It acts both as a primer to the uninitiated and a rarities collection for those already converted. The title Songs of Innocence and Experience acknowledges the change in vocal style between Marianne’s orchestral folk-pop of her 60’s career with her high pure voice and her new wave punk influenced comeback at the end of the 70’s with Broken English featuring her trademark fractured vocals.



The front cover features a hand drawn pencil image by Lithuanian artist Aiste Stancikaite, commissioned exclusively this for the project, and the packaging contains many rare and unseen images.

Vessels promise an escape from responsibilities towards the landscape, they facilitate our avoidance of conscientiously feeling our attachment to the mainland. The visual nothingness of deep water and clean horizons fools the brain and delivers a treacherous feeling of independence.

We ignore the truths expressed by landscapes, so we mould them into urban projects for our strange desires. We clean up the irrationalities by which nature constructs itself. Then we look up to the skies, where the abstractions we have to draw in our minds should reside and inspire us.

We peer into the various shades of blue above the waters, the emptiness guarantees possibilities of our abstractions becoming realities. The apathetic stare into neat, straight horizons transforms our ancestral landscape into dirt and danger, when looking back to it.

To be on a ship under quarantine, is an upside down experience, for the promised escape has turned into a forced paralysis. The Lima flag (? - ? ?, in morse code), presented on the outer sleeve of this record, indirectly demands of all passengers to stay aboard and contemplate their escape from the land they now desire to return to.

These four piano pieces could be considered as a classical sonata (allegroadagio-scherzo-rondo). In a recital they are accompanied by four video pieces by artist Karl Van Welden. We picked the videos out of his extensive archive, choosing images intuitively while listening to the piano music. The theme of ships relating to quarantine thus came unannounced but of course, we were in the middle of the pandemic at the time.

Solastalgia was already waiting as a title for the new album before march 2020. I first came across the word in Underland, a book by Robert Macfarlane (2019). He defines the word as "The unhappiness of people whose landscapes are being transformed about them by forces beyond their control". These forces and this unhappiness are, I believe, what constitutes the modern human. Solastalgia, about the music We haven't found them yet, the words to talk to each other about the worrying signs of climate change. Feeling worried when walking on autumn leaves in the beginning of August should be completely normal. But how do we communicate about it? We don't want to be just the next hysterical doomer.

With this music I try to focus on the climate pain itself, gently inviting the listener to investigate their latent feelings of unease and growing concerns about the environment. As in real life, we circumvent the real issues because they are just too big, there are no words, no expressions yet.

This album tries, in four different attempts, to carve out a path towards communicating about a deeper pain that eventually will connect us all. My general method is to start with a comforting melody, full of fake nostalgia, which, after changing gear to autodestruct mode, morphs into a painful question mark.

The first part sets off with an idyllic melody, accompanied by repeated notes, as a far, muted echo of an alarm. The melody starts to explain itself painfully into a dissonant whirlwind in the high register, sounding not unlike Ravel's Gaspard de la Nuit bravura. In the second piece a warm Beatles like melody (And I love her) gets confronted with the weird hippie mantra of a later Lennon song War is over, if you want it. Sentences get reduced to syllables and result in lonely notes that crash and shiver under the burden of too much meaning. Like Shostakovich's latest work, the Sonata for viola and piano.

The descending melody of Bach's Erbarme dich, Mein Gott is echoed in the upper and lower voicings of the third piece, juxtaposed to a typical, threatening Ennio Morricone Western dotted rhythm accompaniment. This rhythm eventually evolves into citing the 1972 Captain Beefheart early ecological warning song Blabber and Smoke (there's a big pane/pain in your window, it's gonna hang you all,... dangle you all). Towards the middle of the piece, the music explodes and the three layers get dispersed all over the keyboard in a virtuosic maelstrom towards another painful question mark. The bitter answer is going back to business with a barely noticeable citation of the first notes of the RZA's Liquid Swords album.

The final piece is some kind of mantra, the same 7/4 pulse all throughout the piece. The dampers of all A's and B's on the keyboard are released by the middle pedal, thus sustaining an ever present resonance. Melodic cells alternate in shifting quantifications with small, bell like percussive cluster playing. While composing this piece an image crept up: walking out of the church on Sunday morning, tolling bells enthusiastically moderating the churchgoers' small talk in the local dialect. Apparently I have tried to evoke this kind of conversation, but injecting it with fictitious alarming conversation topics, the contemporary.

Frederik Croene (August '22)

This album presents two multichannel works recorded at the seminal INA GRM Studio in Paris and ZKM Institute in Karlsruhe respectively, mixed to stereo at the composer's Cellule 75 Studio in Hamburg with excellent mastering by Rashad Becker. While his releases under the Black To Comm moniker often touched the fringes of acousmatic techniques and Musique Concrete this is Richter's first foray into a more abstract spatial music.

Recorded in the week leading up to the Paris terror attacks at the GRM studio, "Diode, Triode" (21:57) is loosely based on a reading of (and, in parts, a failure to understand) "Le Parasite" (1980) by Michel Serres, a philosophic metaphor about human interaction and communication (which can also be interpreted as a lyrical essay on capitalism; part confusion, part enlightenment).

As core elements Richter is using speech synthesis and the transformation and distortion of concrete sounds, instruments, voices and breathing. Abstract incognisable sounds are combined with strings, reeds and percussion while dismembered musical fragments emerge and vanish rapidly. Chunks of interfering noise are followed by long periods of silence; chaos and order are alternating. Choirs of synthetic and processed human voices are recounting stock market values, seemingly random sequences of numbers and inscrutable lyrics while parasitic sounds are trying to crack, collapse and fractionise the compositional stream and sonic interactions. Finally, a haunting piano chord is wrestling with a broken Publison machine. Like the book, it's part confusing, part enlightening - and a radical piece of sonic art.

"We are buried within ourselves; we send out signals, gestures, and sounds indefinitely and uselessly. No one listens to anyone else. Everyone speaks; no one hears; direct or reciprocal communication is blocked." (Le Parasite)

"Diode, Triode" was premiered on the Acousmonium at INA GRM's Akousma Festival in Paris, January 22, 2016 alongside new works by François Bayle, Robert Hampson, Leo Kupper and Ragnar Grippe.

The second piece "Spiral Organ of Corti" (17:00) has been composed in 2014 for the 47-speaker Klangdom concert hall at ZKM Karlsruhe at the foot of the Black Forest (where Richter was born and raised).

How does one listen with closed ears? Sine tones, alienated human voices and breathing noises build a labyrinthine puzzle alternating between the natural and the artificial. Human sounds merge with winds and strings, sine tones morph into metal sounds. Acoustic illusions confuse the listener, and dense noise-clouds slowly emerge from deceptive silence. Deep base sounds define space. Temporary focus glides into chaos. "Spiral Organ of Corti" is yet another extended composition that proves Richter is on a path of his very own.

"Spiral Organ of Corti" is dedicated to the late Gary Todd.

"Tongues that came from wind and noise. To speak in tongues after the fire." (Le Parasite)

Marc Richter records as Black To Comm for Thrill Jockey, Type and Dekorder and under the Mouchoir Ètanche and Jemh Circs monikers for his own Cellule 75 imprint. He collaborated with visual artists such as Ho Tzu Nyen, Jan van Hasselt and Mike Kelley. Under his own name he is composing for film and installations.

As pockets of new jazz scenes emerge around the world, it's apparent that New Zealand's bubbling microcosm in Wellington interprets the genre through a unique lens. Clear Path Ensemble bottles the energy of that burgeoning movement and distils it into moody morsels of differing styles. From electric jazz to ambient, experimental, house and funk - it's a DIY, jam-session attitude towards composition, as the band members freely cherry-pick from a vast orchard of influences. Citing inspiration from 70s ECM catalogue, the ensemble channels the "expansive and astral" elements of electric jazz, with an introspective dynamic. At times it's fused with catchy synth hooks, smooth basslines and shuffling beats, while other tracks morph into moody electronic soundscapes, and even Sun Ra-esque free jazz. Led by percussionist Cory Champion, the band released their debut self-titled album in 2020, followed by a headline performance at the 2021 Wellington Jazz Festival. Champion has played drums alongside some of New Zealand's most revered contemporary musicians (Lord Echo, Lucien Johnson and Mara TK to name a few), and also produces leftfield deep house and techno under the name Borrowed cs, which partly informs the ensemble's electronic production.

Very limited vinyl pressing, 500 copies in a full colour single outer sleeve and full colour printed lyric inner sleeve, housing a 2-colour blue and yellow cosmic swirl vinyl. Full download included as well. Blacklab are back. The self-proclaimed ‘Doom witch duo from Osaka’ are set to drop their 3rd album ‘In A Bizarre Dream’ this summer. Their debut ‘Under the Strawberry Moon 2.0’ saw them taking Sabbath inspired doom, mashing it with a Japanese sensibility and a fuzzed-up groove. It certainly caused a stir, but only hinted at their potential. Album two ‘Abyss’ added to the mix. A Stooges like squalor to the riffs, dollops of lo-fi hardcore punk and loose riffing, pointing the way towards a signature sound. So what of the ‘difficult’ third album? Not so difficult at all it seems. ‘In A Bizarre Dream’ ups the ante considerably, to let rip and define what Blacklab are about. The combined talents of Jun Morino on production and Wayne Adams (Big Lad, Green Lung, Pet Brick, John, Cold In Berlin) on the mix have conspired to produce a towering beast of a record. A real step forward for the ‘Doom Witch Duo’. The drums have a humungous ‘Fugazi’ like welly, and the guitars are a boiling maelstrom of fuzz dense riffola and warped psychedelics, with added synth. Yuko’s throat shredding snarls are as mean as a pissed off Satan, and melodious, often within the same song. This is doom meets hardcore punk, hooky melodies, and killer riffs, all cranked up to the max. Japan has always had a special take on ‘noise’ and ‘heavy’ and with ‘In A Bizarre Dream’ Blacklab add their own spin to that tradition. Gone is the lo-fi approach, here is Blacklab in full effect. ‘Cold Rain’ and ‘Abyss Woods’ (debuted at their storming set at London’s Desert Fest and appearing here in its full version) are two nuggets of epic fuzz heavy doom with added screamo and a neat and canny grasp of melody at its core. Very much a Blacklab trademark. ‘Dark Clouds’ is D-beat fuelled hardcore, fierce and ferocious, with Chia’s rolling thunder drumming underpinning the distorted guitar. It’s pretty exhilarating stuff that shifts the mood perfectly. ‘Evil I’ is just that, a riff as evil as it gets, morphing into a chugging punk wig out. Then followed by ‘Evil II’ a breather, almost mellow, melancholy, with layers of dark overdrive threatening to explode beneath a sweet yet menacing vocal. Then, the mid-point of the album drops a real surprise. Yuko has said before that the band’s name is a combination of her two favourite bands, Black Sabbath and Stereolab. Odd bedfellows to be sure, but if you want to know what that combination might sound like ... here it is. ‘Crows, Sparrows and Cats’ actually features Laetitia Sadier of Stereolab, no less, providing the lead vocal, adding a layer of cool over Blacklab’s Hawkwind meets krautrock sludge. It’s a stoner groove with pop at its heart ...Sludge Pop even, a surprising gem amongst the maelstrom of sound around it. The skewed, sludgecore of ‘Lost’ with its push-pull riffs and rolling thunder drumming, signals that it’s back to business as usual. And after the brief atmospheric instrumental interlude that gives the album its title, comes ‘Monochrome Rainbow’ a huge beast of a track so simple, yet so seductive, from its filtered bass intro to its massive ebb and flow groove and stomping ending. The vocals are all mystery and melody, and the music is kind of a Groundhogs meets Goatsnake ten-ton fuzz-fest, with a singalong, wave your arms in the air chorus. The new Japanese Doom-blues, and what could be the album’s defining moment. ‘In A Bizarre Dream’ closes with ‘Collapse’ verging on noise rock, complete with throat shredding vocals and a crushing wall of guitars, that switch from a stoner groove to full on punk assault, teetering on mayhem before finally ending with the sound of Yuko switching off her fuzz pedal. Perfect. Blacklab have negotiated that ‘difficult’ third album with aplomb and have created a sound that, despite their many influences, is all their own.

Sympathetic Magic is an ecstatic, delirious, and deeply touching piece of music; a towering new work in Kim Myhr’s increasingly substantial output as an artist and composer. Sympathetic Magic is the follow-up to Kim Myhr’s 2017 album You | me, which was widely praised and received an honorary mention at the 2018 Nordic Music Prize. While the immersive warmth of You | me is still present, Sympathetic Magic is more expansive than its predecessor. A band of eight musicians playing a wide variety of instruments including electric 12-string guitars, drum machines, vocals, synthesizers, organs and lots of drums and percussion, has created a work of a grander scale. The shimmering, oceanic waves of You | me has been traded for cosmic currents in Sympathetic Magic. Put simply, Sympathetic Magic is a collection of song-like structures that has expanded into symphonic proportions. “With You | me, I wanted to create an ocean of sound, where the listener is surrounded by a myriad of elements that has equal importance in the music. I wanted to challenge this a bit, to push certain elements forward. The result is a more song-like kind of music than what I’ve done before.” – Kim Myhr Just before starting working on Sympathetic Magic, Kim bought an old 70s Yamaha organ (the YC45d), after falling in love with the sound of it on different recordings. At first, he thought the organ would be a subtle element on the new record, but it ended up becoming a focal point: “It’s a brilliant in-your-face sound that brought an ecstatic quality to the music. Playing around with this instrument, along with an 80s Roland Juno synth and a new drum machine took the music in new directions.” – Kim Myhr. Thematically, Sympathetic Magic circles around a longing for collectivity and togetherness. While the world was locked down in 2021, thanks to a commission from Oslo Jazz Festival, Kim had the opportunity to delve deeply into this project, working with the members of the band, one at a time: “The music created a situation of unexpected positivity. It felt like a social project even if I spent most of the time on it alone. And all this positive, joyful energy felt quite magical, arriving like out of thin air in this otherwise grim situation. It all felt like a hallucination, which fed back into the music. Sympathetic Magic is like a dream within a dream.” – Kim Myhr The title of the record is a term coined by James Frazer in The Golden Bough. He writes: “things which have once been in contact with each other continue to act on each other at a distance after the physical contact has been severed”. “In a closed down world where all our connections with the outside suddenly are remote or absent, the line between the real and imaginary is blurred. I felt that the term perfectly summed up the thoughts, processes and sentiments that went into the making of this record”, says Myhr. “Kim Myhr is a master of slow-morphing rhythms and sun-dappled textures that seem to glow from the inside”. The Guardian 1/And I Thought These Are My People 2/Gifting Senselessly In Endless Lavishness 3/Move The Rolling Sky 4/Iridescent 5/Up To The Sun Shall Go Your Heartache 6/I Wonder If I Shall Fall Right Through The Earth 7/Heart Streams

Following his triumphant performances at the 2022 Coachella Music and Arts Festival, Danny Elfman delivers Bigger.Messier., an ambitious double -album collection of remixed and reimagined tracks from his highly acclaimed Big Mess album. This sprawling, 23 track collection (available on 2 LP or 2 CD) features tracks reworked by some of the most groundbreaking and subversive artists around today. Bigger.Messier. views the Grammy and Emmy Award-winning composers songs through the lens of luminaries from diverse sides of the music business, including Trent Reznor, Iggy Pop, Squarepusher and Ghostemane. Elfman once again has achieved a kind of artistic liberation on the record that had been eluding him for decades, and connecting him to brand new audience. Born and raised in southern California, Elfman began his career as part of a surrealist, avant-garde musical theater troupe known as The Mystic Knights of Oingo Boingo. The group would eventually morph into the critically acclaimed rock band Oingo Boingo, whose high-energy performances and genre-bending sound garnered them a fanatically devoted cult following in the 1980s and '90s. Among the group's early fans was fledgling director Tim Burton and Paul Reubens (aka Pee-wee Herman), who enlisted Elfman to score their first feature film, Pee-wee's Big Adventure. The collaboration would prove to be the start of a long and fruitful partnership for Elfman and Burton, with Elfman going on to score a string of iconic Burton features like Batman, Beetlejuice, Big Fish, Edward Scissorhands, and The Nightmare Before Christmas. To date, Elfman has scored more than 100 films

City life isn’t always easy or pleasant, but whether you call it home or you're just out for a visit, there’s an undeniable energy that envelopes you. Danger becomes excitement, speed becomes the regular pace, and exhaustion morphs into an urge to rally, to not miss a beat of what these myriad concrete jungles have to offer. And after a while, you learn to settle into it. You relax, you walk with a little more ease, and, eventually, you become yourself at your most slick. Hiatt dB’s
City Slick celebrates that carnality of the city, while simultaneously asking the one question burning in every city dweller’s mind - why am I even here?? Rat races, dumpster res, endless injustice, outrageous prices, conquered green spaces... an innite array of inhumanity hurled in your face on a daily basis; Is it really worth it? But we all know why
we're here, and it’s not something you can verbalize. It’s the feeling you get when the hellscape precipitates that which life is all about: real, serendipitous, life-arming experience.

Still, even on its best days, the City can be unkind. So if you need some tunes to help you push on, Hiatt’s cooked up the perfect soundtrack for your pavement-pounding steps

Mice Parade returns from a decade of silence to release lapapọ, an album that spans the many styles of their storied career,and features guest singer appearances by Angel Deradoorian (Dirty Projectors) and Arone Dyer (Buke & Gase). The rock is louder; the West-African-inspired highlife breaks are chubbier; the dueling drumkits are more complex, the instrumental passages more serene. What started as a home recording project in the late 90s soon morphed into a formidable and completely unique live band of incredible musicians from around the globe, all live-mixed and effected by legendary UK engineer Brandon Knights (aka Dub Warrior), the longtime sound engineer for Lee Scratch Perry, Soul II Soul, Gladiators and others. After 9 albums and nearly 15 years years of worldwide touring, including festivals across the UK, Iceland, mainland Europe, Turkey and Japan, and supporting Stereolab across the US, Mice Parade fans can finally hear some new music, and the live band hopes to safely reunite later this year. Throughout it all, Adam has mostly recorded with same ethos: allowing only one take for each track, forcing him to either leave in mistakes or address them with mutes or distractions, and embracing the Bob Ross concept of 'happy accidents.' This was a strict rule for the first several albums, and while he eventually became less strict about it, it's still a goal that is achieved more often than not. Perfection is not the goal - indeed, there should be no such thing in music. Most songs are not even written before pressing the record button, but instead are built piece by piece in improvised fashion. lapapọ is a Yoruba word meaning something akin to "totally" or "altogether."

• Alive ‘N’ Kickin (Origin Unknown Remix)
In 1994, Andy C & Ant Miles as Origin Unknown revisited the fourth release by Red One on the newly founded Liftin Spirit Records, the sister label to Ram Records. Haunting intro pad stab lines fade away to the monumental massive impact Amen break drop that tore up dance floors worldwide. Once again featuring Val Kilmer’s vocal sample from the movie ‘The Doors’, this remix took the original to a whole new level.

• Rugged and Raw (Splash Remix)
Another cherished remix from the early years of Liftin Spirit, this time by ‘Splash’, creator of the anthemic ‘Babylon’. Time-stretched vocals lead up to another renowned Amen drop in similar ‘Babylon’ style unique to Splash. Another dance floor destroyer further cementing Liftin Spirit into recognition and respect now in parity with its sister label, Ram Records.

• Losing U (Mix 3)
A previously unreleased version found amongst the Ram & Liftin Spirit DAT tape masters. The original had only been available on a white label promo on RAM and highly sought after ever since. A special version for collectors that encapsulates the sound of 1992 Hardcore.

• Live Together
In 1992, Ant Miles had started his first label ‘Etheric Records’ which later morphed into Liftin Spirit a year later. ‘Live Together’ was originally the flip-side to ‘Its U’ that was the only release on the Etheric Records prototype. Hardcore beats and stabs pound away under the vocal “why can’t we live together”.

Coming out on July, Jazz Codes is Moor Mother's second and latest album for Anti- and a com?panion to her celebrated 2021 release Black Encyclopedia of the Air. Jazz Codes uses free jazz as a starting point but the collection continues the recent turn in Moor Mother's multifaceted catalog toward more melody, more singing voices, more choruses, more complexity. In its warm, densely layered course through jazz, blues, soul, hip-hop, and other Black classical traditions, Jazz Codes sets the ear blissfully adrift and unhitches the mind from habit. Through her work, Ayewa illuminates the principles of her multidisciplinary collaborative practice Black Quantum Futur?ism, a theoretical framework for perceiving and adjusting reality through art, writing, music, and performance, informed by historical Black ontologies.The songwriter, composer, vocalist, poet, and educator Camae Ayewa spent years organizing and performing in Philadelphia's underground music community before moving to Los Angeles to teach composition at the University of Southern California's Thornton School of Music. She released her debut album as Moor Mother, Fetish Bones, in 2016, and has since put out an abundance of acclaimed music, both as a solo artist and in collaboration with other musicians who share her drive to dig up the untold. She has performed and recorded with the free jazz groups Irreversible Entanglements and the Art Ensemble of Chica?go, and made records with billy woods, Mental Jewelry, and YATTA.

A luminary of anthemic and melodic-driven techno, Enrico Sangiuliano’s path to the upper echelon of dance music has been a rapid, yet authentic one. Taking us on his newest exploration into the world of sound design and story-telling, the Emilia-native unveils the first chapter in a series of opuses under his time-limited NINETOZERO record label. The highly-anticipated countdown of releases begins today with number 9; the 4-track “Silence” EP - out now across all streaming platforms.

The extended-player opens with the reserved ‘inner mix’ of “Silence”; a cinematic masterpiece that challenges the format and flow of techno cuts and instead, radiates a measured and reflective spirit. Bright, twinkling synthwork ebbs and flows between its crisp percussion and distorted bassline, creating a push and pull effect that allows each element its moment in the spotlight. The second offering, “Future Dust”, is teased with the sound of a ticking clock that morphs effortlessly into a strong percussive line, commanded by the raw hollow sensibilities of its kick. The distinct ticking returns to welcome in the break, bringing with it a hypercharged melodic sequence and pitch-bending rave stabs. The components soon flurry together in preparation for the monumental drop, which is succeeded by an unrelenting peak-time worthy drive to the finish.

“New Expression Of Love” is the next to play; a quirky cut with plenty of intrigue and unpredictable twists and turns. Laced with offbeat synth hits that ooze a nostalgic timbre, the tune’s intro airs a subtle swing groove. As it reaches its all-important core, we’re cloaked in an intoxicating melody that serves as pure rapture for the ears, and will no doubt satiate the modern audience’s craving for euphoric sequences. Entering the break, Enrico flares his experimental capabilities, providing us with a moment of break-beat bliss that’s fuelled by acid goodness. A ‘vocal mix’ of “Silence” rounds out the EP with the distinct mantra, ‘we live in silence’, whilst its modular ‘beeps’ signal a countdown clock in reference to the project’s embedded concept of time.

Championing music on a deeper conceptual level, Enrico’s NINETOZERO output is a reflection of his tenacious appetite for evolution and refinement. Producing with a level of finesse well beyond his years, his artistic vibrancy has ensured quick elevation to the top, all the while maintaining a sound that is discernibly his own. Now standing as one of the circuit’s most cherished visionaries, and with an unrivalled back catalogue of Beatport No.1’s to his name, the contemporary sound designer’s first and forthcoming bodies of work under the NINETOZERO umbrella are further proof of his impending rise to dance music royalty.

**Hardcore, FWD dance music from two leading sound artists. Edition of 500, Mastered and cut by Matt Colton** Mark Fell and Gábor Lázár ratchet the game with their razor-sharp debut collaboration, 'The Neurobiology of Moral Decision Making'. As promised in the wake of Gábor's acclaimed vinyl debut, 'EP16', the duo have colluded on a full set of ten tracks, ranging from short synapse bursts thru to an uncannily emotive 12 minute masterpiece on the closing side. As the 10th release on The Death of Rave, it demonstrates the distance travelled since the early '90s paradigm shift of original rave culture, effecting a radical recalibration of meter and tone conventions in electronic/dance music, and by turns, acutely probing our perception of time and space. Essentially it's incredibly "funky", if "funk" is taken to mean syncopation or a play on tension-and-resolution. By utilising the grid-morphing potential of Max/MSP software, they unlock mutant ballistic patterns cleanly weaving between and recoding the tendons and ligament of techno, garage, footwork and hardcore with muscle memory-reprogramming impact. Kicks, claps and visceral chromatic stabs land at irregular, blind-spot junctures, acutely rewiring our sense of rhythmic anticipation and offering a thrilling new freedom of expression and dancefloor discipline in the process. It's a masterful step forward from Yorkshireman, Mark Fell's Sensate Focus output and SND classics, and, likewise, a logical leap from Budapest-based Max whizz, Gábor Lázár. If you're into Mumdance, Errorsmith, Lorenzo Senni, Autechre, Actress or SND; we'd say it's as essential as they come.

Ethno Service, a moniker for two electronic musicians based in Prague, are here with their debut long-player 'NMA'. Released via LBD Sounds tape series, it comprises six masterfully crafted original compositions and a couple of remixes, including an uneasy jungle rework by Exhausted Modern's new alias Oblaka and a spaced-out ambient escapism remix by voodoo priestess Lucie aka Avsluta. It's not an easy listening affair, broken and sometimes unnerving rhythms blended with duo's uniquely moody atmosphere, ever morphing and taking you places you didn't even know existed. Expect percussion-heavy tracks on a lower side of bpm spectrum. You may dive into this album horizontally, or try to find out if it's still danceable. Is it? Sure it is!

After 5 years of silence and profound changes in the label, the 8th release sees the light these days.
The uncanny producer Etrigramm gives us examples of his underrated talent on this 4 track vinyl.
5 slow dubby techno gems where he explores the darkness and his taste for 90 ́s projects like Download, Richard H. Kirk ́s Trafficante, Lassigue Benthaus and other experiments with an Industrial aftertaste.

If there were clubs in Mordor, this is what they would sound like.

200 copies pressed.