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2022 Repress

2x12", high gloss photo like gatefold sleeve, 180g Vinyl , WAV&MP3 Download code included
Following their debut EP with 'Ezra Was Right' and support from the likes of Gilles Peterson, Grandbrothers are presenting their debut album 'Dilation". Twelve modern Experimental / Ambient / Piano pieces, whose sounds are generated completely out of a grand piano using small electromagnetic hammers. Grandbrothers are Erol Sarp and Lukas Vogel. After meeting at university in Dusseldorf, Erol and Lukas formed Grandbrothers to tie together their respective musical backgrounds and disciplines: Erol is a trained jazz pianist, while by day Lukas constructs synthesizers at Access Music. Together, they create a sound that combines classical composition with modern, experimental production and sound design. Their first song, 'Ezra Was Right', earned an early supporter in the esteemed Gilles Peterson, who included the track on his Bubblers 10 compilation and played it numerous times on his Worldwide radio show for BBC Radio 6 Music, with the song eventually being voted #7 by listeners in his end-of-year poll in 2013. A full EP on FILM followed - backed by remixes from legendary Manchester DJ Greg Wilson, Optimo's JD Twitch, and Kim Brown - which sold out its initial run within ten days. Now, Grandbrothers present their debut album, Dilation. The product of two years work, Dilation builds on some of the ideas established on 'Ezra Was Right' while exploring further elements of minimalism, ambient music, IDM, and techno.

Balaise was the original title of Vers le Nord’s debut album. In French slang, balaise means something in between badass and flamboyant. The word keeps popping up throughout the record, like a teenager’s graffiti scrawled on a bus shelter after a few drinks. Balaise robots. Balaise ghosts lurking in the shadows. Balaise is the barfly who fantasies about becoming a street vigilante. In many ways, Matthieu Pellerin's new solo project is entirely contained within that word: a gigantic piece one man against the world cobbled together, a monument shaped by hand using layers of synthesizers sounding like cathedral organs cast in concrete.


Stitching this type of freak together took time. Five years, or what sounds like forever in an age obsessed with career trajectories and content strategies. But for Matthieu Pellerin, it was never about career plans or taking the easy road. Or he would have dug up the rotting corpse of Oi Boys, his now-defunct band, whose brief existence and explosive popularity once united sullen skinheads, gothic street punks, and old school punks alike. Or he would have fully embraced the Metz scene, now that the Great International Triple Alliance of the East (Noir Boy George, The Dreams, The Feeling Of Love...) and rising solo acts like Tune Zitoune, Josy Bazar, Fantôme Josepha, and Tony Gerrano have somehow transformed this sprawling open-air heroin camp into an unlikely capital of cool. But Vers le Nord doesn't point East, and it is as a lone rider that Matthieu Pellerin can fully reveal his songwriting scope.


With Le Seul Élément, his first solo project, the Lorraine native had already shown a rare gift for crafting worlds. Picture vast sonic masses stretching like industrial zones, noise-filled fog pierced by pale neon lights and landscapes caught somewhere between the gnarliest dive bar and a doomsday bunker. And slipping through the soul-crushing slowness and fractured blackened atmospheres, one could perceive a throwback to his years plotting in black metal-tinged Loth and Bishop.

Vers le Nord populates those landscapes that once were rough sketches. Damaged characters reign supreme, with a plethora of exquisite mutts brought to life, rather than outcasts committed to the cause. Where Nuits Blanches —his new supergroup featuring members of Rixe, Lion's Law, Headbussa and La Femme— pulls no punches with raw confessions, Pellerin switches gear for tales of robot apocalypses, vagrants and fam-seeking school shooters, delivered with William Sheller-esque rhymes and striking images. Yet even within fiction, he manages to create something deeply intimate, almost defining, showing very little effort: he is a natural. All in all, à l’aise (at ease). Songs resonate deeply with the listener, perhaps because of Pellerin’s odd way or always addressing someone without ever really naming them, a floating, obsessive and inescapable “you” calling us out.


Despite all of the darkness, Vers le Nord stirs deep emotions. There is something of Type O Negative or Anna von Hausswolff in its constant collision of the ludicrous and the epic gothic, its bleak romanticism that never tells a sordid tale. While the vocals remain rooted in a distinctly French punk lineage—think No Class, La Souris Déglinguée and OG Bérurier Noir—the reactor core is hidden somewhere else. Oneohtrix Point Never feels like a closer relative with his ultra-emotional music made of cold synths and disembodied anthems, swallowing and regurgitating forty years of icy, contemplative new wave across ten songs. It comes as no surprise that Lila Ehjä and Aimable, two rising specialists in lowering the temperature below seasonal norms, appear on “Enterrez-moi bordel” (“Bury Me, for fuck's sake”), a grandiose, spectral and magnificently arrogant finale. And in the end, Vers le Nord starts where the original idea was hiding all along: somewhere amid the ruins, definitely balaise and yet somehow, completely à l'aise.

Madelyn Byrd returns to Glasgow’s Somewhere Press with a hazed set of weightless soundscapes. »Night Rider« opens in widescreen with the chirp of cicadas dancing across a desert landscape, before Shiroishi’s saxophone eventually cuts through the dark like neon. The story Byrd tells is close to their heart: they spent their teenage years in the Sonoran Desert, the vast subtropical expanse spanning parts of Arizona, California, and Mexico. Its seemingly alien landscape — pocked with giant, tree-like cacti and looming rocky outcrops — is lodged in the cultural memory, a quality Byrd draws on as they slowly reveal their poetic narrative.

The album plays like a road movie of sorts, moving through Byrd’s memories and setting them to very different rhythms. Clattering drums emerge on »Of Nature, Of Bodies, Of Dreams«, while Byrd’s soft tones, processed to sound almost otherworldly, glide gently across the metallic clangs. Each track highlights a form of movement: there is the microscopic, insectoid crunch of »Imprint«, where guitar prangs meet Shiroishi’s spirited runs, while »Into Sonoran Pool« creates motion from the atmosphere itself, recreating the thick desert air with shimmering electrical currents and psychedelic processes.

At this point, the album begins to echo Robert Ashley’s late-period theatrical work: compositions that broke with familiar formats, juxtaposing dialogue with knowingly experimental orchestral flourishes. Byrd strikes a similar note through a fusion of poetry, sound design, choral music, and chiming, listless ambient elements that also recall Harold Budd. Budd grew up in the Mojave Desert, which borders the Sonoran, creating an eerie parallel with the moods he conjured throughout his long career.

Byrd finds a similarly aesthetic link to the West Coast landscape, referencing the history of experimental music while establishing their own voice. As the album rides into the sunset with a roar of engines, they offer a distinct vision of pop: »What Is, What Was« integrates a chugging break and ketamised vocal hook, while the finale, »In Perfume, Remember«, lands as a James K-like heartmelter.

" A very limited 7” for the tropical heads, beat travellers and cosmic cumbia astronauts on the new imprint Sun Of A Beach — the free-spirited daughter of Editions de Lux, who skipped town, fell in love somewhere between Kingston and Cartagena, and came back glowing, barefoot, and heavy on the bass.

At home in the steaming rainforest as much as the urban jungle of the Chapinero district of Bogotá, Colombia’s psychedelic groove pilots Ácido Pantera deliver a double-sided tropical weapon aimed straight at late-night sweatboxes, boat parties, and sun-soaked terraces.

"Te quiero, te amo” is a declaration of love at 132 bpm, bouncing along like a low-rider over cobblestones while neon synths float in the humid air.

Flip it for “Pájaro cantor”, a sound system destroyer that will lock the floor in an acid trance that feels both ancestral and futuristic in the same breath. This one’s featured on the FC26 soundtrack and will have you shimmying like Luis Díaz right before he bangs one into the top corner!

You know what to do!"

Die "Spoiled Brats From Malibu" melden sich mit einer remastered Reissue ihres 1982er Klassikers "Locals Only" zurück. Diese erscheint als "Beach Gunk" Auflage auf Transparent Slime & Purple Splatter-Vinyl) und enthält zwei Bonustracks im Hochglanzcover im Redux-Artwork mit farbiger Innenhülle und grossem Faltposter. "Locals Only" ist eindeutig ein Produkt der 1980er, eine lebendige Mischung aus New Wave, Surfrock, Pop und SoCal-Punk, ein neonbespritzter punky Partyknaller, verpackt als eingängig-widerwärtig-respektloses Paket. Für Fans von Descendents, The Ramones, Agent Orange und Devo.