Buscar:new sense

In an engrossing lattice of polyrhythmic beat science and deep atmospheric meditation, Samurai Music is thrilled to welcome Marco Shuttle to the fold for the Sumud EP.

Since his early years locked into the 00s London techno scene, Marco Sartorelli has developed as an artist entirely on his own terms. Through the rush of new ideas and cross-pollination that has characterised cutting-edge techno over the past 20-odd years, Sartorelli has travelled as Marco Shuttle from one considered stylistic concept to the next. On his own Eerie label and across expansive releases for respected outposts such as Spazio Disponibile, Incensio and Astral Industries, he's taken an exploratory approach to rhythm and spatial design while always drawing on intentional thematic frameworks, creating distinctive and immersive dance music in the process.

As Samurai Music continues to celebrate the rich seams of inspiration where deep techno and drum & bass intersect, Sartorelli's malleable, mysterious strain of drum work fits right in and sets a captivating tone for the label's operations in 2026. 'Sumud' is a steely drum mantra dealing in fractured patterns with the primal patina of the early Artificial Intelligence era, while 'Las Dunas de Taroa' leans on gently pulsing melancholia undulating at a half-time pace. 'Iso 50' taps into raw, analogue minimalism once more, evoking the sound of Roman Flugel's Ro70 records in their icy, alien formation. Completing the set, we're guided towards the tense electronica of 'Polylayering What I've Got', where uneasy melodic chimes interlock with intricately programmed drum machines.

There's a distinct sense of golden-era, mid-90s electronica coursing through Sumud EP, but Sartorelli shrouds the classic tools at his disposal in his subtle signature atmospherics, pushing towards a plain of expression that transcends time.

Sun Electric - the legendary Berlin duo of Tom Thiel and Max Loderbauer - returns with Episodes, an enticing new album. While the pair has been active and creating over the years (remember their track 'Every Now And Then' on the 10 Years De:tuned compilation in 2019), Episodes marks their first album of original material in nearly 20 years. Now, with a renewed way of working together, they present fresh and captivating music on the Belgian De:tuned label, built from recordings made with the vintage 1960s Subharchord Synthesizer. Across 6 tracks, Sun Electric takes listeners on a strange yet wonderful journey through shifting moods and sonic textures, capturing their unmistakable sense of exploration and atmosphere. With kind support of the Studio for Electroacoustic Music of the Akademie der Kunste. Stay tuned!

The wonderful Ian Anderson at The Designers Republic created all the graphic work. Mastered by Mike Grinser at Manmade Mastering. Available on 180g vinyl and CD, with a separate digital release through all the usual online stores.

Sun Electric - the legendary Berlin duo of Tom Thiel and Max Loderbauer - returns with Episodes, an enticing new album. While the pair has been active and creating over the years (remember their track 'Every Now And Then' on the 10 Years De:tuned compilation in 2019), Episodes marks their first album of original material in nearly 20 years. Now, with a renewed way of working together, they present fresh and captivating music on the Belgian De:tuned label, built from recordings made with the vintage 1960s Subharchord Synthesizer. Across 6 tracks, Sun Electric takes listeners on a strange yet wonderful journey through shifting moods and sonic textures, capturing their unmistakable sense of exploration and atmosphere. With kind support of the Studio for Electroacoustic Music of the Akademie der Kunste. Stay tuned!

The wonderful Ian Anderson at The Designers Republic created all the graphic work. Mastered by Mike Grinser at Manmade Mastering. Available on 180g vinyl and CD, with a separate digital release through all the usual online stores.

Rikk Agnew's All by Myself is one of those records that feels like a secret you're lucky to stumble upon -- a raw, weird, totally personal snapshot of a restless artist at a pivotal moment. Originally released in 1982 on Frontier Records, the album stands apart from most of what was coming out of Southern California at the time, even though it was born right in the middle of the exploding hardcore punk scene. By 1982, Rikk Agnew was already a big deal underground. As the guitarist for Adolescents, he helped shape the sound of Orange County hardcore with sharp riffs, surf-inflected melodies, and a sense of urgency that became hugely influential. He also played in bands like D.I. and later Christian Death, moving fluidly between hardcore punk, post-punk, and darker, more experimental territory. Agnew wasn't just a fast, aggressive guitarist -- he was a songwriter with range, curiosity, and a strong DIY instinct. All by Myself lives up to its title in the most literal way. Agnew recorded the album largely on his own, playing all the instruments and handling vocals himself. Instead of delivering another straight-up hardcore record, he went inward. The result is a lo-fi, home-recorded collection of songs that blend punk energy with new wave, post-punk, psychedelic touches, and even moments of pop sensitivity. It's rough around the edges, but that's exactly the point -- the album feels intimate, unfiltered, and honest. In the early '80s, Southern California punk was loud, fast, and often confrontational. Bands were pushing against the mainstream and even against each other, racing toward more extreme sounds. While All by Myself shares that DIY spirit, it doesn't fully play by hardcore rules. The tempos shift, the moods wander, and the songs feel more like personal experiments than scene anthems. That made the record a bit of an outlier at the time -- but also what gives it lasting appeal. Frontier Records was the perfect home for a release like this. The label was known for supporting artists who didn't quite fit into neat categories, and All by Myself captured that ethos perfectly. Today, All by Myself is often seen as a cult classic. For fans of early punk, post-punk, or anyone interested in the roots of DIY recording culture, this album is essential listening

Denmark s forward forward-thinking trio Human Being Human return with a luminous new collaboration featuring acclaimed American saxophonist Chris Cheek. Rooted in lyricism, groove, and connection, Being captures the essence of what it means to create music as a shared act of humanity. Formed by bassist Torben Bjornskov, pianist Esben Tjalve, and drummer Frederik Bülow, Human Being Human have quickly earned a reputation as one of Europe s most distinctive piano trios. Their blend of Nordic lyricism and modern rhythmic vitality has drawn international acclaim for its compositional voice and cohesive ensemble sound. On Being , the trio expand their world through the unmistakable voice of Chris Cheek - a player known for his warm tone and intuitive lyricism, whose credits include work with Paul Motian, Brad Mehldau, and Charlie Haden. A long long-time admirer of Cheek s work and humility, Bjornskov reached out and invited him to Denmark to collaborate with the trio. In the studio, the chemistry was undeniable, as most of the album s tracks were captured in just one or two takes, preserving a sense of immediacy and spontaneity. Reflecting on what it means to be human, our capacity to make decisions and shape the world around us, as well as the damage our species has done to our planet, the quartet channels a spirit of contemplation and rediscovery through elegant, organic compositions. Tracks like Human Rights showcase the group s deft interplay and melodic clarity, while the tender ballad Being highlights Cheek s burnished tone and Tjalve s spacious harmonic sense. On Filia , a duo between bass and saxophone, the music unfolds in weightless dialogue and pure musical empathy. True to the group s name, Being reflects on what it means to live, connect, and create as humans in a complex world. The essence of music is working together, being open, being positive, and wanting to experience new things, things," says Bjornskov. That s essentially what jazz is - it s influenced by any and every culture in the world, every kind of music and race, and every person is part of it.

It’s been decades since New Found Glory were etched onto pop-punk’s Mount Rushmore, but as the Coral Springs, Florida, quartet approach their 30th anniversary, they’ve proven with their 11th studio album Listen Up! - and first for Pure Noise Records - that they still have plenty to say. Shaped by guitarist Chad Gilbert’s battle with metastatic cancer and the enduring bond with bandmates Jordan Pundik, Ian Grushka, and Cyrus Bolooki, the record captures resilience and gratitude in tightly wound riffs and sing-along hooks reminiscent of their early 2000s classics. Written face-to-face in Gilbert’s Nashville home with a riff-first mentality, the album recalls Sticks and Stones and Catalyst while pushing forward with songs like first single “100%,” road-tested alongside The Offspring and Jimmy Eat World. Produced by Steve Evetts with contributions from Dan O’Connor of Four Year Strong, Listen Up! balances nostalgia with urgency, embodying the band’s mission to inspire a new generation of fans while offering longtime listeners a renewed sense of strength, positivity, and joy—because, as Pundik sings on “Beer And Blood Stains,” at the end of the day, “it’s good to be alive.”

Alex Rex, the project of acclaimed musician and former Trembling Bells bandleader Alex Neilson, is set to release his fourth and final studio album, The National Trust, on March 28th. Written in the wake of the sudden death of his younger brother, Alastair, the album is a poignant reflection on loss, love, and renewal, deeply rooted in the landscape of Carbeth—a cabin community in the Scottish countryside that Alastair called home. For Neilson, the cabin became both a physical and emotional project, a symbol of restoration and reconnection.

"For the first four years after Alastair died, his cabin lay empty and exposed to the remorseless Scottish weather. It came to look like a rotten tooth in a beautiful mouth. Cladding was dropping off its veneer, the ashen baubles of dead wasps nests clung to the rafters, all his possessions were just as he'd left them but eaten by mice, moths and time. Ashtrays still carried the crushed centimetres of his old tab ends. The cabins are so joyfully animated by their host's specific personality and this one looked like a haunted house. Guilt, unrealised hopes and encroaching nature yoked together in a wandering sadness. Combined with the fact that I didn't know the right way round to hold a hammer made the project of its restoration seem hopeless.”

Neilson, however, gradually began chipping away at the task, determined to transform the cabin into something he hoped would resemble “a National Trust site occupied by a psychopath,” with a little help from some friends, including Lavinia Blackwall and Marco Rea.

“They poured love into the cabin and helped restore Alastair's original vision. The project also helped restore my relationship with Lavinia which had fractured after Trembling Bells broke up in 2017. Alongside long-term Rex lieutenant Rory Haye, we applied the same intensity of dedication that we did in renovating the cabin, into creating The National Trust.”

As with Neilson’s previous albums, the recording process was intentionally unpolished, with songs presented in the studio with no rehearsals and captured in just a few takes. This raw, immediate approach amplifies the emotional weight of the album, which Neilson describes as being at a “personal apex of sour self-reflection, mock misanthropy, and self-exposure.” Longtime collaborators Lavinia Blackwall, Marco Rea, and Rory Haye return, alongside guest musicians like Jill O’Sullivan (Jill Lorean) and Trembling Bells guitarist Mike Hastings, to bring Neilson’s vision to life. The result is a deeply personal and multifaceted work, blending acid wit with haunting introspection.

The songs on The National Trust traverse a wide emotional and thematic range. The title track opens the album with a sharp and confessional edge, exploring love, loathing, and cultural critique with Neilson’s signature wit. “Boss Morris” pays tribute to the all-female Morris dancing troupe that reinvents British folk with vibrant energy, while “Two Kinds of Song” turns self-referential humour into an avalanche of remorse, culminating in the unforgettable chorus: “I’ve got two kinds of song. Which one will it be; one where I hate myself or one where you hate me?” Elsewhere, tracks like “Psychic Rome” draw from the decadence and hysteria of ancient Rome, while “The Coward in the Tower” breaks new ground as the only song Neilson has composed on an instrument before recording.

Throughout the album, Neilson’s lyricism is as vivid as ever, transforming personal tragedy into poignant and often darkly humorous art. Yet, there is a sense of finality to this work. "Songwriting has encouraged me to see the whole world as a resource. The things people say and throw away can be chiselled and polished and plopped into a lyric. It’s the same with building the cabin- scouring the edges of society for pallets, discarded wood, ornaments for the garden. But while song writing brings to life orphaned parts of my personality, the cabin is a synthesis of all my interests – nurturing my emotional health instead of exploiting it. With that in mind, I think this will be my last album as Alex Rex.”

With The National Trust, Neilson closes a significant chapter of his career, blending masterful musicianship with deeply personal storytelling. Known for his collaborations with artists such as Bonnie "Prince" Billy, Shirley Collins, and Current 93, as well as his decade-long tenure leading the psych-folk outfit Trembling Bells, Neilson has long been celebrated for his eclectic and uncompromising vision. This final album serves as a fitting culmination of his journey as Alex Rex, capturing the essence of his artistry while offering a profound exploration of loss, renewal, and the enduring power of love.

Includes demos of every track from the original album, stripped back to (mainly) guitar and voice. Originally a Norman Records exclusive, these are the last few copies available from a limited pressing of just 300. Mark Fry is a France- based, English singer- songwriter/ artist whose debut album, 'Dreaming With Alice,' released in Italy in 1971, became a much-bootlegged "acid-folk" classic three decades later. Fry returned to recording in 2008 and has since released 4 more acclaimed studio albums. These days, far less "acid" than in his youth, Fry still knows his way around a beautiful melody. This album of sketches is resplendent with love songs, the beauty of nature and the passing of time Fry is certainly no stranger to the preparatory sketch. An artist in the truest sense of the word, renowned equally for his decades- long career as a painter of vibrant abstracts and as a cult psychedelic minstrel turned intimate, evocative singersongwriter, his atelier, housed in a converted stable building at his Normandy home, literally doubles as his music studio. It was in this space that Mark's fifth solo album, 'Not On The Radar,' released back in May, was recorded in the summer of 2024, with the singer pushing back his easels to accommodate a four-piece live band and vanloads of miscellaneous accompanying paraphernalia.

Before that, the studio had been a considerably emptier space in which working versions of the album's ten languidly bucolic compositions were first demoed by the solitary songwriter (although some emergent tracks were also captured at Balintore - the home studio of Mark's regular guitarist, Iain Ross, housed on the latter's London-moored canal barge). With those sketches presented here in the same running order as on the mothership longplayer, this new album stands as a document of process - offering the opportunity for track- by- track comparison for those already familiar with Not On The Radar. Crucially, it also makes for a very fine standalone album in its own right, which, if nothing else, bears testament to the inherent robustness of Mark Fry's songwriting.

At the start of this summer, following a three-year hiatus for Daphni (punctuated only by his first ever collaborative Daphni track ‘Unidos’ alongside Sofia Kourtesis), he dropped ‘Sad Piano House’. The track represented something of a continuation in the Daphni catalogue, its roots growing from Cherry’s ‘Cloudy’ and its subsequent Kelbin remix, something in that song’s makeup having a profound effect when played on dancefloors by Snaith and countless others. ‘Sad Piano House’ deployed more intangibly irresistible bendy piano to equally satisfying effect and continues to achieve similarly rhapsodic dancefloor saturation.
Though a sizeable gap for Daphni releases, between Cherry and Butterfly however of course sits Honey, the latest Caribou album and one that saw the more instantaneous and dancefloor leaning traits of Daphni peaking through the cracks more than ever before. This blurring of the lines leads to an intriguing collaboration in Butterfly’s lead single ‘Waiting So Long (feat. Caribou)’. An unlikely duo - in that both artists are the same man, Dan Snaith - ‘Waiting So Long’ is not so much an identity crisis, ego trip, or the result of a chemical spill in the Snaith laboratory. It’s simply a track that Snaith felt for the first time belongs to both aliases, and might appeal to fans of both. He has never sung on a Daphni track before, and did not set out with the intention to do so this time, and yet this strange billing was born.

Daphni music has always been Snaith’s way of hitting directly to the core of the dancefloors he spends so much of his time playing to, and those dancefloors have been steadily expanding as his name grows, with the music following suit. This album however also draws from further back with a definite kinship to the very first Daphni album, the invigorating bag of ideas that was Jiaolong.
Butterfly is a showcase of the wonderful variety and surprising twists and turns that made that album such an exciting new prospect and that still to this day make Snaith such an intriguing DJ. There are more heavy hitters here, tracks that fill those dancefloors better than anyone, like ‘Clap Your Hands’ which picks up the energy of ‘Sad Piano House’ and flips it, exposing the gritty and intoxicating underbelly of Snaith’s hitmaking side, while retaining the playful urgency that runs through all of his work of late. Meanwhile ‘Hang’’s comic-strip horns are unpinned by gleeful force, unrelenting and thrillingly unshakeable. Elsewhere though comes a clutch of other tunes that might creep out somewhere more off the beaten path, a path Snaith has never stopped seeking in amongst his larger billings. ‘Lucky’ is squirmy and elusively intoxicating, ‘Invention’ skitters down meandering, inviting corridors, ‘Talk To Me’ grumbles and broods in the murk, and ‘Miles Smiles’ could roll on endlessly, so confident in its groove. There are no obvious peaks in these tracks or unifying moments, in fact many of them really have no business being on the dancefloor at all, and yet in the right setting, they could be the most fun to be had all night.

One such club is a good microcosm for the ethos of Butterfly as a whole. “Around the time I was finishing up this album I played a long set in a club called Open Ground in Wuppertal, Germany.” Snaith recalls, “It’s kind of, in one sense, the platonic ideal of the kind of club I’d want to play in. Every single decision has been taken, at great expense, with the aim of making the perfect sounding medium sized club room. But on top of it being the perfect acoustic environment it also is run by an amazing collection of people in a way that gives it a sense of community that dance music at its best provides. It is an absolute pleasure to play in that room to a crowd of people who come from all over. Playing in there you feel like you can play anything, and I played works in progress of pretty much every track on this album in my set there. Don’t get me wrong, I love playing a short set at a festival or in a more raw warehouse kind of club where you bang it out and only really functional music works but on record I guess the point of these Daphni records is to keep in mind a more expansive idea of dance music where the parameters are broad and the church is broad. I think that actually, putting really functional stuff next to weirder tracks (both on an album and in a dj set) might be the thing that’s still most interesting to me.”
This is the feeling that’s most palpable on Butterfly, and in every single time you see Snaith DJ. Right from the inception of the Daphni alias - and even before that – the thrill of trying stuff out, pushing at the boundaries has always been there and on Butterfly is present in all its twists and turns. It leaps all over the place and yet it hangs together, never feeling like a grab bag of dancefloor utilities but rather a distillation of all the strings to Snaith’s bow, exhilaratingly human and unified by one singular concept – simple and joyful exploration.

At the start of this summer, following a three-year hiatus for Daphni (punctuated only by his first ever collaborative Daphni track ‘Unidos’ alongside Sofia Kourtesis), he dropped ‘Sad Piano House’. The track represented something of a continuation in the Daphni catalogue, its roots growing from Cherry’s ‘Cloudy’ and its subsequent Kelbin remix, something in that song’s makeup having a profound effect when played on dancefloors by Snaith and countless others. ‘Sad Piano House’ deployed more intangibly irresistible bendy piano to equally satisfying effect and continues to achieve similarly rhapsodic dancefloor saturation.
Though a sizeable gap for Daphni releases, between Cherry and Butterfly however of course sits Honey, the latest Caribou album and one that saw the more instantaneous and dancefloor leaning traits of Daphni peaking through the cracks more than ever before. This blurring of the lines leads to an intriguing collaboration in Butterfly’s lead single ‘Waiting So Long (feat. Caribou)’. An unlikely duo - in that both artists are the same man, Dan Snaith - ‘Waiting So Long’ is not so much an identity crisis, ego trip, or the result of a chemical spill in the Snaith laboratory. It’s simply a track that Snaith felt for the first time belongs to both aliases, and might appeal to fans of both. He has never sung on a Daphni track before, and did not set out with the intention to do so this time, and yet this strange billing was born.

Daphni music has always been Snaith’s way of hitting directly to the core of the dancefloors he spends so much of his time playing to, and those dancefloors have been steadily expanding as his name grows, with the music following suit. This album however also draws from further back with a definite kinship to the very first Daphni album, the invigorating bag of ideas that was Jiaolong.
Butterfly is a showcase of the wonderful variety and surprising twists and turns that made that album such an exciting new prospect and that still to this day make Snaith such an intriguing DJ. There are more heavy hitters here, tracks that fill those dancefloors better than anyone, like ‘Clap Your Hands’ which picks up the energy of ‘Sad Piano House’ and flips it, exposing the gritty and intoxicating underbelly of Snaith’s hitmaking side, while retaining the playful urgency that runs through all of his work of late. Meanwhile ‘Hang’’s comic-strip horns are unpinned by gleeful force, unrelenting and thrillingly unshakeable. Elsewhere though comes a clutch of other tunes that might creep out somewhere more off the beaten path, a path Snaith has never stopped seeking in amongst his larger billings. ‘Lucky’ is squirmy and elusively intoxicating, ‘Invention’ skitters down meandering, inviting corridors, ‘Talk To Me’ grumbles and broods in the murk, and ‘Miles Smiles’ could roll on endlessly, so confident in its groove. There are no obvious peaks in these tracks or unifying moments, in fact many of them really have no business being on the dancefloor at all, and yet in the right setting, they could be the most fun to be had all night.

One such club is a good microcosm for the ethos of Butterfly as a whole. “Around the time I was finishing up this album I played a long set in a club called Open Ground in Wuppertal, Germany.” Snaith recalls, “It’s kind of, in one sense, the platonic ideal of the kind of club I’d want to play in. Every single decision has been taken, at great expense, with the aim of making the perfect sounding medium sized club room. But on top of it being the perfect acoustic environment it also is run by an amazing collection of people in a way that gives it a sense of community that dance music at its best provides. It is an absolute pleasure to play in that room to a crowd of people who come from all over. Playing in there you feel like you can play anything, and I played works in progress of pretty much every track on this album in my set there. Don’t get me wrong, I love playing a short set at a festival or in a more raw warehouse kind of club where you bang it out and only really functional music works but on record I guess the point of these Daphni records is to keep in mind a more expansive idea of dance music where the parameters are broad and the church is broad. I think that actually, putting really functional stuff next to weirder tracks (both on an album and in a dj set) might be the thing that’s still most interesting to me.”
This is the feeling that’s most palpable on Butterfly, and in every single time you see Snaith DJ. Right from the inception of the Daphni alias - and even before that – the thrill of trying stuff out, pushing at the boundaries has always been there and on Butterfly is present in all its twists and turns. It leaps all over the place and yet it hangs together, never feeling like a grab bag of dancefloor utilities but rather a distillation of all the strings to Snaith’s bow, exhilaratingly human and unified by one singular concept – simple and joyful exploration.

A chance meeting in Mexico City set Points of Inaccessibility into motion. When Ibero-American composer Rafael Anton Irisarri crossed paths with Dutch media artist Jaco Schilp at MUTEK in 2024, a conversation about how technology shapes perception revealed an unexpected common ground. Schilp invited Irisarri to a spring 2025 residency at Uncloud, the Utrecht-based collective he co-founded, where Irisarri's sound began to take form amid an environment shaped by Schilp’s visual research.

The Uncloud studio was located inside the former Pieter Baan Centre, a forensic psychiatric prison where suspects of violent crimes were once confined. Its long history of silence and containment shaped the atmosphere in which the project developed. Within this setting, Irisarri coaxed long bowed-guitar tones through a network of pedals and looping systems. The raw gestures thickened into a vaporous and architectural field of sound. Schilp processed the material through a custom point-cloud software patch that produced images in continuous flux. The visuals flickered, dissolved and reformed like memories that resist coherence, functioning as a digital Rorschach that reflected the observer’s own perception.

Amid these spectral echoes, the project evolved into an examination of how the past persists within present signals. Memory endures as residue and interference, continually shaping perception even when its source has faded.

Schilp’s visual process required a continuous stream of sound in real time. Irisarri improvised throughout the residency, generating material that allowed the visuals to develop in parallel. Once back in his New York studio, he began shaping the recordings by carving pathways through the improvisations and mapping selected passages into MIDI. This process allowed him to build outward from the bowed-guitar material with minimal overdubs, adding Prophet 5 textures, Moog bass and strings that expanded the harmonic field while keeping the original performances at the center. To refine the structure, Abul Mogard provided editorial input, working with Irisarri’s stems to guide transitions and strengthen the overall pacing. The material, originally created under conditions of immediacy and constraint, evolved into a fully realized work through careful revision, patience and sustained reworking.

The title engages the geographic concept of the Poles of Inaccessibility, locations defined solely by their distance from all surrounding points. Irisarri adapts this idea to the conditions of digital life, where new forms of inaccessibility arise through the informational enclosures that structure perception. What appears to be a fully connected network often produces a deeper kind of separation, one shaped by the filtering logic of the systems that mediate experience. In this sense, the digital sphere mirrors its geographic counterpart. We inhabit spaces saturated with signals, yet the possibility of genuine contact becomes increasingly remote.

At its core, Points of Inaccessibility considers what can be understood as the new rituals of capitalist realism. Irisarri uses the term digital shamanism to describe the forms of simulated connection that organize contemporary life. These systems promise comfort through algorithms, influencers and AI interlocutors, yet they often reproduce the same conditions that generate loneliness in the first place. What appears as connection becomes the echo of connection, a sequence of gestures that imitate solidarity while withholding it. Like the geographic poles, these rituals are defined by distance. They pull us into environments where everything is illuminated, yet meaningful proximity becomes increasingly rare. In this sense, the work approaches a hauntology of the present, a reflection on futures that have stalled and intimacies that have been thinned by the algorithmic infrastructures that surround us.

This thematic tension unfolds across the album’s four movements. Faded Ghosts of Clouds introduces the work with textures that rise and dissipate in slow cycles, creating an atmosphere that resists clear definition. Breaking the Unison occupies a pivotal position in the sequence and focuses on the moment when the individual and the system fall out of alignment. Its shifting patterns trace the scattering of signals that once suggested connection, revealing the instability at the heart of contemporary perception. Signals from a Distant Afterglow forms the center of the album and features vocals by Karen Vogt, whose presence enters the sound field like a fragile transmission shaped by distance and delay. The closing piece, Memory Strands, follows motifs that appear, recede and briefly intersect before returning to quiet. Across these movements, the album outlines a landscape in which emergence and disappearance continually inform one another.

Listening to Points of Inaccessibility is an encounter with a sound field that is constantly in flux. Elements surface briefly, shift position and recede, creating a sense of motion that resists stable interpretation. The music moves between closeness and vastness, carrying traces of memory while withholding a clear point of resolution.

The album’s visual identity completes the project’s conceptual arc. In Mexico City, where Irisarri and Schilp first met, Daniel Castrejón transformed stills from Schilp’s point-cloud visuals into the cover image. The final artwork captures a single suspended frame of the digital material, a moment extracted from a field that is normally in constant motion. Its surface recalls the texture and abstraction found in the work of Catalan artist Antoni Tàpies, where material presence and erasure coexist within the same plane.

What emerges is a work that examines the tension between technological systems and human presence. Points of Inaccessibility asks whether connection is still possible within environments shaped by mediation and delay, or whether we have become isolated points within the very networks that promise proximity. What possibilities for relation persist within environments organized by algorithms and interruption? And how are we meant to understand presence when so much of it is constructed at a distance?

Points of Inaccessibility will be released on BioVinyl on February 6, 2026, with audiovisual performances planned throughout 2026.

Mastered by Stephan Mathieu
Artwork by Jaco Schilp
Design and layout by Daniel Castrejón
Artist photo by Iulia Alexandra Magheru.

cLOUDDEAD's debut album, compiling six 10" EPs that appeared between 2000-2001, is aurally dense and obscured. A sprawling mass of miniature beat-suites and Dadaist lyrics, this strange and beautiful 3xLP would influence a myriad of sub-genres (cloud rap, hauntology, lo-fi hip-hop, etc.) in the two decades since its initial release.

Only the three members of cLOUDDEAD – Why?, Doseone and Odd Nosdam – can speak to the group's origins, but in the context of underground hip-hop towards the end of the 20th century, their arrival makes perfect sense. Cincinnati had a vital scene; home to Scribble Jam, an annual confluence of MCs, DJs, B-boys and graffiti artists. While the trio soon relocated to the Bay Area where they co-founded the Anticon collective, their Midwestern roots – in ramshackle basements of off-campus hovels, as the "cerberus of Southern Ohio" – would remain the atomic heart of their early recordings.

As Chris Martins writes in the liner notes, "The only reason we know their names today is because of how loudly and curiously they aired their insularity. They rewrote the entire world as they knew it through their own fucked perspective, and when those mysterious 10-inches started popping up in record shops, it wasn't just a puzzle to investigate: there seemed to be a whole cosmology hidden in those grooves."

Each side of the album represents one of those elusive 10-inches, each embodying a universe unto itself. Opening salvo "Apt. A" and "And All You Can Do Is Laugh" are perhaps most emblematic of the cLOUDDEAD experience. Why? and Dose create a new language through boundless non-sequiturs, sing-song non-choruses and call-and-response hooks, while Nosdam's dexterous production shifts from crackling ambience of Flying Saucer Attack to tight Ohio Players drum breaks and oblique film samples.

Taken all together, cLOUDDEAD is an original interpretation of hip-hop in the surreal Y2K glow – a bizarre meeting point between William Basinski's Disintegration Loops and MF DOOM's Operation: Doomsday. All it took was a Dr. Sample SP-202, Tascam cassette eight-track and cheap RadioShack mic. There's truly nothing like it.

This edition has been faithfully restored by Nosdam. European exclusive version comes on clear vinyl, incl. fold-out poster and liner notes insert.

At 19, Helviofox adds his signature to the batida template that by now seems to have been in existence since forever. Such is the strength of this primordial fountain, a source of rejuvenation. Also within the literal family: Helvio cites brothers Dadifox and Erycox as main influences.

Curiosity for the sound made him go into production by the time he was 13. A couple of years later (2020) he became co-founder of TLS with E8Prod, Alberfox, DiionyG and other mates. His talent fully developed since then, opening a slight detour that became a new path parallel to the main road.

Lively basslines anchor the beat directly lifted from tradition and clearly channeled to the dancefloor. Strong, well rounded grooves, a spot-on sense of timing and tempo, elegant atmospheres, all part of Helvio's notion of arrangement and his perception of dance music boundaries, stretching them just enough to present a challenge but not as far as to disconnect head and feet and risk losing the floor.

This liminal space between experimentation and popularity is both dangerous and attractive. There is no one formula. Precisely why it still retains plenty of fuel for current and future generations to contribute personal visions.

Lisboa, 2025

Mess Esque are a duo featuring music and instruments by Mick Turner
and words and voice by Helen Franzmann. Their self-titled album is a
beguiling travelogue of restless, somnambulant wanderings.
Perhaps best known as one of the Dirty Three, Mick’s been playing
guitar and making music with many collaborators for forty years. He’s
loved his paintings too but revered especially for his solo music - since
1997, Drag City have released four of his albums, plus an EP and an
album of the Tren Brothers (Mick with percussionist and fellow Dirty
Three-ite, Jim White) and two EPs featuring Mick as the Marquis de Tren
with Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy.
Mick’s last record was 2013’s ‘Don’t Tell the Driver’, a work that found
him departing from his traditional hermetic instrumental template by
employing a rhythm section and brass charts and even collaborating with
a vocalist. After all the purely instrumental music he’s made with Dirty
Three and solo, a singer is now part of the sound he’s hearing in his
head these days; while demoing new material, he realized that he was
again writing music that needed lyrics - and for that matter, someone
other than himself to sing them. But who? In 2019, he was introduced to
Helen through a mutual friend who’d produced her last album. Under the
name Mckisko, Helen has released three albums over the past 12 years,
working and touring with a range of Australian musicians along the way.
Her music has been described as numinous and transformative. Her
most recent album, ‘Southerly’, saw her moving into a more expansive
sound which led to an openness and excitement around further
collaboration.
Helen’s words are carefully observed, her phrasing responding intuitively
to Mick’s looping guitar figures with vocal repetitions of her own. Starting
with a feeling or a voicing, there are often no words - both players are
searching on their own paths. Then suddenly they have arrived and are
passing the emerging meaning back and forth, the rising intensity
forming a kind of undertow that pulls the listener deeper into their world.
Often, Helen would record her vocals in the middle of the night, seeking
that 2am flow, a moment of greatest isolation through which to trace her
melodie with fragility and strength. This crystallizes Mess Esque’s
intention: riding the sleepy drift through the blurred edges of the day…
time-traveling to that moment beyond stasis where sense and no sense
coincide and share space and time and energy. Viewing from afar the
immense peace of this planet when its ghost world of spirits below - the
madness of crowds, people sliding past each other faraway in the night -
are quieted at last.

"Chuck Roth’s music wanders. The New York-based guitarist’s inquisitive style builds from rippling patterns that center the physicality of his instrument, roaming wherever they take him. watergh0st songs, his Palilalia debut, collects songs from the past half-decade, presenting an intimate snapshot of his music that draws from an eclectic background in classical guitar, electronic music, and improvisation." "The mark of watergh0st songs is its exploratory nature. Roth began his musical journey as a classical guitarist studying the canon works for the instrument, but he was never interested in playing fast or flashy. Instead, he wanted to roam down musical paths and see where they led him. He eventually became more interested in electronic music, where he found inspiration in subtractive properties and patterning. The music of watergh0st songs translates that electronic music to the guitar: many of the songs began as synth tones and later branched out through the physicality of his instrument." "When writing music, Roth wants melodies to feel comfortable in the body, focused less on setting a structure and more on letting music unfold how it happens in any given moment. His songs are fluid and his melodies are clear, plucked with careful attention but never too deterministically. His is the music of a traveler, floating around the strings of the guitar. It is about embracing the banal, or the everyday moments that shape a life." "Though Roth’s music often feels quite direct, there is a dreaminess that lives inside of it. His lyrics don’t feel too hot or cold, instead they have a wistfulness and melancholy of what it feels like to live through every passing day. His exploratory style bolsters these lyrics, giving the music its sense of ennui, as does his focus on texture. Each track takes on a different structure: 'Bunny Hop' unfolds like a squirrel jumping from branch to branch of a tree, while 'Private Boy' has a slower approach, growing from delayed harmonics that almost sound like bowed strings. His textures range from metallic and bristling to soft and feathery, evolving with gentleness. It is about ending up somewhere different than where it started, and watching the notes that fall in-between." The embrace of the routine colors Roth’s music. In it, there is a sense of presence, of admiring the smallest details and moments. Roth loves to take walks and look around, observing the beauty of his surroundings. Similarly, watergh0st songs feels like moving through the world at the pace of a comfortable trot and soaking in every sound as it emerges. It is a quiet evolution—but one that stays."—Vanessa Ague

SACRED COWBOYS are a moody hard rock band with a dry sense of humor. They started playing in murky Melbourne dive bars in 1982 attracting a rabid following. With the release of their iconic first single, Nothing Grows in Texas, they were catapulted to national TV notoriety on Countdown, Australia's version of Top of the Pops. 2025 saw founders Garry Gray and Mark Ferrie enlist Timothy Deane, Anthony Paine, and Damian Fitzgerald. You will soon be holding in your hands the new album, 'In the Manifesto.' 'In the Manifesto' was mastered by Mikey Young, who worked on the last six Mark Lanegan records and plays in Eddie Current Suppression Ring. All new songs are written by Garry and the band. 'In the Manifesto' shows the Sacred Cowboys do not indulge in one musical style. It's a complex, atmospheric soundtrack with Gray's uber cool delivery over sometimes sparse, sometimes weaving guitars and rich harmonies. Channeling a Sonic Youth ethos and grinding the gears in the engine room of the Cosmos Factory, 'In the Manifesto' is as wide and expansive as the Australian desert skies. Radio 3CR's Paul 'Dr Gonzo' Elliott got a sneak preview and says. "Garry Gray returns with Sacred Cowboys and a brand-new album . a 12-track tour de force titled, 'In the Manifesto'. The Sacred Cowboys have performed intense live shows and transported that energy and mood onto this new album, 'In the Manifesto.' It is all killer and a tour de force. Garnering the attention of Andrew McGee at Torn & Frayed Records, Australia and combining with French allies Seb Blanchais and Romain Michon at BEAST Records, France, the rest is about to become history.

The late pedal-steel guitarist Susan Alcorn leaves a final surprise hinting at new directions left underexplored on her collaboration with Nomad War Machine, the improvising metal duo of drummer Julius Masri and guitarist James Reichard. Their death-metal-influenced pummel adds new fire to her molten flow across a suite of improvised tracks that show off the vast range and simpatico of the trio. Julius Masri and James Reichard of Nomad War Machine: “An unexpected opportunity arose out of a catching-up conversation where Susan had revealed a recent fascination with death metal, confessing, ‘I’m 70 years old—I think about death!’ She had learned a couple of Arch Enemy songs on her pedal steel, particularly compelled by their frontwoman’s intensity and vigor as a performer. Voicing an appreciation for the hook-oriented sound of Swedish death metal made sense for a melodic thinker whose roots as veteran pedal steel player reached into the Texan Western swing circuit in the ’60s and ’70s. For her, ever the explorer, metal was a new, appealing point of departure into fresh musical territory. When she expressed an interest in playing with Nomad War Machine, it felt like there was a whole world of shared or complementary interests to explore.” Though known for her fluency in jazz, country, and free improvisation, Alcorn had also studied Arabic, the oud, and maqam, with all holding a deep curiosity for her. Pre-’70s country & western music had also been a lifelong presence for both members Nomad War Machine. Masri, a Lebanese free-jazz and metal drummer, and devoted fan of Texas swing legends like Speedy West, Jimmy Bryant, Leon Rhodes, and Joe Maphis, was also steeped in Arabic music traditions. James Reichard, before coming to “freely” improvised metal, xenharmonic music, and non-Western tuning systems, had grown up being subjected to countless singalongs to numerous pre-’70s country records, entranced by the pedal steel.

'Flowers', the new EP from Elizabeth Davis, finds itself at the cross-section of many factors. In part, it’s the result of Davis’ obsession with a seminal folk song. But it also coincides with her rediscovery of the voice and language as an instrument. It was recorded during an autumn residency at Sternhagen Gut, the cultural refuge run by Gudrun Gut and Thomas Fehlmann, located deep in the Uckermark countryside halfway between Berlin and the Baltic coast.

The six tracks on 'Flowers' all take Pete Seeger’s ‘60s protest-folk song 'Where Have All The Flowers Gone' as their starting point. However, they veer off in different directions, from vocal loops and deconstructed lyrics, to instrumental drones and glitchy, manipulated rhythm tracks. Like many musicians, Davis has learnt composition by a process of disassembly, analyzing musical works piece by piece, and 'Flowers' began as one such forensic exercise. “But sometimes,” says Davis, “a source is so loaded up on meaning that the studies and experiments can become worthwhile and meaningful works in their own right.” 'Flowers' began to take on a life of its own, raising renewed questions about age-old themes such as war, authorship, translation and historical structures.

Davis is no stranger to cover versions. From studying violin to playing in free jazz and punk bands, interpreting other artists’ works has long been a key part of her musical approach. And since her radio show 'Deep Puddle' recently drew to a close after seven years, her experiments with narration and sound collage have found their way into her musical work once again. For 'Flowers', she cut up the source material (with a nod to Gysin and Burroughs), and reassembled the lyrics, the musical notes, and recordings by different performers, to create uncanny new forms.

But perhaps the biggest influence on 'Flowers' was conversations about music, art and pop subcultures with Gut. These dialogues helped Davis find a balance between far-out sound design experiments and catchy melodies, combining a certain avant-garde element and modern day songcraft. And it’s this sense of conversation, this revisiting of topics and renewal of ideas, that will keep us coming back to 'Flowers' long into the future.

For the first time, all the 1978 recording sessions of Lino Capra Vaccina's legendary Antico Adagio - including Frammenti da Antico Adagio and Echi Armonici da Antico Adagio - collected in one definitive deluxe edition. Minimalism, and so much more. Sheets of resonance, stunning harmonic interplay, intricate rhythms rising as one. Sidelong works of pulsing, hypnotic, ritualistic drone built from vibraphones, marimbas, gongs, bells, and cymbals, threaded by the sustained vocal tones of Juri Camisasca and Dana Matus. A trance-inducing, meditative, cosmic world of sonic interplay - the world beyond, joined with that which lays within.

Before an aberrant idea of progress ludicrously sped up our daily lives, even in hectic Milan it was possible to "play slowly" - with no pressure, simply following the path your art was showing you. This music moves between modal fascinations, ritual evocations, and states of hypnotic trance, evoking the acoustic environment of Tibetan and Zen Buddhist ceremonies and the temporal structures of Noh theatre, from which Vaccina took the name of his original label, Nō. Now, fittingly, this complete collection appears on Ubi Kū, the label of the Italian Buddhist Union.

Lino Vaccina (1953) first gained note as a member of Aktuala, creating a hybrid of rock, avant-garde, and ancient musics while incorporating sonic traditions from across the globe. After leaving in 1974, he studied at Milano's Civica Scuola di Musica, collaborating with Franco Battiato and Juri Camisasca, and forming Telaio Magnetico in 1975. In 1978 he self-released Antico Adagio in a tiny edition and wouldn't be heard from again until 1992. From 1979 to 1985 he was percussionist with the Orchestra of Teatro alla Scala under maestros such as Abbado and Ozawa. His career has been marked by an incredibly high bar of quality and a tragically slim recorded output - a rigorous and sensual language fusing Oriental, Mediterranean, and African influences with ritual elements and a cosmic sense of time.

As Massimo Torrigiani writes: "Lino Vaccina's music captivates through its internal coherence and its ability to generate states of suspension and deep listening - through undulations, small melodic fragments, dialogues between acoustic instruments and resonances that seem to evoke a phantom orchestra. An example of personal exploration, discipline and openness that speaks across time to anyone willing to be drawn into its sound."

Frammenti da Antico Adagio and Echi Armonici da Antico Adagio contain material from the original sessions, restored and issued by Die Schachtel in 2014 and 2017. The new masters, prepared by Giuseppe Ielasi, are based on those restorations and the original material. The package includes previously unpublished photographs from the May 1978 sessions and liner notes by Mauro Radice in Italian, English, and French. Cover art by Dana Matus. Printed by Legno, Milano & Mother Tongue, Verona.

Personnel: Lino Capra Vaccina (vibraphone, marimba, tablas, wooden drums, darbuka, cymbals, gong, metal sheets, bells, bass drum, tom, snare drum, piano, voice), Dana Matus (voice, percussion, cetra), Juri Camisasca (voice), Mario Garuti (violin), Roberto Mazza (oboe). Original production by Massimo Villa & Lino Vaccina with Piero Cannizzaro. Recorded May 1978 at Circle Studios, Milano.

The heights of the Italian avant-garde, at their very best.

Subconscio left the smallest town in Gargano to begin a new life in uncharted Bologna.
Leaving mother earth, he still retains a strong sense of that distant world, expressed through the senses of his inner child. The Subconscio
project finds its expression in music, where it blends Neo Soul, Hip Hop, and Electronica into a sound deeply influenced by individual experiences. Soft vibrations and relaxed lyrics are the means through which he expresses his devotion to creative freedom, moving with the urgency of someone who has finally found his voice. The word dáimōn originates from Ancient Greek and means divine messenger, a guiding
spirit that hovers in a middle ground, called metaxu, the same place where the soul resides, and acts as a link between God and humanity.*
"Daimon" is Subconscio's debut album, produced by Luzee. It's the intimate vision of a person suspended in his imagination, questioning
the identity of his own memory and how the places that led him to his NOW are actually his future. The present doesn't exist in the narrative.
It exists only in the connection between childhood memories and the adult perspective.
Giulio is his son and also his parent: the Subconscious; the "daimon" is the musical journey that connects these two ways of observing the
same memory. Nostalgic turmoil meets the desire to recognize oneself and fuel the obsession with music, because only this—albeit the least
apparent art—is the only one that can be the voice and bearer of the dimensions of consciousness.
Featuring on the album: Madbuddy and Claver Gold