Cerca:nap

“Limbs of a Lion” arrives in a dazzling array of shimmering psychedelia, the newest offering on fleet.dreams’ own Vinezza records. Following “Echoes of Ego” his acclaimed inaugural 12”, “Limbs of a Lion” sees fleet.dreams’ artistry and form blossoming into realms of kaleidoscopic cadence & textural buoyancy. The production flows through a classically dubwise live analog mixing setup, new spheres of delays & echoes evolving fleet.dreams’ process to embody a unique & fully realized intersection of live instrumentation & dynamic synthesis.

Each track takes on its own entrancing sway, opening the listener towards beguiling spaciousness, experiences in rhythm, and a healthy dose of surrealist dreaming. “Masked in Porcelain” gleams with mystique, tinged with flanger in a firmly driving dancefloor mode, guiding us deeper into mysteries held by skylines and moonlight. “Secret of the Golden Flower” brings forth photosynthetic gated vocals built for eyes closed body movement, evolving from a cosmic conga groove confidently manifesting in ensnaring kinetic activation.

“iLL Enargeia” brings a touch of depth, stepping into tomorrow with a confident saunter, perfect for the blissful delirium of new beginnings or a space of breadth and reflection in the midst of astral metronomes. The closing title track “Limbs of a Lion” sees us out on a hopeful note, awash in bold luminescence & inviting us to go deeper and deeper within ourselves amidst the grounding embrace of bassline pressure.

Embodying a dance of intangibility towards new unknowns, “Limbs of a Lion” aspires to manifest the grace of movement through our beings - magnetizing and enhancing our danceable forms, frolicking beyond words together. Each track boldly stands on it’s own while orbiting a cohesive whole, perfect for all set and settings, a staple for the DJ crates, and a sign of a musicmaker with even more exciting creations on the horizon.

*words by Kiernan Laveaux
Early support from: Kiernan Laveaux, Daniel Rincón (NAP), 2Lanes & Amelia Holt

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Gianni’s diverse profile is reflected both in his scene-hopping as well as his music. Besides producing Cologne Popbands like “Keshavara,” “Woman” and “Xul Zolar,” Gianni has released a number of EP and LP’s since 2017, culminating most recently with “Filigrani” EP in 2023 on Jakarta. Gianni’s new LP, “Sprechiamo!” is a meditation around Marvin’s relationship with Italian culture accompanied by research into Italian music such as Napoli Exchange, the Periodica label or Giuliano Sorgini. Within the album Gianni was looking less for his roots and moreover for his existing Italian bonds & vivid cultural exchange in his current habitat of Cologne, which he is rediscovering time and again by wandering through his neighborhood Ehrenfeld, Cologne. The quarter hosting a vivid scene of Italians who came in the 1950s, such as Gianni’s grandparents once did. “Sprechiamo! is a timeless release, one that would sit just as well in 1979 as it does in 2025. Vivid Italian references from composers of the 60’s / 70’s to recent Peridoica, allways mixed with a bit of Khrunagbin & Sven Wunder to give it Gianni’s own touch. Jakarta Records is ecstatic to share such a high-water mark of an album, arriving physically and digitally March 28th, 2025.

Credits:

Alt Sax: Johanna Klein & Inga Rothammel
Flute: Connie Trieder
Percussion (Hold The Wine): Gabriel Rodriguez
Piano (Chronos): Dario Bassolino
Piano (Via Xifonia): Simon Below
Percussion (Hold The Wine): Gabriel Rodriguez
Rhodes Piano: Jan Alexander
Synthesizer (Bapha): Eva Sviderski
Tenor Sax: Florian Fries
Violin (Bapha): Florian Meier
Vox (Chronos): Linda Feki

All songs written & produced by Marvin Horsch.
Fine With Me written by Simon Below & Marvin Horsch.

Atmosphärischer Black Metal aus Sibirien – Klirrende Kälte, antike Rituale und finstere Wälder!
Atmosphärischer Black Metal aus der sibirischen Taiga – GRIMA vertonen klirrende Kälte, Rituale vergangener Zeiten und finstere, einsame Wälder in
atmosphärischem Gewandt. Mit ihrem neuen Album und Napalm Records-Debüt Nightside setzt die Band ein Ausrufezeichen als eine der
vielversprechendsten Hoffnungen im Black Metal!

“Onde” is a story about continuous change, in which the sea resonates everywhere, from the gentle movement that can lull before it transforms into a tidal wave that destroys, making a clean sweep. It holds within itself numerous metaphors and multiple states of mind that, like sea waves, can take on thousands of forms.
While all water moves, changing shape and force, each song lets sounds pass through it within a sea of frequencies in which Cristiano della Monica's percussion and Ernesto Nobili's guitars guarantee Maria Mazzotta's song the possibility to navigate onward. The voice shoves off and sets sail, allowing itself to be hurled far away, sinking before returning to the surface and, finally, finding rest. For the three musicians who, from Lecce and Naples, have always had the sea in their minds and eyes, this album tells the story of the movement of the sea, from the torment that navigating it entails to the relief that, in the end, each landing offers.

ProleteR, French producer and iconic figure in the international electro swing and swing hop scene, makes a strong return with a highly anticipated new album. Announced and available for pre-save on streaming platforms five months before its release on March 14, 2025, Temperamental Cats promises a unique musical journey through genres, blending jazz samples, hip-hop rhythms, and electro-soul melodies, while showcasing the distinctive style that has earned this independent beatmaker over 200 million streams across platforms.

Temperamental Cats affirms ProleteR's desire to mix genres, eras, and cultures. This new album will feature American rapper Napoleon Da Legend, Canadian artist Spark Houston, and Japanese producer Takada Fu.

ProleteR is also preparing for his grand return to the stage with a tour titled Swing Hop Party. This will be an opportunity for his fans to see him live, accompanied by a brass section, for a timeless moment driven by his expert patchwork of samples and the rhythms that have made him famous.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

‘Ora che non ho più te’ by Cesare Cremonini is one of the most successful Italian electro pop singles of 2024 with 100 million streams.

Many DJs have remixed it and included it in their electronic DJ sets; Mondo Groove decided to put 4 of them on vinyl.

– Benny Benassi is an internationally renowned Deejay and record producer, pioneer of electro house, a genre brought into the mainstream by his 2002 summer club hit “Satisfaction”.
He received the Grammy Award for best remix in 2008.

– Deborah De Luca, born under the shade of the sails of Scampia, a difficult neighborhood at the periphery of Naples, over the years has refined her style, which is reflected in this remix: a solid techno base skillfully mixing melodic and minimalist elements.

– DJ Ralf, the most underground of the ranks, tries his hand at a lengthy Future Acid House remix.

– Samuele Sartini and Nicola Zucchi, respecting the soul of the song, project it into a more club-like dimension, enriched by a magical riff that enhances its intensity.

Limited edition hand numbered copies on white colored vinyl

Vinyl Reissue 36th Anniversary des Godfl esh Klassikers. Godflesh ist das bahnbrechende Industrial Metal Projekt von Ex-Napalm Death Member und Gründungsmitglied Justin Broadrick. Das wegweisende Debüt Album "Street Cleaner" enthält 10 atmosphärische und minimalistische Industrial Metal Tracks, die genre-defi nierend waren und die Band in eine Liga mit Acts wie Ministry oder Type Of Negative beförderte

Liner Notes Shawn Pittman 'My Journey' Since releasing my first album in
1998, I have been on a road with many twists and turns and some interesting
stops along the way - Like the title song of this album 'My Journey' reveals,
"if I played on the streets, or on the biggest stage..." I think of high points like
getting a standing ovation and an encore as the opening act at The Fillmore in
San Francisco
Opening up for B.B. King for two nights in Houston at The House of Blues. Playing the
Chicago Blues Festival and having hundreds of people standing in line for an
autographed CD. Playing with the Muddy Waters band at Antone's in Austin and doing
a duo with James Cotton. Being a guest front man with Double Trouble in Minneapolis
and many more special moments. There were also gigs where I played for tips on the
street (mainly 6th street in Austin) and played at a shark auction on a pier in Bordeaux
(the auctioneer would interrupt the song and speak in very fast French!). I played 3
nights a week on the Riverwalk in San Antonio for people throwing wadded up napkins
at me and yelling "Play something we've heard!"
During this journey you meet people along the way that can see something in you that
maybe you can't even see yourself. I have been fortunate enough to meet many
people like that that have encouraged me to continue to use the gift that God gave
me. Erkan Ozdemir is one of those people. We started doing tours together around
2011 and I have had the privilege of sharing the band stand with him many times in
Europe and even in the USA. He is a great bass player and has raised up some
amazing young men as well as musicians, Kenan and Levent. You may know them as
the Ozdemirs. I am kind of like the "American cousin" to them as I have seen them
grow up and felt like family. This is the second time we have teamed up on a record.
The first was 'Make it Right' with Levent on drums and Erkan on bass. We have a great
chemistry live and in the studio.
I think this album might just be my favorite one of them all! Hope you enjoy!