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Waltari war noch nie eine Band, die sich an Regeln gehalten hat. Mit »Nations' Neurosis« beweisen sie einmal mehr, dass ihre charakteristische Mischung aus musikalischer Freiheit, mutigen Experimenten und ungefiltertem Ausdruck aktueller denn je ist.

Das Herzstück der klanglichen Reise von Waltari ist Kärtsy Hatakka, Mastermind und treibende Kraft der Band. Hatakka, der für Lead- und Backing-Gesang, Bass, Programmierung, Keyboards und Perkussion zuständig ist, hatte während der Entstehung dieses Albums mit einem persönlichen Sturm zu kämpfen - dem Verlust seiner Mutter, einer schmerzhaften Trennung und der Tatsache, dass er mit ansehen musste, wie die Welt immer tiefer in Chaos und Spaltung versank. Die Frustration und der emotionale Aufruhr dieser Zeit sickern in jede Note von »Nations' Neurosis« ein und machen es zu einem von Waltaris bisher aufgeladensten und zum Nachdenken anregenden Werken.

Prayer Meeting' is an incredible early document from the dark space rock collective from North Carolina. Remastered by Ivan Pjevcevic in 2024. Psych to post metal to prog and folk and heavy weirdness unite under USX's unique approach.
"Prayer Meeting" was originally the very first unreleased record by the pastoral psychedelic congregation U.S. Christmas, hailing from Marion NC, in the middle of the Appalachian region. USX have a long career and several released on the mighty Neurot Recordings, published just after an ultra-limited demo batch of “Prayer Meeting” was around.
“Some bands make demos. We made a record. We didn't do this for a label, an agent, or anyone but ourselves. It was the first step toward what would become a series of connected works. This record marks a special time in my life, and I'm sure the other dudes agree. Those days in the little trailer in Marion, NC were electric and filled with building power. Listen up, these are the sounds of our foundation.”
Nate Hall

Trance Plantations is the latest brainchild of Nathan Daems and Falk Schrauwen (both members of Black Flower and Echoes of Zoo)



They describe what they make as 'fictional Tribe music (from space)'. That previously resulted in a self-titled debut album on which they collaborated with The Comet Is Coming members Danalogue and Betamax. "Behind your face" is their dazzling follow-up album continuing their musical space adventures.

Many of the greatest artists of all time found inspiration in their dreams... and pdqb is known to be an absolute pro when it comes to creatively exploiting the REM cycles.

Recently, for example, he dreamed of Gunnar, who had witnessed the rise and fall of electronic dance music, which had once held simple-minded creatures in its thrall. The beats had a peculiar effect on them, drawing them into euphoric trances. But Gunnar, allergic to its hypnotic frequencies, stood apart, unaffected. However, eventually, in a hidden enclave in the highlands of Reykjavík, he met Dr. Amara El-Amin, a neuroscientist fascinated by his unique immunity. Together, they discovered that Gunnar's resistance was a gift, offering insights into human consciousness and the power of music. With this knowledge, Gunnar inspired a global movement celebrating frequencies that resonate...differently. Though EDM had become a relic, Gunnar Oliasson remained a legend - a bad taste survivor who embraced a symphony of pure electrical potential, a language of circuits and oscillations beyond sound.

He woke with a jolt, the phantom music still echoing in his mind. He scribbled furiously, equations and diagrams mixing with strange, abstract notations. The dream, he knew, was a glimpse into a world where his inventions would dance, not just function.

For Synaptic Cliffs, it is an extraordinary honor to be able to offer you, dear listeners, the soundtrack of pdqb's world-changing dream: Four beautiful genre-defining Electrocognition tracks, embracing the depths of the human wetware. And three jaw-dropping sonic remodels from a human-like being called The Exaltics.

Bekannt als der Haupttänzer der globalen Superstar-Gruppe BTS, veröffentlicht jhope sein zweites Album mit dem Titel ’HOPE ON THE STREET VOL.1’ - jetzt zum ersten Mal auf auf Vinyl! Mit dieser Veröffentlichung erzählt j-hope von seinen bescheidenen Anfängen als Teil einer Street Dance Crew und den Weg zu BTS. Der Inhalt des Albums umfasst: Äußere Hülle, innere Hülle, Vinyl, Fotobuch, Schlüsselanhänger aus Papier (je 3), Fotokarte, Filmfoto und Textkarte (je 6).

Nach wichtigen Stationen bei Silver Jews und Lambchop hat William Tyler eine Reihe von neugierigen Alben veröffentlicht, die seine ländliche Herkunft und seine Begeisterung für klassische Musik mit seiner Experimentierfreudigkeit und Feldaufnahmen verbinden. Seine produktive Enklave der Instrumentalmusik hat nicht nur neue Klänge hervorgebracht, sondern auch kritische neue Stimmen. Kein anderer amerikanischer Sologitarrist dieses Jahrhunderts hat diese fruchtbare Szene so beeinflusst wie er. Und auf dem brillanten, erfrischenden "Time Indefinite", Tylers erstem Soloalbum seit fünf Jahren, betritt er endlich den immer größer werdenden Raum, den er mit geschaffen hat. Die Gitarre ist der Ausgangspunkt für ein Album, das nicht nur Tyler, sondern auch die Möglichkeiten eines ganzen Bereichs neu überdenken lässt. Ein Strudel aus Lärm und Harmonie, Geistern und Träumen, Angst und Hoffnung - es ist nicht nur eine großartige Gitarrenplatte. Es ist ein atemberaubendes Album eines großen Gitarristen, ein Meisterwerk unserer kollektiv ängstlichen Zeit. Anfang 2020, als die Welt am Rande ungeahnter Unruhen stand, verließ Tyler LA und zog nach Nashville, wo er die meiste Zeit seines Lebens gelebt hatte. Der größte Teil seines Equipments und alle seine Platten blieben zurück, in Erwartung einer vermeintlich schnellen Rückkehr. Das war natürlich nicht der Fall. Während Tyler also mit den Depressionen, den Nerven und den Fragen dieser unendlich angespannten Zeit zu kämpfen hatte, begann er, Ideen mit seinem Telefon und einem Kassettendeck aufzunehmen, wobei er sich mit den Verzerrungen, die diese Geräte mit sich bringen, abfand. Tyler sprach mit Kieran Hebden darüber, eine gemeinsame Platte zu machen, und einige dieser Stücke fühlten sich wie Testfälle an. Als diese Zusammenarbeit in andere Richtungen ging, entdeckte Tyler andere Klänge. Er bat seinen langjährigen Freund, den Produzenten Jake Davis, ihm dabei zu helfen, die Songs zusammenzufügen, und entschied sich dafür, das Rauschen und Wackeln zu akzeptieren und ungewollt eine Platte zu machen, die diese Zeiten und die heutige Zeit widerspiegelt - unruhig, beschädigt, ehrlich. Eine Wippe aus Kampf und Überleben definiert diese Songs, eine Landkarte der Angst und des Glaubens und der Pfade, die sie verbinden. "Dies ist eine Platte über Geisteskrankheiten", wird Tyler ohne Scham sagen, so offen im Leben und in der Sprache, wie er es auf den Aufnahmen ist. "Es ist Musik darüber, den Verstand zu verlieren, aber nicht zu wollen, über den Versuch, zurückzukommen." Das braucht er nicht zu sagen; man spürt es, erkennt es vielleicht aus eigener Erfahrung. Tylers Alben sind ein Nest aus nicht-musikalischen Einflüssen, denn er pendelt zwischen Spiritualität und Philosophie und beschwört die Landschaften der amerikanischen Vorstellungskraft. "Time Indefinite" ist nicht anders, vor allem in der Art und Weise, wie es die sehr persönlichen Filme von Ross McElwee beschwört. Mitte der 80er Jahre begann er, einen Film über Shermans Marsch durch den Süden zu drehen, der sich jedoch zu einer verworrenen Geschichte über Familie, Verlust und das, was wir tun, wenn unsere besten Instinkte sich den schlimmsten Dingen ergeben, die wir uns vorstellen können, entwickelte. Das Album ist eine Anspielung auf diese Idee, auf das unerbittliche Drängen der Zeit und unseren Platz in ihr, unter ihr und neben ihr. Es ist keine große Offenbarung, dass das Leben, das wir führen, die Arbeit prägt, die wir machen, ob wir das nun beabsichtigen oder nicht. In diesen Liedern kann man Tyler hören, wie er laut mit eingehenden Dämonen ringt: Sucht, mittleres Alter, Einsamkeit, Neurosen. Alle unsere Kämpfe sind unterschiedlich, aber wir sind uns darin einig, dass wir sie haben. Dies ist der Soundtrack, den Tyler geschaffen hat.

Nach wichtigen Stationen bei Silver Jews und Lambchop hat William Tyler eine Reihe von neugierigen Alben veröffentlicht, die seine ländliche Herkunft und seine Begeisterung für klassische Musik mit seiner Experimentierfreudigkeit und Feldaufnahmen verbinden. Seine produktive Enklave der Instrumentalmusik hat nicht nur neue Klänge hervorgebracht, sondern auch kritische neue Stimmen. Kein anderer amerikanischer Sologitarrist dieses Jahrhunderts hat diese fruchtbare Szene so beeinflusst wie er. Und auf dem brillanten, erfrischenden "Time Indefinite", Tylers erstem Soloalbum seit fünf Jahren, betritt er endlich den immer größer werdenden Raum, den er mit geschaffen hat. Die Gitarre ist der Ausgangspunkt für ein Album, das nicht nur Tyler, sondern auch die Möglichkeiten eines ganzen Bereichs neu überdenken lässt. Ein Strudel aus Lärm und Harmonie, Geistern und Träumen, Angst und Hoffnung - es ist nicht nur eine großartige Gitarrenplatte. Es ist ein atemberaubendes Album eines großen Gitarristen, ein Meisterwerk unserer kollektiv ängstlichen Zeit. Anfang 2020, als die Welt am Rande ungeahnter Unruhen stand, verließ Tyler LA und zog nach Nashville, wo er die meiste Zeit seines Lebens gelebt hatte. Der größte Teil seines Equipments und alle seine Platten blieben zurück, in Erwartung einer vermeintlich schnellen Rückkehr. Das war natürlich nicht der Fall. Während Tyler also mit den Depressionen, den Nerven und den Fragen dieser unendlich angespannten Zeit zu kämpfen hatte, begann er, Ideen mit seinem Telefon und einem Kassettendeck aufzunehmen, wobei er sich mit den Verzerrungen, die diese Geräte mit sich bringen, abfand. Tyler sprach mit Kieran Hebden darüber, eine gemeinsame Platte zu machen, und einige dieser Stücke fühlten sich wie Testfälle an. Als diese Zusammenarbeit in andere Richtungen ging, entdeckte Tyler andere Klänge. Er bat seinen langjährigen Freund, den Produzenten Jake Davis, ihm dabei zu helfen, die Songs zusammenzufügen, und entschied sich dafür, das Rauschen und Wackeln zu akzeptieren und ungewollt eine Platte zu machen, die diese Zeiten und die heutige Zeit widerspiegelt - unruhig, beschädigt, ehrlich. Eine Wippe aus Kampf und Überleben definiert diese Songs, eine Landkarte der Angst und des Glaubens und der Pfade, die sie verbinden. "Dies ist eine Platte über Geisteskrankheiten", wird Tyler ohne Scham sagen, so offen im Leben und in der Sprache, wie er es auf den Aufnahmen ist. "Es ist Musik darüber, den Verstand zu verlieren, aber nicht zu wollen, über den Versuch, zurückzukommen." Das braucht er nicht zu sagen; man spürt es, erkennt es vielleicht aus eigener Erfahrung. Tylers Alben sind ein Nest aus nicht-musikalischen Einflüssen, denn er pendelt zwischen Spiritualität und Philosophie und beschwört die Landschaften der amerikanischen Vorstellungskraft. "Time Indefinite" ist nicht anders, vor allem in der Art und Weise, wie es die sehr persönlichen Filme von Ross McElwee beschwört. Mitte der 80er Jahre begann er, einen Film über Shermans Marsch durch den Süden zu drehen, der sich jedoch zu einer verworrenen Geschichte über Familie, Verlust und das, was wir tun, wenn unsere besten Instinkte sich den schlimmsten Dingen ergeben, die wir uns vorstellen können, entwickelte. Das Album ist eine Anspielung auf diese Idee, auf das unerbittliche Drängen der Zeit und unseren Platz in ihr, unter ihr und neben ihr. Es ist keine große Offenbarung, dass das Leben, das wir führen, die Arbeit prägt, die wir machen, ob wir das nun beabsichtigen oder nicht. In diesen Liedern kann man Tyler hören, wie er laut mit eingehenden Dämonen ringt: Sucht, mittleres Alter, Einsamkeit, Neurosen. Alle unsere Kämpfe sind unterschiedlich, aber wir sind uns darin einig, dass wir sie haben. Dies ist der Soundtrack, den Tyler geschaffen hat.

Resilient Records is member of the Flatlife Records Labelgroup.

For the first time on vinyl, a pressing of this legendary tape released in 1993 in Colombia, documenting Ultra Metal, the country's early extreme Metal scene. Volume 1 of 2 of the vinyl release of The Colombian Awakening tape, released in 1993 by Schizophrenia Records, a comprehensive collection of face melting, raw recordings from the early Colombian extreme Metal scene, known as Ultra Metal, with styles ranging from Death Metal to Thrash and Grindcore. A savage and powerful document of one of the most intense underground scenes of the era, kickstarted by the infamous Parabellum. A must for fans of underground Metal! Includes remastered audio, new cover and a foldout inner sleeve with extensive liner notes. Limited edition of 300 copies.

Deep flowing Techno-House 4 tracker by Neurotron. Neurotron has been following its path and releasing incredibly deep releases for almost 30 years. here they stay true to themselves again.

Cold Specks kehrt mit ihrem vierten Album 'Light for the Midnight' zurück.

Nach den Erfolgen ihrer ersten drei Alben 'I Predict a Graceful Expulsion' (2012), 'Neuroplasticity' (2014) und 'Fool's Paradise' (2017) hat Cold Specks (Al Spx) ihren Ruf als einzigartige Stimme der modernen Musik gefestigt. Von ihrer fesselnden Acapella-Performance bei Later... with Jools Holland bis hin zu Kollaborationen mit Moby, Massive Attack und Michael Gira von Swans hat Cold Specks immer wieder Kunstwerke geschaffen, die nachhallen.

Mit 'Light for the Midnight' begibt sie sich auf ihre bisher persönlichste Reise. In seinem Kern ist das Album eine rohe und zutiefst emotionale Reflexion über Ausdauer, Überleben und Transformation. Es ist eine Sammlung von inbrünstigen Balladen und atmosphärischen Popsongs, die Spx' gefühlvolle Stimme in weitläufige Klangwelten kanalisiert.

Das Album entstand in einer herausfordernden Phase in Spx' Leben. Die Arbeit begann 2019 inmitten von Kämpfen mit der psychischen Gesundheit, Erfahrungen, die tief in die Musik eingebettet sind. Doch trotz seiner persönlichen Ursprünge betont Spx seine Universalität: „Ich wollte auf jeden Fall über die letzten Jahre reflektieren, weil sie mich so sehr beeinflusst haben, aber ich wollte auch, dass das Publikum mit diesem Album weggeht. Die Songs gehören ihnen, sobald ich sie veröffentlicht habe.“

Das Album wurde in Toronto und Bristol aufgenommen, wobei Spx zusammen mit Adrian Utley von Portishead und Ali Chant (bekannt für seine Arbeit mit Perfume Genius, Dry Cleaning und Aldous Harding) als Co-Produzent fungierte. Es enthält Streicherarrangements von Owen Pallett (Taylor Swift, Lana Del Rey, Sampha) und zusätzliche Beiträge von Graham Walsh von Holy Fuck. Spx arbeitete auch mit einer Reihe von hervorragenden Kollaborateuren zusammen, darunter Chantal Kreviazuk (Drake, Kendrick Lamar), Malcolm Middleton von Arab Strap, Ben Christophers, Ed Harcourt und Jonathan Quarmby.

'Light for the Midnight' zeigt Cold Specks von ihrer verletzlichsten und kraftvollsten Seite, indem sie die Geschichten ihres Kampfes in atemberaubende Kompositionen verwebt, die einen tiefen Eindruck hinterlassen. Es ist ein Album der Hoffnung und der Transformation.

Googling “paradise house”, the first results to pop up are an endless list of European b&b’s with whitewashed lime façades, all of them promising “…an unmatched travel experience a few steps from the sea”. Next, a little further down, are the institutional websites of a few select semi-luxury retirement homes (no photos shown, but lots of stock images of smiling nurses with reassuring looks). To find the “paradise house” we’re after, we have to scroll even further down. Much further down.

It feels like yesterday, and at the same time it seems like a million years ago. The Eighties had just ended, and it was still unclear what to expect from the Nineties. Mobile phones that were not the size of a briefcase and did not cost as much as a car? A frightening economic crisis? The guitar-rock revival?! Certainly, the best place to observe that moment of transition was the dancefloor. Truly epochal transformations were happening there. From America, within a short distance one from the other, two revolutionary new musical styles had arrived: the first one sounded a bit like an “on a budget” version of the best Seventies disco-music – Philly sound made with a set of piano-bar keyboards! – the other was even more sparse, futuristic and extraterrestrial. It was a music with a quite distinct “physical” component, which at the same time, to be fully grasped, seemed to call for the knotty theories of certain French post-modern philosophers: Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, Paul Virilio... Both those genres – we would learn shortly after – were born in the black communities of Chicago and Detroit, although listening to those vinyl 12” (often wrapped in generic white covers, and with little indication in the label) you could not easily guess whether behind them there was a black boy from somewhere in the Usa, or a girl from Berlin, or a pale kid from a Cornish coastal town.

Quickly, similar sounds began to show up from all corners of Europe. A thousand variations of the same intuition: leaner, less lean, happier, slightly less intoxicated, more broken, slower, faster, much faster... Boom! From the dancefloors – the London ones at least, whose chronicles we eagerly read every month in the pages of The Face and i-D – came tales of a new generation of clubbers who had completely stopped “dressing up” to go dancing; of hot tempered hooligans bursting into tears and hugging everyone under the strobe lights as the notes of Strings of Life rose up through the fumes of dry ice (certain “smiling” pills were also involved, sure). At this point, however, we must move on to Switzerland.

In Switzerland, in the quiet and diligent town of Lugano, between the 1980s and 1990s there was a club called “Morandi”. Its hot night was on Wednesdays, when the audience also came from Milan, Como, Varese and Zurich. Legend goes that, one night, none less than Prince and Sheila E were spotted hiding among the sofas, on a day-off of the Italian dates of the Nude Tour… The Wednesday resident and superstar was an Italian dj with an exotic name: Don Carlos. The soundtrack he devised was a mixture of Chicago, Detroit, the most progressive R&B and certain forgotten classics of old disco music: practically, what the Paradise Garage in New York might have sounded like had it not closed in 1987. In between, Don Carlos also managed to squeeze in some tracks he had worked on in his studio on Lago Maggiore. One in particular: a track that was rather slow compared to the BPM in fashion at the time, but which was a perfect bridge between house and R&B. The title was Alone: Don Carlos would explain years later that it had to be intended both in the English meaning of “by itself” and like the Italian word meaning “halo”. That wasn’t the only double entendre about the song, anyway. Its own very deep nature was, indeed, double. On the one hand, Alone was built around an angelic keyboard pattern and a romantic piano riff that took you straight to heaven; on the other, it showcased enough electronic squelches (plus a sax part that sounded like it had been dissolved by acid rain) to pigeonhole the tune into the “junk modernity” section, aka the hallmark of all the most innovative sounds of the time: music that sounded like it was hand-crafted from the scraps of glittering overground pop.

No one knows who was the first to call it “paradise house”, nor when it happened. Alternative definitions on the same topic one happened to hear included “ambient house”, “dream house”, “Mediterranean progressive”… but of course none were as good (and alluring) as “paradise house”. What is certain is that such inclination for sounds that were in equal measure angelic and neurotic, romantic and unaffective, quickly became the trademark of the second generation of Italian house. Music that seemed shyly equidistant from all the rhythmic and electronic revolutions that had happened up to that moment (“Music perfectly adept at going nowhere slowly” as noted by English journalist Craig McLean in a legendary field report for Blah Blah Blah magazine). Music that to a inattentive ear might have sounded as anonymous as a snapshot of a random group of passers-by at 10AM in the centre of any major city, but perfectly described the (slow) awakening in the real world after the universal love binge of the so-called Second Summer of Love.

For a brief but unforgettable season, in Italy “paradise house” was the official soundtrack of interminable weekends spent inside the car, darting from one club to another, cutting the peninsula from North to centre, from East to West coast in pursuit of the latest after-hours disco, trading kilometres per hour with beats per minute: practically, a new New Year’s Eve every Friday and Saturday night. This too was no small transformation, as well as a shock for an adult Italy that was encountering for the first time – thanks to its sons and daughters – the wild side of industrial modernity. The clubbers of the so-called “fuoriorario” scene were the balls gone mad in the pinball machine most feared by newspapers, magazines and TV pundits. What they did each and every weekend, apart from going crazy to the sound of the current white labels, was linking distant geographical points and non-places (thank you Marc Augé!) – old dance halls, farmhouses and business centres – transformed for one night into house music heaven. As Marco D’Eramo wrote in his 1995 essay on Chicago, Il maiale e il grattacielo: “Four-wheeled capitalism distorts our age-old image of the city, it allows the suburbs to be connected to each other, whereas before they were connected only by the centre (…) It makes possible a metropolitan area without a metropolis, without a city centre, without downtown. The periphery is no longer a periphery of any centre, but is self-centred”.

“Paradise house” perfectly understood all of this and turned it into a sort of cyber-blues that didn’t even need words, and unexpectedly brought back a drop of melancholic (post?)-humanity within a world that by then – as we would wholly realise in the decades to come – was fully inhuman and heartless. A world where we were all alone, and surrounded by a sinister yellowish halo, like a neon at the end of its life cycle. But, for one night at least, happy."

Alle 12 Songs des Sleep Token Debütalbums 'Sundowning' sind sorgfältig aufeinander abgestimmt, verfolgen damit einen emotionalen Faden, setzen gleichzeitig dabei individuelle Meilensteine. 'Sundowning', oder Sundown Syndrom, ist ein neurologisches Phänomen, das mit erhöhter Verwirrung und Unruhe bei Patienten mit Delirium oder einer Form von Demenz verbunden ist. Jetzt auf schwarzem Doppelvinyl.

Joni Void, the artistic persona of Montréal-based French-British producer Jean Néant (he/them) returns to songcraft on their warmest and most welcoming record yet, where the acclaimed sampledelic sound collagist chills out with an emotionally resonant song cycle tinged by downtempo, lo-fi, avant-pop, and trip-hop. Guests include Haco, Ytamo, Sook-Yin Lee, Pink Navel and N NAO. Every Life Is A Light expands on Void's recent stylistic turn towards more languorous and mellow lo-fi production, foreshadowed by the drifting looseness and ambient bricolage of their preceding experimental sound-art record. This transitional sensibility now shapes more defined song structures and styles, with loops are given time and space to unspool, and rhythms shot through the softer-focus lens of trip-hop and dub. Every Life Is A Light swaps the twitchy insistence of Void's acclaimed early albums for a newfound lightness and suppleness, still imbued with all the restlessness, sonic detailing, and emotional resonance that made their name. The neurotic brokenmachine kinetics of earlier Void, summarized by Sasha Geffen as "drawing despair and wonder from within the vast unfeeling of digital communication" in an 8.0 Pitchfork review, may be chilling out, but Void is becoming an ever better conjurer of hauntological feeling. Every Life Is A Light summons this in a comparatively buoyant, benevolent, head-nodding journey more open to tenderness and modest joys. Perhaps it's the sound of Void at greater peace with themselves and the world, despite the bittersweet cost: even as it channels grief, memorializing comrades and companions recently deceased, this album wants light. Void's raw materials continue to draw heavily from samples (their own Walkman cassette fieldrecordings and songs by others) and from a wide community of musical guests. Vocalists Haco on "Time Zone" and Ytamo on "Cloud Level" help levitate what could be lost tracks from a mid-90s Too Pure Records compilation of skewed-lounge electronica. Canadian musician Sook-Yin Lee sings on lead single "Vertigo," a sinewy 80bpm tape-loop and bassline groove propelled by psychedelically-layered lyrics that eventually turn the song in on itself entirely, like Grace Jones' "Nightclubbing" covered by Animal Collective. One of Void's greatest hip-hop loves is the Ruby Yacht collective; charter member Pink Navel drops some brilliant verses on "Story Board." The album's two minimal tracks, an extended piano loop set to a slow beat and shimmering electronics on "Muffin-A Song For My Cat" and the languid sampled bass riff and breakbeat of "Event Flow," are perhaps most overtly `lofi chill.' Indeed the whole album could be said to sit adjacent to those viral (if not already AI-generated) genre trends, which maybe begs the question on a lot of our minds: can specificity and authenticity of musical materials still be heard, still meaningfully signify substance and difference, still matter? Perhaps a question that fades in comparison to the career break Void could catch by landing on generic streaming playlists. More likely, these tracks remain too off-kilter, too genuinely lo-fi and ineffable, and too disqualified by the status of its peasant rights-holders, to catch the algos. Context remains the poor cousin of content. Meanwhile Void marches on, as a tireless organizer of local music events, bouncing around and often living in DIY venue, depending on the latest apartment eviction. With an ubiquitous polaroid camera in tow, they also document each communal happening with a single shot (and often a blinding flash bulb): a memory and metaphor for lives illuminated preciously, singularly, `imperfectly' in the moment. Dozens of these polaroids adorn the album's back cover and inner sleeve art in grid-like montages, as a fitting analog for the careful construction, grainy intimate materiality, and ephemeral feeling of these songs. Every Life Is A Light is Joni Void's most coherent and congenial record while relinquishing none of their experimentalist acumen as a producer or emotional attunement as a composer. Instead these qualities flourish, on an album that lights a humble flame for the fragile promise of homespun creative collaboration as unalienated labour and therapeutic communion, making an enchantingly idiosyncratic contribution to downtempo sample music along the way. Thanks for listening.

“We all grew up playing heavy music. For me personally, listening to artists like Swans, Godflesh, Neurosis and Kiss It Goodbye in my 20s was cathartic in a lot of ways. Identifying with people that have a similar world perspective, who are channeling their angst and frustration into the creative outlet of art and music — that was important.”

Josh Graham isn’t just talking about his decades-long career in heavy music, which has included A Storm of Light, Battle of Mice, and many years as the one-man visual department for Neurosis. He’s also talking about the formation of Guiltless, his new band with bassist Sacha Dunable (Intronaut), drummer Billy Graves (Generation of Vipers) and guitarist Dan Hawkins (A Storm of Light).

Guiltless released their debut EP, Thorns, via Neurot Recordings in early 2024. Crushing and cheerless, it seemed to welcome the apocalypse looming on our collective horizon. “The EP had a pretty narrow focus starting from my ideas,” Graham explains. “With this record, my main goal was to really collaborate with Sacha and Dan and Billy because those guys are great songwriters. The new album is meant to open up the sonic palette and explore more territory.”

That new album is Teeth to Sky, the band’s first full-length. Even more pulverizing and focused than its predecessor, the album’s collaborative songwriting approach was paired with an adjustment to the lyrical content.

You can hear it on “One Is Two,” which channels a tightly controlled Meshuggah churn through the more visceral lo-fi approach of Kiss It Goodbye or Swedish noise rock legends Breach. On “In Starless Reign,” Guiltless blend dissonant black metal and thundering doom while Graham invokes humanity’s inability to see the forest through the trees. Then there’s the bruising title track, which combines the gnarled sensibilities of The Jesus Lizard, Cherubs and Barn Owl into a rumination on Mother Nature’s revenge.

Teeth To Sky was recorded remotely by the members of Guiltless—except for the drums, which were recorded by Travis Kammeyer (Generation of Vipers) at Fahrenheit Studios in Johnson City, Tennessee. The album was mixed by Kurt Ballou at God City in Salem, Massachusetts, and mastered by Brad Boatright at Audiosiege in Portland, Oregon.

Linea Aspera is the London duo of Ryan Ambridge (Synths/Programming) and Alison Lewis (Vocals/Synths). They began the project in November 2011, technically drawing inspiration from electronic music from the early 1980s. Within the duo, Alison writes and performs all vocal elements, while Ryan is responsible for the writing and performing of the electronics, as well as recording and mixing of the final recordings. For their debut album they utilized small, simple analog synthesizer set up: Roland SH-09, Roland Juno 6, Vermona DRM MKiii, Korg Poly 800 and Analogue Solutions Semblance. Linea Aspera's sound includes clear influences from early electronic body music, classic synth-pop and, in some instances, industrial and noise. Lyrically the band incorporates the sciences of osteology, neuroscience, and anthropology weaving a new medical language around themes of desire, despair and renewal. Linea Aspera serve up an icebox of dark doom riding on Alison's powerful vocals with a soft but sharp touch.

All the shades of green. Plants. Water. The absolute necessities of life. Music, too, is an absolute necessity. To capture both color and sound in a bottle to put atop a piano like a houseplant. A clock. A fern. Synesthesia. This music is meant for that. To close your eyes and see green. To drown in the color of piano. A melancholic covey that pulls hard on the heart strings musically and lyrically, brushed over with a plethora of improvisation in smooth watercolors.

With Tim Hill’s new trajectory, we are offered a fresh neuron sprawl, branching beyond lyrics in interrupted pieces of sound. He takes our reptilian brains and welds them to our unborn futures, placing us inside of his droplet. Here, we're forced to reflect out, something singular multiplies, nature brings her face in, something shifts, our speed changes, the Self refracts and what's left jumps on sustained lines that eventually arch into meditation milk. It becomes a karmic cleanse of the amygdala, a launch from normal feeling life. Tim takes the risk, committing to diving deeper into his own bottomless pool of art, gifting us with sensory treats that dilate our old perimeters. It's sky as theatre, handing out everything but answers to questions. And where do we go? Where starlight mingles. Where minds never land.

A seasoned musician in all forms, Tim Hill has toured the world as a keyboardist, guitarist, saxophonist, and drummer, with a long time stint with LA group the Allah Las, and well known acts such as Nick Waterhouse, Curtis Harding, PAINT, and others.

Volume 1 of this expertly curated project of 90s Italian House - put together by Don Carlos.

If Paradise was half as nice… by Fabio De Luca.

Googling “paradise house”, the first results to pop up are an endless list of European b&b’s with whitewashed lime façades, all of them promising “…an unmatched travel experience a few steps from the sea”. Next, a little further down, are the institutional websites of a few select semi-luxury retirement homes (no photos shown, but lots of stock images of smiling nurses with reassuring looks). To find the “paradise house” we’re after, we have to scroll even further down. Much further down.

It feels like yesterday, and at the same time it seems like a million years ago. The Eighties had just ended, and it was still unclear what to expect from the Nineties. Mobile phones that were not the size of a briefcase and did not cost as much as a car? A frightening economic crisis? The guitar-rock revival?! Certainly, the best place to observe that moment of transition was the dancefloor. Truly epochal transformations were happening there. From America, within a short distance one from the other, two revolutionary new musical styles had arrived: the first one sounded a bit like an “on a budget” version of the best Seventies disco-music – Philly sound made with a set of piano-bar keyboards! – the other was even more sparse, futuristic and extraterrestrial. It was a music with a quite distinct “physical” component, which at the same time, to be fully grasped, seemed to call for the knotty theories of certain French post-modern philosophers: Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, Paul Virilio... Both those genres – we would learn shortly after – were born in the black communities of Chicago and Detroit, although listening to those vinyl 12” (often wrapped in generic white covers, and with little indication in the label) you could not easily guess whether behind them there was a black boy from somewhere in the Usa, or a girl from Berlin, or a pale kid from a Cornish coastal town.

Quickly, similar sounds began to show up from all corners of Europe. A thousand variations of the same intuition: leaner, less lean, happier, slightly less intoxicated, more broken, slower, faster, much faster... Boom! From the dancefloors – the London ones at least, whose chronicles we eagerly read every month in the pages of The Face and i-D – came tales of a new generation of clubbers who had completely stopped “dressing up” to go dancing; of hot tempered hooligans bursting into tears and hugging everyone under the strobe lights as the notes of Strings of Life rose up through the fumes of dry ice (certain “smiling” pills were also involved, sure). At this point, however, we must move on to Switzerland.

In Switzerland, in the quiet and diligent town of Lugano, between the 1980s and 1990s there was a club called “Morandi”. Its hot night was on Wednesdays, when the audience also came from Milan, Como, Varese and Zurich. Legend goes that, one night, none less than Prince and Sheila E were spotted hiding among the sofas, on a day-off of the Italian dates of the Nude Tour… The Wednesday resident and superstar was an Italian dj with an exotic name: Don Carlos. The soundtrack he devised was a mixture of Chicago, Detroit, the most progressive R&B and certain forgotten classics of old disco music: practically, what the Paradise Garage in New York might have sounded like had it not closed in 1987. In between, Don Carlos also managed to squeeze in some tracks he had worked on in his studio on Lago Maggiore. One in particular: a track that was rather slow compared to the BPM in fashion at the time, but which was a perfect bridge between house and R&B. The title was Alone: Don Carlos would explain years later that it had to be intended both in the English meaning of “by itself” and like the Italian word meaning “halo”. That wasn’t the only double entendre about the song, anyway. Its own very deep nature was, indeed, double. On the one hand, Alone was built around an angelic keyboard pattern and a romantic piano riff that took you straight to heaven; on the other, it showcased enough electronic squelches (plus a sax part that sounded like it had been dissolved by acid rain) to pigeonhole the tune into the “junk modernity” section, aka the hallmark of all the most innovative sounds of the time: music that sounded like it was hand-crafted from the scraps of glittering overground pop.

No one knows who was the first to call it “paradise house”, nor when it happened. Alternative definitions on the same topic one happened to hear included “ambient house”, “dream house”, “Mediterranean progressive”… but of course none were as good (and alluring) as “paradise house”. What is certain is that such inclination for sounds that were in equal measure angelic and neurotic, romantic and unaffective, quickly became the trademark of the second generation of Italian house. Music that seemed shyly equidistant from all the rhythmic and electronic revolutions that had happened up to that moment (“Music perfectly adept at going nowhere slowly” as noted by English journalist Craig McLean in a legendary field report for Blah Blah Blah magazine). Music that to a inattentive ear might have sounded as anonymous as a snapshot of a random group of passers-by at 10AM in the centre of any major city, but perfectly described the (slow) awakening in the real world after the universal love binge of the so-called Second Summer of Love.

For a brief but unforgettable season, in Italy “paradise house” was the official soundtrack of interminable weekends spent inside the car, darting from one club to another, cutting the peninsula from North to centre, from East to West coast in pursuit of the latest after-hours disco, trading kilometres per hour with beats per minute: practically, a new New Year’s Eve every Friday and Saturday night. This too was no small transformation, as well as a shock for an adult Italy that was encountering for the first time – thanks to its sons and daughters – the wild side of industrial modernity. The clubbers of the so-called “fuoriorario” scene were the balls gone mad in the pinball machine most feared by newspapers, magazines and TV pundits. What they did each and every weekend, apart from going crazy to the sound of the current white labels, was linking distant geographical points and non-places (thank you Marc Augé!) – old dance halls, farmhouses and business centres – transformed for one night into house music heaven. As Marco D’Eramo wrote in his 1995 essay on Chicago, Il maiale e il grattacielo: “Four-wheeled capitalism distorts our age-old image of the city, it allows the suburbs to be connected to each other, whereas before they were connected only by the centre (…) It makes possible a metropolitan area without a metropolis, without a city centre, without downtown. The periphery is no longer a periphery of any centre, but is self-centred”.

“Paradise house” perfectly understood all of this and turned it into a sort of cyber-blues that didn’t even need words, and unexpectedly brought back a drop of melancholic (post?)-humanity within a world that by then – as we would wholly realise in the decades to come – was fully inhuman and heartless. A world where we were all alone, and surrounded by a sinister yellowish halo, like a neon at the end of its life cycle. But, for one night at least, happy.

Die Debüt-LP der Londonerin Nia Wyn ist ein fesselndes Soulwerk, inspiriert von der Musik aus Detroit, Philadelphia und Memphis der 1960/1970er Jahre, das ihren selbstbewussten Produktionsstil, ihre Begabung für authentisches und introspektives Geschichtenerzählen und ihre unverwechselbar kraftvolle Stimme offenbart. Thematisch deckt die LP ein breites Spektrum ab, von Nias Erfahrung, als Erwachsene mit Autismus diagnostiziert zu werden, über psychische Probleme bis zu den Kulturkriegen gegen die Queer-/Trans-Communities. Der Albumtitel ist eine Anspielung auf schulische Erfahrungen ängstlicher (nicht diagnostizierter neurodivergenter) Kinder der Millennial-Generation.