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The Tel-Aviv centered Yotam Avni officially joined forces with Stroboscopic Artefacts last year, turning in a sensual an invigorating entry for the Monad series. Thanks to his personalized fusion of esoteric and worldly sound elements, Avni immediately made a case to deliver more work to the label, and now he has done so with 'Perlude to Dybbuk,' the second in a new series of S.A. releases to feature the Oblique Artefacts visual team's distinct, elegant portrayals of scanned foliage. As with Avni's previous Monad contribution, the new Perlude to Dybbuk makes references - both in title and in sonic content - to the ancient Hebrew folklore of his homeland (a 'dybbuk' being a kind of limbonic spirit attaching itself to the body of a living human until it has successfully reached its final destination). However, the atmospheric, rather than overt, use of these references gives this record a level of dignity and quality as well as a premonitory feeling that hovers over the proceedings.The opening 'Avka (New Life)' opens with the twin stimuli of chthonic, rolling percussion and ambience that has become a modern Stroboscopic tradition, but ever so gradually deviates from the realm of the easily anticipated. Some of the surprises to be found here are sharp, organic drum fills and sighing strings that have an uncanny vocal quality to them. By the time a surgically clipped acid synth sample comes into the mix, the track has reached a simmering level of excitement and the listener's imagination will have license to reside in a virtual world seamlessly combining elements both ancient and futuristic.Dybbuk' temporarily situates listeners back in brutal modernity, with the first sounds heard being something like insistently slicing helicopter blades. Avni merely uses this as the foundation, though, for a genuinely unique construction whose shamanic beats, throttled horn and undertow of frenzied electronics combine to give the feeling of being menaced and eventually overtaken by a spirit entity. This piece shows just what Avni is capable when operating in a more aggressive, 'post-industrial' mode, and the result stands up with some of the best exponents of that genre.The finale 'Modern Matters' is the most readily club-friendly selection from the disc. This potent, floor-shaking and perspiration-inducing number superimposes resonant vocals from traditional Middle Eastern folk song onto this alchemical mixture of machine oil and sweat, and provides a romantic flair without resorting to naïve, touristic 'ethno-techno.' Avni's skillful dedication to counterpoint, and determination to make a finished form is more than the sum of its parts, shines through here and throughout the duration of this record.

Legacy Chicago craftsman Mark Nelson’s latest offering as Pan. American is less a distillation or divergence than it is a return to his musical and spiritual beginnings. Spare, subdued, and largely acoustic, A Son unfurls like late summer dusk on the edge of town, expansive but intimate.

Motivated by notions of “moving backward” and tracing roots – as well as a couple years of hammered dulcimer lessons – the album’s nine songs were written and recorded in his home in Evanston, Illinois, and honed during a recent solo tour in Europe. The emphasis on uncluttered arrangements and the centrality of the guitar and vocals reveal these songs as the most direct and emotional statement of his career.

Nelson cites everything from June Tabor, The Carter Family, Suicide and Jimmy Reed as oblique inspirations, though his truest muse was creative self-inquiry: “What does music do, Where does music start? How simple can it be? How honest can it be?”

After decades of mining post-rock pathways and latticework electronics in Labradford and early Pan. American, A Son strips away ornament and distraction in favor of a direct gaze into the heart of what is.

Without turning anything upside down, the trio has released their second album, gracefully deepening the unique path they have carved out for themselves. It is an album that already stands in stark contrast to the attention-deficit culture of our times. Indeed, whilst music sometimes seeks to concentrate the intensity of its references and artefacts, the trio takes a step back, deploying an intensity that is subtly distributed. Thanks to their progressive instrumental tracks blending elements inherited from dub, jazz, folk and even musique concrète, the trio has never allowed the quality of their music to suffer from their experimentation; at the same time, they have never been afraid to venture off the beaten track to achieve the sound they desire. Every single track of this album cast like fragile bridges over various landscapes that explore cycles and the natural rhythm within. It is up to the listener to tread carefully and not lose their footing and embrace the cinematic movement of this music. The three artists have indeed achieved a musical expression so free that it possesses the power of illusion. We are suddenly swept up in all these illusions, to the point where our memories are in flux. Both haunting and in motion, this trio’s music offers an impregnable mental retreat and an invitation to dance. This album conveys a dreamlike conviction that time, in its relentless flight, might—if only for a moment—be brought to a halt. A halt that awaits you.

Words by Carl Åhnebrink

French composer, artist and co-founder of Transversales Disques, Jonathan Fitoussi has developed a distinctive body of
work over the past two decades, blending analog synthesis, minimalism and electronic music.

Inspired by the mineral landscapes and luminous atmosphere of southeastern France, DELTAS is his fifth solo studio album.
Combining hypnotic drum patterns, flowing pulses, shimmering electronic textures and contemplative movements, it unfolds as a deeply immersive journey through space, light and motion.
A rich and evocative work from one of the most singular voices in contemporary electronic music.

*comes with Download Code.

Simplicity floods itself in textured imperfection and anointed noise on the debut oracular folk guitar album released under the UK’s 5 Gate Temple.

A roughly recorded stack of improvisations on a classical-style guitar, God Spill embodies the broken, all while un-doing the expectations around traditional guitar folk. Mingot's fingerpicked tones meld with unsteady pedal loops and hissed drones rotating through flawed circuitry. A slow to becoming repair that is translucent, cryptic and oblique.

Mingot's misty glitched landscape paints the polarity of both presence and disappearance, all cyclically mirroring the unseen. Honesty, discordance, impatience, and certainty all find home alongside blurred vocal drones.

Since 2022, the EU-based, Queens NY native has released music elusively as hardcore high priestess St Agnis and now swims waters of the acoustic - with soft rage and pursuit.

"Based in Thiers (63), Ernest Bergez, also known as Sourdure, has been walking a tightrope for the past ten years, combining a spirit of experimentation with a personal, handcrafted approach to traditional music. Affirming and transfiguring the ""Sourdure-esque"" aesthetic, Outredore unfolds a surprising array of discoveries in Occitan and French: hallucinatory laments, oblique rhapsodies, and carnivalesque odes.


A generous and respectful invitation to build unexpected bridges between disparate sonic worlds, the album extrapolates the modal vocabulary specific to traditional Occitan music, blending it with stylistic elements from around the Mediterranean. Carried by a voice more raw than ever and caught in the ebb and flow of a troubled era, Outredore's songs explore the relationship between the personal and the political.


Vulnerable, faltering and visceral, Outredore evokes a nova cançon occitana that has traded folk guitars for electronic machinery."

2020 album from Colorado’s freewheelin’ melodist Josephine Foster. Revolving between her adopted Spain and her native American West, Josephine was stationed this spring in Nashville with maverick guitarist and comrade-in-arms Matthew Schneider. The result: ‘No Harm Done’, a spacious and enveloping love letter of an album. Eight new slow-burning songs branch forth from idiosyncratic country folk blues, sung with sibylline wit and a hint of the absurd, awash in sensually anachronic lyricism. “The Wheel of Fortune”, nearly a title track by virtue of its refrain: 'No harm will come/if there's no harm done', are words of a homebound wanderer finding refuge in healing stillness with her beloved, having 'time to kill' in the midst of 'hard times to feel at home'. All delivered with calm sagacity upon the pedestal of Mr. Schneider's pedal steel and underscored by a knowing trebled chorus in Foster's lower register. Going nowhere never felt like so righteous of a destination before. Devotion in all its permutations, spiritual to carnal, are seamlessly explored. In 'Conjugal Bliss', overtones of the 12-string and autoharp gently interplay, sounding like some unearthed Carter family wedding hymn (it bears the subversive subtitle '69' ) while 'How come, Honeycomb?' bounces low in the hips like a sultry old music hall number à la Harry Nilsson. The obliquely sapphic 'Leonine', it's unquiet harp scaling right out of ancient Lesbos, dreams of a kingless land; in 'Sure Am Devilish', a stargazer humbly confesses to a lowercase lord. 'Old Saw', the mesmeric album closer, is a medium's petition to cross the threshold and merge with the holy spirit. Josephine's enigmatic voice captured once more by frequent co-producer Andrija Tokic in his analog Bomb Shelter studio, where layers of her guitar, piano, organ entwine with Schneider's 12-string, pedal steel and electric bass to rouse a spectral yet full blooded band. The ensuing cycle of songs pulse and glow within the ruins and deep fundamental roots of American song. “Remarkable, ghostly music” The Guardian.

“Ruins are the style of our future cities, future cities are themselves ruins.” - Izosaki Arata

A note from Lawrence English: Nostalgia is not an ideology, though in this moment, we could be mistaken for thinking it might be just that. Over the past years, the idea of nostalgia has been filtered through various political and technological lenses and has become a tool used for forgetting, rather than remembering. Instead of embracing histories’ complexities and inconsistencies, this version of nostalgia seeks only singular recollection. This contemporary phenomenon of nostalgia has become a methodology at best, and a weapon at worst, used to erode the past and project forward a collapsed and unimaginably sanitised version of things, places, and ways of being from former times. It’s this projection that sees it playing a mounting role in a social pathology associated with reducing the imagined possibilities of future.

The Rest Is My Ghost is a record that interrogates the manifestations of this reductive futuring and celebrates those that have tried (and failed), and those who continue to push back against decayed and revisionist positions. It’s a record that considers the weaponisation of nostalgia for the purposes of cloaking possible futures.

In recent times, I’ve proposed a term for this weaponised use of nostalgia, something I have called Acid Nostalgia. I offer it as a shorthand to describe the de-contouring of the future through a corrosive fixation on a flatten rendering of the preceding times. It is, in part, a certain type of lazy cultural scripting where tropes of the past are presented in the absolute, as empty pictorials; photocopies without any original from which to draw actual meaning, or useful detail.

Acid Nostalgia describes an increasingly common political projection of nostalgia that exists without any subjective connection to the memory surrounding and contained within it. Like acid poured onto a surface, this use of nostalgia seeks to erodes and smooth out the complexity and texture of lived connection and longing, which has until recently guided contemplations of nostalgia. Acid Nostalgia instead erases the texture of histories and de-contours the past, and in doing so dematerialises the horizon of possibility, which by its very nature marks the beginning point for any (and all) imaginable futures. Acid Nostalgia is a dreamless screen, where uncertainty, restlessness and aspiration are subjected to corrosion, breaking down and neutralising the wellspring of futures which are birthed from within the ambiguously charged, complex and at times chaotic atmospheres of the present.

The Rest Is My Ghost is not however some universal reading of these things and happenings. Rather it draws its breath from a very personal pathway carved through my own fraught experiences of nostalgia and framed through a disparate collage of chance encounters, situations, places and provocations. It takes oblique notes from civic and architectural references such as Japan’s Metabolist movement, Hong Kong’s ‘one line sky’ and Los Angeles’s vanished Sodium Vapour lights. It interpolates texts – factual and fictional – by authors such as Franco Berardi, Kate Crawford, JG Ballard, Katsuhiro Otomo, Mark Fisher and Alexei Yurchak who have each so wonderfully sought to rupture the familiarity of now, and push us towards other ways of imaging ourselves, our surroundings and our very ways of being in this world.

I also owe a debt of thanks to Adam Curtis in helping launch what has become this edition. It was his provocation, in a conversation we shared about an overwhelming and profound sense of uncertainty around being able to predict the immediate future and how to respond to that, which sparked the earliest inklings of this edition.

The Rest Is My Ghost is ultimately a record about the promise of constructions and connections to come, material, social and political. It's a record that accepts the fragility of failure as a source of ultimate potential, and a position from which the deepest freedom of imagination might be sought and summoned forth to conjure even the most unimaginable, (but) possible futures.

15 pop songs about animals by 15 of the best indiepop bands in the world: Pets Sounds is as simple as that. Ranging from the playful (Sassyhiya, Gay Skeleton Club) to the heartbreaking (Caleb Nichols, Jetstream Pony) to the enigmatic (Railcard, Oh Hippo) to the satiric (The Magnetic Fields, Brian Bilston and The Catenary Wires), there's more diversity on this album than you can shake a stick at. Or throw a bone at. The LP comes with a full colour insert and the CD comes with a booklet featuring artwork by Elodie Ginsbourg. Musicians spend a lot of time working at home, with their pets for company. The pets sit around, happy in their own worlds, sublimely indifferent to their humans' endeavours. As familiar as family members, but as unknowable as aliens, pets are the perfect muse. They can be treated as objects of adoration - `Rufus' by Tugboat Captain is an expression of pure joy - or they can be treated as metaphors. More reliable than lovers but less dangerous than heroin, pets are a great vehicle for singing obliquely about something else. Swansea Sound's `I Don't Like Men In Uniform' is about an ageing, irascible terrier, but it's also about men striving to maintain their potency as territorial aggressors. The Magnetic Fields' `Fido, Your Leash Is too Long' is a libidinous and unreliable partner, as well as a dog that likes sniffing other dogs' private parts. For the most part, animals come off better than humans on this album. In `Kings Of The Animal Kingdom', The Burning Hell dramatise our indulgent love of pets in order to expose our cruelty to other human beings. In `Bo's New Haircut', The Cords express the injustice and unfairness of an innocent animal having to submit to human demands. In `Crayon Potato' by Sassyhiya, the magnificent Crayon contemptuously rejects the gifts offered by her besotted human owners. In `Lola', the opening track, Lande Hekt tries to put this enigmatic human-animal relationship into words. And concludes that however much we love our animals, and no matter how much we manage to communicate with them, we can never really know them. A melancholy conclusion maybe, but the music - as with all the songs on this album - is expressive of the wonderment and the joy that comes from sharing your life with a member of another species. The tracks by Brian Bilston and The Catenary Wires, Jetstream Pony and Railcard are previously unreleased. These three bands are also playing a launch show at The Water Rats, London, on 9th July 2026.

After a critically acclaimed trilogy of albums and a 10-year hiatus, Romain Turzi, the underground pope of uncompromising French music, returns to the helm to compose and produce his new opus “Drop!”. He is joined on vocals by his longtime friend Oliver Gage, whose autobiographical and melancholic writing brings to life an intimate and redemptive musical epic, woven with oblique pop songs and club tracks that reconcile punks and dancers.



An album of diverse influences, it draws on the masters of film music (Goblin, Angelo Badalamenti), the titans of electronic and techno music (808 State, Dopplereffekt), the hedonistic spirit of ’80s Brit rock (Happy Mondays, The Stone Roses), the finely crafted melodies of timeless folk singers (Woody Guthrie, Neil Young), and the sonic power of My Bloody Valentine or the productions of Andrew Weatherall.



A record born of friendship and fearless creative freedom, “Drop!” is an invitation to escape the heaviness of the present and brush against a form of utterly necessary ecstasy.

The album was inspired by the dislocation Kennan felt upon returning, after several years
away, to the rustic neighborhood northwest of L.A. where she’d grown up: “Wandering through a place where my life once existed but where everything had quietly shifted with time.”

The music conjures a mood of distance, dust, and dazed emotion, alternately lulling and unraveling. From shuffling tumbleweed vignettes (“The Lone West,” “Romantic Strings”) to sepia-tone torch songs (“Shadows,” “Reverie”) to oblique keyboard meditations (“Moonlight,” “Rain”) , Kennan’s soundworld moves with a muted, murky beauty, like alluring shapes seen through smudged glass. In her hands, haze is a transformative property, liberating melody and memory into landscapes still untraveled.

Hausu Mountain co-founder Maxwell Allison returns to the label under his moniker Mukqs with an hour-long progressive ambient statement entitled Juckport. Performed live on a solitary sampler in a single take, the album shifts from warp-speed blasts of glitch to iridescent jazz fusion piano sketches to expanses of ecstatic synthesis. Allison's improvised approach to live sound collage blends innumerable layers of texture and oblique harmony into a continually thrilling electro-acoustic mosaic. Each track begins as a bank of samples sourced from Allison’s collection of synthesizers, drum machines, and field recordings, arrows pointing in a direction but without established counterpoint. Spontaneity, and the sometimes chaotic juxtapositions it engenders, undercut any traces of machine logic in the music as it expands and contracts organically. It is the product of hands moving in real space, in real time, for an extended period. Juckport is animated by a duality of glitched-out abstraction and intangible bliss. Synthesizer pads stretch beyond the imagination’s horizon line, counterbalanced by a churn of clipped samples that scatter across the stereo field like rapidfire psychedelic flashbacks. Cohesion emerges through textural continuity and development rather than repetition or pattern-making. Blink and innumerable details might slip by unnoticed, and the landscape might have shifted entirely. Still, as more viscous sounds enfold the listener, they communicate a calm, settled mindset, reflecting the motion of a creative mental state; large amounts of information are synthesized into a focused stream that reacts intuitively with the introduction of each new complicating element.

Atkinson first saw Les yeux sans visage when she was a teenager, around the turn of the century. The film made an impact for its iconic imagery and the way Franju draws on the aesthetics of early filmmaking, from its score that relies on stylistic markers typical of the 1940s or 50s to the decision to shoot in black and white. Even four decades after its first release, it was clear that this was a work that stood outside of the cultural moment that birthed it, speaking through time in ways that were uncanny, but profound.

A quarter-century later, Atkinson was approached by the Belgian cultural center VIERNULVIER to create a new score for Les yeux sans visage for its celebrated Videodroom series, which has seen artists like claire rousay, Mabe Fratti, Lee Renaldo, and many more create new original scores for cult classics and genre cinema. Atkinson's music, with its sublime meditations on space and proximity, its elusive sense of narrative development, mirrors the pacing and mystery at the heart of horror filmmaking. There is a shadow at the heart of her soundtrack to Les yeux sans visage, an ever-shifting wisp and an insinuation of encroaching transfiguration. Echoing a climactic moment in the film, the music obliquely points to "the Beyond," an impossible place of discovery and revelation.

Atkinson envisioned her music as something akin to the air moving throughout and beyond the many cages that appear in the film, unconstrained by the bars and with undefined borders. Those cages hold the victims of a madman surgeon, determined to graft a new face onto his daughter, the protagonist Christiane Génessier, who lost hers in a car accident while he was behind the wheel. Atkinson was reminded of her predecessors at the pioneering French studio the GRM, who approached sound in a less sinister, but similarly surgical manner, and took inspiration from their playful approach to cerebral soundmaking for the electroacoustic topography into which the piano is embedded. As such, Atkinson’s reactions to the larger themes and the minute-by-minute happenings onscreen are both audible simultaneously.

A film about a man who destroys the lives of young women marked by their beauty and similarity to his daughter in a shame-fueled rage has clear, continuous cultural resonance. "Through the music, I decided to bring back their empowerment despite what they endure," says Atkinson. "This is why the record is also dedicated to Gisèle Pelicot, whose trial happened while I was in the process of composing the music and kept thinking of her strength and her decision to share her trial in order to reverse the shame."

This recorded version of the soundtrack is a 34-minute synthesis of the full 90-minute score, presented on LP along with an essay by writer-musician Claire Cronin and drawings by Momo Gordon, together forming a complex reflection on the film's themes. If these sounds move as if the bars of cages are no barrier, they also intimate the freedom and power of those held behind them. Rather than simply mirroring the fear and confinement shown onscreen, Atkinson offers an elusive escape, a beacon for the characters, and the listener, to follow as they reckon with the narrative and move through it.

Few artists arrive as compellingly yet elusively as did Stuart Moxham upon the startling debut of Young Marble Giant's sole studio album, Colossal Youth. Initial excitement was thrust upon the young Alison Statton, who sang songs written by Stuart with a couple of exceptions. The unaffected tone of her voice was in steep contrast to the typical goings-on in that still quite punky time, but it was what she sang that fully sold it. Moxham's lyrics were both intensely personal and woefully oblique. There seemed to be a sort of story in there. Confusingly, that story often felt like it was Alison's rather than the fellow who'd penned it. The unexpected miracle a deal with Rough Trade and the album's subsequent success had the band stymied for a second act and it wasn't long before the group disintegrated, although circumstances often brought members and a few of their peers - among them Debbie Pritchard, Spike Williams, and a third Moxham brother, Drew. - Phil Moxham was the band's bassist - together in odd combinations and pairings. None of the three YMG members have been especially prolific, but it's Stuart's career that has seemed the least straightforward, as if he'd wondered, "What to do when your debut is a nearly perfect artefact?" In the case of his first "solo" full-length in thirty years, Stuart took the unusual step of entering an alien studio with American producer Dave Trumfio (who's also the leader of Pulsars and bassist for Mekons) and allowing him to decide what tracks (of a large number submitted by Stuart) to record, and how they'd be orchestrated. Or not. In this case - save for the writing and composing - it's really Dave's album as much as Stuart's. The tracks went with Dave back to LA, where they were mixed, a few parts added (including subtle backing vocals from the incredible Linda Smith) . . . then later unmixed and reworked by John Henderson and Roni Ayala back in Valencia. Both versions will be made available, and both have a compelling cohesion missing from some of Stuart's work since YMG. Stuart's minimalism is quite intact, the range of emotions quite wide. There are few artists operating today like Stuart Moxham, a composer of the upper echelon of innate talent who combines avant-garde ideas with deceptively forthright personal lyrics, solid hooks, ambience and vaguely off-centre instrumentation which defies the casual marketplace as confoundingly as it ever did to the underground, whatever that is these days. His songs have been admired and / covered by everyone from Lush to Kurt Cobain, adaptations in Japanese and even a French-language hit by Etienne Daho, adaptations by Hole, Galaxie 500, Magnetic Fields, Belle And Sebastian and many others - but a new Stuart Moxham album is a special kind of joy.

Josh Mason’s new collection, "Wave Salt +7," emerges from an oblique origin. Unearthed from a dormant hard drive, it documents a set of work sessions only partially recoverable, their original continuity and intent fractured by time and technical failure. What remains is a constellation of mercurial gestures that proves, against all odds, to be entirely consonant with Mason’s ongoing musical concerns.

In a sense, the very condition of partiality proves generative, with elision operating on multiple levels - structural, sonic, and archival - shaping both the music itself and the circumstances of its (re)appearance. Phrases surface only to be truncated or displaced, hovering at the edge of resolution, and transitions are implied rather than fully enacted. Absence functions not as a deficit, but as an important compositional resource.

Central to the album’s sound is a distinctive use of vocoding. Deployed not to simulate vocal presence but as a tool for tonal sculpting, it yields a shifting lattice of smeared harmonics, angular melody, and attenuated noise. Sounds are pressed through one another, their edges softened, shifted, or selectively erased, producing surfaces simultaneously articulated and porous. Rather than reconstructing a lost whole, the album posits a mode of listening attuned to gaps, interruptions, and unstable forms. Even so, in keeping with Mason’s broader practice, this music remains grounded in melodic logic and a distinctly human scale, ensuring that its fragmentary structures register not solely as experiments, but as expressions of proximity and feeling.

Mildred have announced their debut album Fenceline (out 24 April via Memorials of Distinction / Dog Day Records), they have also shared the Nick Roberts directed video for lead single ‘Fish Sticks’. Speaking of ‘Fish Sticks’ and the album, Mildred say: “Fish Sticks is a song of scenes from two worlds. Conversations with your boss. Acute workplace mediocrity. Riding home and eating fish sticks with your friends. For UK audiences, a fish stick is a fish finger, ideally Alaskan-caught cod. The song comes packaged in Fenceline, an album about conversations with old friends, little cousins, ceaseless piles of dust in your crumbling duplex, loves and theologians and their books. Fencelines mark two places but belong to neither. Neither nor, either or.”
Ahead of Fenceline, at the end of last year Mildred released their debut twin EPs mild and red, an insatiable collection of songs birthed before Mildred even knew they were a band. Arriving purposefully on the scene in that gentle, approachable Mildred way, the EPs picked up support from The Guardian, The Line of Best Fit, Uncut (‘We’re New Here’), The New Cue, Clash, DIY and more. Mildred is a band from Oakland, CA of four equal parts. They don’t have a lead singer, no one person writes the songs. The songs that make up Fenceline come together as a group with their genesis sprouting from any one of their members - Henry Easton Koehler (vocals, guitar), Jack Schrott (vocals, guitar), Matt Palmquist (vocals, bass, woodwinds) or Will Fortna (drums, production) - each time.

The songs are often wrestled from the lead writer by the other three, a lyric might have been mumbled absentmindedly for a few days before one of the other three grabs at it. Summed up neatly by Clash “imagine if Pavement went Americana and you’d be close”, Mildred make music that is pure and poetic, gently addictive and never overwrought. The lyrics for their songs are written largely alone and often draw from their own individual lives and experiences but there’s a shared something there. “It makes sense when common threads emerge” they say, “because we do things together a lot as friends: cook, laze about on a weekend, listen to an album, go walkabout, read, go see movies etc.
Strikingly literal or intriguingly oblique, Mildred have a remarkable way with lyrics that lodge themselves in your head softly but with such determination that they begin to feel like shimmering memories from your own life. Fenceline is a collection of songs that you want to hold close and delve into, and yet play to everyone you know.

Zero Netcost returns with “Ten Years Later”: an elegant downtempo cut driven by delicate piano and a spellbinding vocal. To beef up the maxi, the legendary duo Bent reunites once again with Zero Netcost, delivering two remixes packed with warm, finely textured detail. And there’s more heavy company: Funki Porcini drops an instrumental version with an oblique, late-night twist. A vinyl made to glide from warm-up to after-hours without losing the thread.

Like its cover, Nicolas Remondino's Hìeratico plays in the rich shades of crepuscular spaces. A night-tuned, percussion led album where prepared drums are accompanied by flickers of spoken word, acoustic instruments and muted electronics,

The title translates to 'hieratic', for Remondino a "black and gold" term laden with dualities and complex connotations. A sense of teetering between sparkling light and richly coloured darkness imbues the music, the compositions simulating a sense of heightened acuity as they convey us through a spooky elemental soundworld. The opening title track begins with a metallic shimmer, a drum skin activated in a way that sounds like it's being smelted. A cushioned rhythm enters, a smothered timbre akin to hearing something lurking around the garden. On "litho non-danse", percussion cracks like branches and dried foliage under foot.

Remondino recorded initial outlines for the pieces at Giuseppe Ielasi's studio in Milan, before fleshing out these ideas with his own additional instrumentation and contributions from a globe-spanning network of collaborators. On "blue hymne", chiming percussion equal parts jubilant and sinister heralds spoken word from Limpe Fuchs. "Tombal" opens with Massimo Silverio whispering in the Carnic dialect, a minority language from the Carnic Alps. Around, Marco Baldini, Pierre Bastien and Remondino construct a somber soundscape that cranks and sighs in the crevices.

Hìeratico is an album of hybrids. Diverse voices, accents and dialects deliver its lyrics, the instrumentation underpinning it crosses idioms. The drumkit at its core is modified to amplify its resonant tones and harmonics. Inspired by natural substances and phenomena: stone, wood, wind, earth, metal, grass, rain, clouds and bark, Remondino explores how percussion could evoke their materiality, treating drums as lucid textural instruments as much as rhythmic timekeepers. It gives the album a finely shaded depth and clarity as it conjures the vibrancies that reside in darkened corners. Hìeratico dwells in a sensation that crosses borders, the speckles of light in the oblique night sky. Listening is an aural equivalent to stepping into a pitch black forest and waiting for your eyes to adjust, a lightless void turning into a spectacular tableau of shadows and glows. Daryl Worthington

The album presents a distinctive artistic statement built around song, texture and collective exploration. Opening tracks such as 'Fair Weather' and 'The Big Flood' draw on the oblique lyricism of Henry Cow and the surreal songcraft of Robert Wyatt, with Beraha's voice at the centre of a sound world shaped by analogue radio collage and drifting, delayed saxophone lines. Punk-inflected rhythms emerge on 'Modern Times', while the reflective 'Into the Woods' blends lyrical song with collective improvisation, highlighting the ensemble's dynamic range. Across the album, tightly composed material sits alongside free improvisation, cinematic writing and storytelling. Tracks including 'February' and 'I the King' explore contemporary jazz, humour and surreal narrative, while groove- led pieces such as 'Dorian Gray's Bathroom Cabinet' and Morricone- inspired 'Same Time Next Week' showcase rhythmic drive and playfulness. The album closes with 'Strangers on a Train', where scripted text gives way to improvised spoken dialogue over a relentless pulse, uniting the record's themes of collaboration, narrative and spontaneity. Reflecting on the recording process, Kevin Figes describes Wallpaper Music III as "a joy to make", marking a return to Rockfield Studios and a collaborative experience with musicians whose sensitivity, imagination and improvisational skill shaped the music at every stage

Alice Kemp is a British artist working with noise, performance, fetish objects, installation and many other forms of media. Throughout her work, she articulates a broken and illogical syntax of the subconscious through trance states, dreams, and disturbances. She has performed extensively, occasionally as an associate to the Schimpfluch-Gruppe of Swiss extreme aktionists.

It is a rarified violence that the Kemp invokes on her 9 Dreams In Erotic Mourning. Something disfigured. Something fucked. Something left behind. The subject matter of her investigations are deliberately inscrutable as she grotesquely amplifies a moment of terror, or fear, of sadness through pockets of piano melodies broken by psychoacoustic noise, razor-cut silence, ghastly vocalizations, crushed acts of physical aggression, and buckets of high-pressure suspense. Cryptic and oblique by design Kemp's work reads perhaps as a seance gone awry, certainly as private ritual made public, and as a transfiguration of literary body horror turned into a sonic nightmare that runs parallel to the works of Rudolf Eb.Er, Puce Mary, Sewer Election, and Luc Ferrari.

9 Dreams In Erotic Mourning was originally published as part of the instantly out of print boxset, On Corrosion - a 10 cassette anthology from 2019 that was housed in a handcrafted wooden box and featuring full albums from Kleistwahr, Neutral, Pinkcourtesyphone, Alice Kemp, She Spread Sorrow, G*Park, Relay For Death, Francisco Meirino, Fossil Aerosol Mining Project, and Himukalt. The collection also stood as the 50th release for The Helen Scarsdale Agency.

Eight years have passed since 8 regards obliques, the album in which Jaumet reinvented his spiritual jazz classics, letting them drift into other dimensions. Since then, an intense tour alongside Thomas de Pourquery and a new recording adventure with Zombie Zombie have taken him on the road. Yet it is in the inspiring calm of his brand-new studio in Bagnolet that he found the material for Du cortex à l’iris, his new album recorded for his label Versatile Records. Du cortex à l’iris continues this delicate balance that defines Jaumet’s signature: a constant tension between hypnotic abstraction and an almost animal groove. "To reduce the distance between my cortex and my senses, in order to compose mental images with sounds," he says. This intention runs through the entire album: a desire to make people dance, yes, but with echoes of EBM, bursts of cinematic landscapes, and that singular way of slowly inducing trance rather than declaring it. Saxophone, synths, analog drum machines: the arsenal remains familiar, but the approach is even more direct. Playing fast, composing in the moment, letting the hand run before the mind corrects. Capturing something primal, spontaneous, almost raw – as if the sound were really passing, this time, directly from the cortex to the iris.

Hamburg is sinking into an ever-expanding landscape of fresh construction ruins born from investor fantasies, concrete monster-bridges and ghostly office spaces. But from secret basements, a Geflecht begins to grow. After the first tape by Hamburg duo Kostenfalle, now comes their second album on vinyl.

The furious electropunk of Kostenfalle has been cut into the matrix at 45 RPM. Nine
songs in the fast lane, driven by sequencers, synthesizers, drum machines, and bass guitar. Despite the electronic machinery, Kostenfalle remain fiercely dynamic, twisting and shifting through intricate structures and sudden turns. Punk and Electronic Body Music lock into a dance; without warning we’re plunged into a psychedelic riff, only to slam angrily into the next guardrail.

With alternating vocals, Christian manning the transistors, Philipp holding the bass, the lyrics emerge dark and oblique, meditating on life as a one-dimensional human and on the spaces between people. Boycott and sabotage. Explode and generate.

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.

CAY unveils his personal side on Another Life, a debut album rich in melancholic euphoria

The expressive, multi-faceted 10 tracker comes on Mind Against's HABITAT label in January 2026

Cologne-born producer CAY explores beyond the dancefloor with Another Life, a debut album that trades peak-time pressure for an ambitious and artful exploration of self. Far from being rooted in one genre, the record weaves his own honest vocals with a wide range of powerful rhythms that pull from progressive, broken beat, techno and trance.

For CAY, making music has always offered refuge and a place to calm his mind, process life’s chaos and channel personal experiences into sound. His journey started in the clubs of Cologne, in illegal forest raves and with trips to Berlin to soak up big room techno. His search for more purpose, away from mental demons and the darker side of the party lifestyle, led him to production. DJing followed after a push from his brother turned Manager, and while those experiences around Europe shaped his understanding of dance floor dynamics, he was never in a rush to release his early experiments.

Instead, CAY took private time to evolve into an accomplished artist with his own musical voice. Label heads Mind Against were so impressed when they heard what he sent to their demo inbox, they both reached out to collaborate, and he has since released on their label HABITAT.

With Another Life, he is making music that is multilayered and rich in narrative, rather than defined purely by big moments. It is drawn from years of writing, with more than 60 tracks whittled down to one concise, impactful statement. "There wasn't one big concept,” says CAY “but there was direction. It's a big risk for me, but I wanted to introduce people who like club music to something deeper. I want the music to say something real.”

Because of that, Another Life introduces CAY the vocalist. For the first time, he sings on several tracks. The subjects are real, whether that's an important friend, a moment with his girlfriend or, on 'Runaway', the thought of giving up and escaping everything. The lyrics are honest but often slightly oblique, so they invite your own readings rather than spelling everything out.

Sonically, the album moves between optimistic grandeur and introspective reality. It's cinematic but personal and bridges the gap between dancefloor drive and vulnerable storytelling. There is a grand scale to many of the tracks, with arching synths reaching and heavyhearted drums anchoring a groove: you'll dance, you'll cry, maybe both at the same time.

Another Life is the sound of a producer granting himself permission to sing, turn inwards and risk audience expectations. It’s intimate without being insular, club-capable without being confined, and a compelling first chapter for an artist who has spent years building toward this moment of truth.

The core duo of Max D and Matt Papich debut on Peak Oil following full-lengths for Future Times and PAN with a fresh suite of tactile, diffuse fusion. Half the collection emerged from a 2021 session at Tempo House rounded out by Dustin Wong, Mezey, and Jeremy Hyman, while the rest took shape in moments both collaborative and isolated, collaged together with CDJs into something more liquid and liminal than the sum of its parts.

Across fractured jazz, pitch-shifted downtempo, revelatory guitar, and interstitial interplay, Lifted’s sound is one of flux, fragments, and filigree. Oblique harmonic synergies dusted in chance encounters and rogue acoustics. Diverse moods mapped with split strings and the space between notes. Music untethered by form or expectation, snaking like an ungrounded cable through a geodesic dome of deep-listening.

2025 Repress!

Recorded in a remote cabin on the Devon coast, STILL OUT is an album-length collaboration between musician-filmmakers – and childhood friends – Will Cookson and Tom Haverly. A reflection on friendship, landscape and the passing of time, it inspired a road trip from North Yorkshire to North Devon they took together in the summer of 2024, and forms the soundtrack to a film of the same name which had its premiere screening as part of Stroud Film Festival in March 2025.

Like the film, STILL OUT is also an oblique homage to The KLF’s iconic 1990 album Chill Out, which the Gloucestershire-based pair revisited after it turned up unexpectedly a few years back in Tom’s dad’s record collection. Inspired to create their own recording using a similarly free-spirited process, Will and Tom relocated to the Devon coast in late summer 2023, splicing together a 40-minute mix from their personal archive of recordings and found sounds in a remote cabin with no electricity or mobile reception.

"It came together using cut-and-paste techniques, with ongoing shifts and tweaks,” says Will. “The final result was an audio collage that felt like something legendary hip hop producers The Bomb Squad might make - if ambient music was the only material in their sample library."

Using ‘ambient’ as a starting-point rather than an end in itself, they took inspiration from across the musical spectrum – classic-period Brian Eno, Philip Glass, Bill Evans, plus outliers such as 80s singer-songwriter Virginia Astley and the late DJ-producer Andrew Weatherall. The connections, though, are anything but obvious as the audio shifts seamlessly from field recordings and spoken-word interludes to mood pieces and snatches of vintage pop.

Edited and assembled using freely available open source programs, the source material was often radically altered using tools such as “PaulStretch”, a digital sound-morphing algorithm that allows users to stretch audio files to extreme lengths.

"When we found ourselves in a creative slump or unsure how to navigate a tricky part, we'd say, ‘Let's put some syrup on it and slow it down,’” says Tom. “That always helped us get back on track during late-night recording sessions at the cabin."

Part-soundtrack, part-meditative experiment, STILL OUT is intended as a reflection on the mental and emotional shift that occurs when stepping away from the routine of daily life – an album that forms a celebration of our ever-changing relationship to the world around us and the mystery of what it means to pass through time and space.

“The true follow up, 35 years later, to The KLF’s ‘Chill Out’”.
JD Twitch (Optimo).

An ambient journey reflecting on friendship, the British landscape - and The KLF’s landmark album Chill Out

"This record and film are just lovely. You need this in your life. Moo-Moo!” Balearic Mike (Down To The Sea & Back)

"The album is a perfect companion to the KLF classic, utilising the British countryside as the setting, occasionally reminding you that Mother Nature is not to be messed with.” Strictly Kev (DJ Food)

"A beautiful ambient journey into the landscape, taking the listener from reality to dream state and back again. A mystical realm full of mysterious chanting, rattling trains and sounds from the very depths of the earth."
Lally MacBeth & Matthew Shaw (Stone Club)

Ian Elms’s cult isolationist synth masterpiece Good Night returns via Dark Entries. Originally released in 1982, Good Night blends Berlin school minimalism and BBC Radiophonic weirdness with the aesthetics of then-nascent DIY punk electronics throughout its fifteen short tracks. According to Elms, these pieces were composed in two broad but interrelated modes: pieces with voice and synthesizer, which are obliquely narrative, and instrumental synthesizer pieces that aspire to capture fleeting emotions. Ian met with producer David Hoser at Octopus Studios and they began constructing pieces using a Polymoog Keyboard 280a, sampled drum tracks, and Elms’s synthesizer. On “The Street Enters the House”, live drums lurch along with skeletal motifs while Elms’s elliptical lyrics evoke domestic discontent. “A Light Moves Across Curtains” features metronomic pummeling and icy strings buttressing the scant cryptic lines from Elms. Instrumental gems like “Goodnight” and “Surrounded by Trees” are built around detuned riffs in round-like structure, both drifting and static like the motion of waves. With original pressings fetching three digits – if you can even find a copy – this reissue is essential listening for fans of John Bender, Transparent Illusion, and the early 80’s DIY cassette scene. Each copy of Good Night comes with a postcard featuring a photograph and notes by Elms. “This record is intended for anyone who by accident or design spends most of their time alone (whether in the body or in the mind).” – Ian Elms.

Debut album by Cindy is aptly called I'm Cindy. Produced by Kai Hugo a.k.a. Palmbomen II. Vinyl comes with a 20-page handmade booklet, an individually signed and kissed handkerchief of Cindy (some of them even have her teardrops on them) and a huge fold-out poster! Who exactly is Cindy? If producer Kai Hugo used oblique strategies it would be this question that's been central to his past four years of musical output. First appearing on his 2015 LP Palmbomen II as the titular subject of the track Cindy Savalas, her life has become intertwined with the producer's. "Following that release, I made a music video for Cindy Savalas, where Cindy came to life through the portrayal by Blue LoLan,' Hugo explains. 'I really felt a connection with this character and went deeper into developing who she was and the world she lived in. The result was the creation of the LP Memories Of Cindy, where my goal was to reveal more about Carmel Vista, the town Cindy lived in. Afterwards, I imagined Cindy having her own 'lost' album, as if she had once released a record that was kind of forgotten.' I'm Cindy is altogether different though. It sits at an uncommonly explored intersection between Italo disco and shoegaze - Cocteau Twins and Slowdive are mentioned as influences and you can hear that in the blurred textures and hazy synths of the 13 tracks here. But Hugo also revels in a chance to use his self-created character as a conduit to explore his love of both mainstream pop and its more skewed forms. In many ways the record is as much LoL?n's. It was she who gave the character her voice - initially across 27 tracks recorded with the producer - but her own connection to Cindy runs deeper than that. 'It makes me really nostalgic thinking about everything Cindy went through, she and I have similar feelings' says the vocalist. 'Cindy is a mix of me and Kai so when I listen to the album I feel like I'm half entering Kai's head and half in mine, with a whole bunch of deep emotions, purity and loneliness that just makes me want to dance and cuddle with all my cats in a disco forest somewhere outside of Carmel Vista.'

Debut album by Cindy is aptly called I'm Cindy. Produced by Kai Hugo a.k.a. Palmbomen II. Who exactly is Cindy? If producer Kai Hugo used oblique strategies it would be this question that's been central to his past four years of musical output. First appearing on his 2015 LP Palmbomen II as the titular subject of the track Cindy Savalas, her life has become intertwined with the producer's. "Following that release, I made a music video for Cindy Savalas, where Cindy came to life through the portrayal by Blue LoLan,' Hugo explains. 'I really felt a connection with this character and went deeper into developing who she was and the world she lived in. The result was the creation of the LP Memories Of Cindy, where my goal was to reveal more about Carmel Vista, the town Cindy lived in. Afterwards, I imagined Cindy having her own 'lost' album, as if she had once released a record that was kind of forgotten.' I'm Cindy is altogether different though. It sits at an uncommonly explored intersection between Italo disco and shoegaze - Cocteau Twins and Slowdive are mentioned as influences and you can hear that in the blurred textures and hazy synths of the 13 tracks here. But Hugo also revels in a chance to use his self-created character as a conduit to explore his love of both mainstream pop and its more skewed forms. In many ways the record is as much LoL?n's. It was she who gave the character her voice - initially across 27 tracks recorded with the producer - but her own connection to Cindy runs deeper than that. 'It makes me really nostalgic thinking about everything Cindy went through, she and I have similar feelings' says the vocalist. 'Cindy is a mix of me and Kai so when I listen to the album I feel like I'm half entering Kai's head and half in mine, with a whole bunch of deep emotions, purity and loneliness that just makes me want to dance and cuddle with all my cats in a disco forest somewhere outside of Carmel Vista.'

Mister Water Wet returns to Soda Gong with "Things Gone and Things Here Still," an album that radically expands the project’s purview while preserving the homespun warmth and oblique tactility that have long defined Iggy Romeu’s work. Where earlier records tilted toward the dusty swing of sample-based beatcraft or spectral minimalist jazz, here Romeu opens the frame to a more ensemble-minded approach, inviting a stellar cast of supporting musicians, including SG alumni Memotone and K. Freund, into the fold.

The result is an album that feels both broader and more intimate, with live instrumentation such as piano, strings, and reeds woven into MWW’s signature lattice of hand percussion, production sleights, and slippery time signatures. Acoustic and electronic textures bend toward each other like plants angling for the same light: bowed strings blur into vaporous pads, brushed drums scatter under riffing guitars, a horn phrase lingers in the same space as a cracked cassette loop.

A tension between decay and presence - the “things gone” and the “things here still” - runs throughout the record. At times, the music evokes a chamber session refracted through waterlogged tape; at others, it recalls the afterimage of a hip-hop instrumental slowed into an oneiric haze. In the world of MWW, memory functions less as nostalgia and more as a living fabric - mutable and resonant. "Things Gone and Things Here Still" finds Iggy Romeu at his most expansive, offering up a generous record of open spaces and porous boundaries.

Limited 180g black vinyl (500 copies worldwide)
“Marcel Wave combine sharp-eyed Northern lyricism with DIY guitar-janglers rooted in a retro C86 aesthetic. Epic finale ‘Linoleum Floor’...is a gloriously bleak rumination on the horrors of enforced late-night hedonism worthy of prime Pulp” UNCUT
Marcel Wave write eulogies for tragic actresses, ancient riverbeds and concrete obscenity. Their inaugural sonic instalment ‘Something Looming’ is part trades club symphony, part itchy serenade, and part wistful lament. As their heady concoction of ‘Meades meets Pat-E-Smith meets Kirklees Borough Council’ gets prepped to be formally baptised on a dank stage near you, Upset the Rhythm and Feel It Records have dutifully stepped in to deliver its songbook to the masses on both sides of the pond.
Formed when Lindsay Corstorphine and Christopher Murphy of Sauna Youth and brethren Oliver and Patrick Fisher of Cold Pumas were summoned by northern ink-slinger Maike Hale-Jones, Marcel Wave’s debut offering is a walk through a smoke-filled pub with yellowing wallpaper and all eyes on you. It’s a chronicle of the death of the docklands, the decline of industry, of the high street, of civic pride, of civilisations, of hopes and dreams. As Hale-Jones delivers the bad news in her low, West Yorkshire brogue, Corstorphine adds the bells and whistles via the frantic pulsations of a wheezing Hohner organ in tandem with Fisher O’s rasping guitar. MW are completed by the throbbing basslines of Murphy and Fisher P’s fervent rhythms.
The title itself sets the tone for the listener. There’s a sense of foreboding in Hale-Jones’ lyrics which sit at the quintet’s core—elegiac, sardonic and piquant in equal measure. A mixture of narrative epilogues and inward paeans, her words weave tales across a broad thematic church. Crooked tales of urban renewal and the voices left behind are probed in ‘Barrow Boys’ and ‘Stop/Continue’ and are at the fore in ‘Where There’s Muck There’s Brass’ with its refrain lamenting ‘Concrete and slate shine in the rain, cities destroyed, nothing to gain’. In these lyrics, tower blocks loom over terraced houses with the same shadows that the Hollywood sign casts over Peg Entwistle before she takes her tragic leap. ‘Peg’ and ‘Elsie’ are both meditations on two different actresses with different fates crushed by the cut-throat trappings of showbusiness: ‘The mad hopes break, fragile as glass. She traded it all, for the cutting room floor.’ A snaking, existential dread also runs through the album, stated more obliquely in the otherwise poppier interludes of the title track ‘Something Looming’ and album opener ‘Bent Out of Shape’, and present too on the comparatively ramshackle ‘Discount Centre’, where Hale-Jones reports ‘On a mini bus on the outskirts of Enfield, I’m losing all of my spark’. On the album closing weeper ‘Linoleum Floor’, it is laid barer still—a keyboard-led reflection on the deflating nights out of our early-twenties.
Marcel Wave invites the listener to dance to society’s decline, and then to later weep into its lukewarm pint.

LTD. CLEAR BLUE VINYL

New York painter and musician exploratory industrialist Tor Lundvall initially envisioned his 14th album, Beautiful Illusions, as an entirely instrumental affair, "inspired by memories of sitting in a church or cathedral watching the shifting sunlight through stained glass." Although he ultimately chose to wreath the majority of the tracks with hushed, poetic vocals, his original muse still resonates. These are certainly songs of shadowplay and vaulted skies, the quiet grandeur of dusk deepening on the horizon. Lundvall characterizes the lyrical subject matter, too, in ways both specific and surreal, exploring "the doubts, the anxieties and even the bleak fantasies the mind spirals into during moments of isolation, separation and distance." Tricks of the eye, mind, and ear, magnified by silence and the looming long winter. Shivering pulses and muted bass lines tread the twilight while icicle synths and wiry guitar map the melody until the voice enters, narrating oblique moods of essence and absence, tenderness and truth. Glimpses of dark humor flicker in the wordplay but the greater sonic landscape is one of falling leaves and failing light, small gestures rendered as revelation, cloaked in reverb and spatial fog. Lundvall's mastery of nuance and negative space continues to heighten, whispered brushstrokes of the invisible and the unsaid, what lies beneath and what lies beyond: "Behind the shields and false fronts is usually a sadness. The heartbreaking reflections of what might have been."

‘Best tunes for your answering machine’ is the debut album of oblique, introspective electronic music by the mysterious solo artist Tekamolo.

Fusing melancholic synth pop and absurdist trip hop, ‘best tunes for your answering machine’ is a special assemblage of pitch-modified vocals, retrofuturist samples and freeform electronics that coalesces into music both outlandish and bittersweet, playful and profound.

Produced by a renowned artist, opting to conceal their identity under the guise of a new pseudonym, Tekamolo presents a series of curious, incognito confessionals with ‘best tunes for your answering machine’. An album led by a voice like a sentient, heavy-hearted android, the nine tracks collected here contend with themes of inertia, solitude and longing, revealing an inspired, affecting stream of messages from an unknown caller.

Without preconceptions tied to provenance, this is music liberated from the burdens of biographical detail. Music that eschews ego and the cult of the self. An album that can be heard purely for the strange, poignant sounds unfurled throughout.

For Tekamolo, the album signifies an attempt to navigate aesthetic reductionism, as well as an absolute sense of seclusion:

“An audio diary of a lonely soul. Broken, wounded mantra-songs. Memories of things that never happened. Dreams that never had the chance to be dreamed. Disassembled songs. As if testing the limits of emptiness — how much void can a song endure while still remaining a song? How much can be stripped away, how bare can it be, and still, the groove lingers, the melody pierces the memory, sinking into the listener's mind.

These are the skeletons of songs, an attempt to assemble music from the bare minimum — words, sounds, fragments of memory.

The songs are filled with desperate calm. They are not sung to the world, nor to anyone tangible, but solely to oneself and to the unseen. In a way, they could be considered songs of the end of the world: you wake up, and there is not a single person left in the world. At least, no one you can see. You wander through empty streets and deserted shopping malls, humming softly to yourself, hoping that someone — anyone — might hear you.”

‘best tunes for your answering machine’ is a sui generis conception of warped 21st century blues from an enigmatic figure, a work filled with surreal, indelible songs of modern isolation. Lost contemporary hymns, now recovered. Voicemails worth hearing.

For his first Mondoj release, Finnish musician Olli Aarni journeys to the wide oblique, where shapes are implied by slants of light previously thought impossible, coming from sources dispersed and hidden. The paranoid eye turns them into phantasms: distant pop songs, fields of fair folk spinning vocoded fudge, an exquisite tasting menu, the shiny towers of an inflatable castle protruding from underground. Scientific inquiry reveals spoken word, diatonic harmony, wide stereo fields, spectral shenanigans, strong scores of wonder and tenderness on the Geneva Emotional Music Scale.

Bubblegum as they are, it's imperative to take these phantasms at face value. The real is elusive; they are all we have. And yet it's also imperative to question them with the greatest scrutiny, because what is wonder and tenderness worth if artificial? Cotton candy can be damned to the void by a single drop of rain. Lucky thing it's drought season. It's up to you, now, whether and how to partake.

And for the hidden truth: among these mirages hide true wonders, the likes of which you've never seen, undiscovered insectile joys, passionate hearts, berries blue to black, rasp to lingon. They are never to be disregarded.

3XL boss and scene hyper-connector Special Guest DJ (aka uon, shy, Caveman LSD) lands on their own label with a debut album of hazed ambient noise and aquatic club anarchitextures, with a patented, heady style bent into new shapes.

For nigh on a decade, Berlin-based American producer, label boss, promoter and DJ Shy has operated at the centre of a scene that's still not fully defined. Their mythical DJ sets, where you're likely to hear precision-tweaked dubstep, dreampop, decelerated rap and dubwise ambient blended into vapour; gives some sense of the vibes at play, and a comb thru their spiderweb of a catalog - as Caveman LSD or uon, as part of Ghostride the Drift, Hoodie, crimeboys, virtualdemonlaxative and Cypher, or as the figurehead of 3XL, Experiences Ltd, xpq? and bblisss labels - further blurs that gist.

They've been caught in the crossfire of Big Ambient, sure, but there's always been something scrappier, sexier and more present going on under the hood. Shy and his network of associates - Huerco, Ulla, Perila, Ben Bondy, Naemi/Exael, Ponteac Streator and Arad Acid, among others - have asserted the interrelatedness of their discrete approaches. So-called "ambient" music doesn't exist in a vacuum, it un-focuses elements that undergird so many more corporeal sounds, and for Shy, their music reflects the druggy, DIY, genre-agnostic ethos of a trans-Atlantic neo-punk underground that exists in some liminal zone between the club, the bedsit and the basement.

Concerned with themes of “anger, sensuality, and dreaming”, the 40 minute roil of ‘Our Fantasy Complex’ frames Special Guest DJ at their most unapologetically oblique and illusive, expanding and contracting between whorls of shoegazing dynamics and extended portions of quasi-speed D&B x dub tech smeared on the mind’s-eye, with a vivid sense of bruised lushness that’s perfused all shy’s work thus far.

Joined by kindred collaborators Ben Bondy, Arad Acid and mu tate, and suspended in agitated bliss by Rashad Becker’s lucid mastering, the results feel out some of 2025’s most considered and distinctive within an amorphous zone that’s become a world unto itself. Ambient music’s fluffier signifiers are swapped out for a sort of sublime tension that, like the sound’s original ‘90s explosion, can be heard to reflect states of altered consciousness - both individual and collective.

Shy's layered, undulating productions are more like the chewed remnants of a thousand mixtapes cooked into a stream-of-consciousness hex. Save for the glistening, zoomed-out parting piece ‘Dream’, it all mostly avoids pretty melodies in favour of a spatio-textural sensuality that wraps us up, sometimes uncomfortably intimately, in shy’s thoughts. That oneiric closer is one of three gritty palate cleansers that swirl around its peaks, where elements of Reese-bass are suspended, writhing below looming atmospheric pressure in ‘How Long Can I Burn?’, emerging charred and flecked with rattled percussion on ‘Yoro (pt I & II)’, as though K-holing thru a blazing summer’s day.

In step with Perila’s notably darker turn of events on her ‘Omnis Festinatio Ex parts Diaboli Est’, album, or the unexpected ferocity of recent Space Afrika live shows, it’s not hard to hear a darkside gravitational pull on this one, where ambient music is no longer just a balm for troubled souls, but also suggestive of humanity’s most frightful odours.

Relay For Death is the noise project of the twin sisters Roxann and Rachal Spikula. Their hermetic works consistently reflect a bleak nihilism, all the while carving an autonomous space for survival as the rest of the existence crumbles. Previous works have been published by Hanson, No Rent, Total Black, and RRRecords.

The twins offered the consideration that "Mutual Consuming comes from a concept in the philosophies that underpin traditional Chinese medicine theory, where the two opposing states (yin and yang) are 2 states on a continuum and their interactions produce an infinite possible number of states of aggregation. Within this interplay, there is a dynamic balance that is maintained by a constant adjustment of their relative levels. So an excess of yin consumes yang and vice versa." We asked if this has anything to do with the concept of the Ouroboros, to which they responded, "we hadn't thought about Ouroboros, but the eternal cycle of things makes sense too. The gorge fest of existence." Does this relate to previous works? The twins concisely respond to that question in a rare interview in Untitled, "No."

Mutual Consuming is a dire piece of isolationist thrum, spectral caterwaul, and heavy gloom through an oblique and abstracted coupling of electronics, noise, and ominous field recordings. As immersive as Thomas Köner’s haunting ambience but fully entrenched in the industrial meditations of MB. Originally published as part of the instantly out of print boxset, On Corrosion - a 10 cassette anthology from 2019 that was housed in a handcrafted wooden box and featuring full albums from Kleistwahr, Neutral, Pinkcourtesyphone, Alice Kemp, She Spread Sorrow, G*Park, Relay For Death, Francisco Meirino, Fossil Aerosol Mining Project, and Himukalt. The collection stood as the 50th release for The Helen Scarsdale Agency.

NZO goes sick on a standout debut album for Demdike Stare’s DDS, distilling 2-step UKG, R&B and computerised funk within whirring mechanisms adjacent to mutant jungle and footwork - the proper good stuff.

On ‘Come Alive’ SoYo’s NZO bruks wild but tight on nine tunes chiselled from a distinctive percussive palette cut into fidgety, soulful samples. She dances in and around the cracks of myriad styles with a canny grasp of limb-animating, rhythmic diffraction; all stop/start rhythms and stuttering diva-vocaloids arranged with a rudely shatterproof, grooving pliability. More simply put: it’s dance music for those who like to get super loose and freaky with it.

Chopped up and stitched together over six months in Sheffield, it’s not hard to hear a lineage of advanced Afro-American rhythm science that also feeds into SND’s jerky-but-sexy angularities, and subsequently Rian Treanor’s rugged pugilism, now morphing back to the source, but heavily skewed with it. Her judicious sampling of R&B gems is offset in obliquely funked-up structures in ways that knowingly mess with conditioned anticipations yet never lose sight of the ‘floor, and we’re here for it.

Jumping in with the writhing darkside tekkerz of ‘Rolling Around’ and clocking out with a standout downbeat pearl ‘Looking For’, we hear her displace amapiano closer to halfstep D&B in ‘AXMM’, and decimate 2-step like Akufen on ‘CFML’, while ‘K-space baum bap’ appears to dart in the spaces between UKG and singeli, and the sloshing congas, bass motifs and dub chords of ‘Deadweight’ settle to a sort of aqueous UKF.

The strength of Fan Club Orchestra's (FCO) trajectory lies in their nebulous, collaborative, and experimental nature, always with Laurent Baudoux at the centre. With its roots in the DIY impulses of the Brussels art and music scene of the late nineties, Baudoux rallied together a revolving cast of players with an unconventional ensemble of instruments to explore melancholic psychedelia that touched on drone and minimalism as readily as it carved minor pop hits from cracked electronics. Performances were often highly improvisational, aided by the barely controlled chaos that guest collaborators—such as American artist Mike Kelley—would inject into an appearance.

FCO self-released two albums in the early 2000s before finding a home with Sonig, where they released several more records up until their last with the label in 2013. This was a fitting frame as Sonig, like FCO, channelled the fervour and formalism of the experimental music history of the Rhineland, which includes Kraftwerk, krautrock, and key early electronic music studios.

Following an eleven year hiatus, Laurent Baudoux reassembled the group in 2024 and presented a new album with the esteemed Glaswegian label 12th Isle late in that same year. Building on the strength of the new iteration, and with the aim of reappraising some of the rich yet oblique history of the group through this new lens, FCO have remastered and reissued their 2013 album, 'An Insane Portrait'.

The recordings were originally commissioned in 2009 for Fabrizio Terranova's film 'Josée Andrei, An Insane Portrait' about the truly remarkable figure Josée Andrei. Shot in San Francisco, the film is an intimate portrait of Andre. Blind from birth, she is a witch, painter, photographer, tarot reader, and psychology and modern literature graduate.

'An Insane Portrait' captures a stripped-back FCO, with Baudoux working solely with original FCO member Ann Appermans. The configuration of Baudoux's electronics and Appermans' bass guitar yield a tender and preciously melodic suite of instrumentals.

Originally released on vinyl by Sonig in 2013, the remaster will again be presented by the label in a limited cassette edition and in digital formats, each featuring a bonus track that was not included in its original release.

The strength of Fan Club Orchestra's (FCO) trajectory lies in their nebulous, collaborative, and experimental nature, always with Laurent Baudoux at the centre. With its roots in the DIY impulses of the Brussels art and music scene of the late nineties, Baudoux rallied together a revolving cast of players with an unconventional ensemble of instruments to explore melancholic psychedelia that touched on drone and minimalism as readily as it carved minor pop hits from cracked electronics. Performances were often highly improvisational, aided by the barely controlled chaos that guest collaborators—such as American artist Mike Kelley—would inject into an appearance.

FCO self-released two albums in the early 2000s before finding a home with Sonig, where they released several more records up until their last with the label in 2013. This was a fitting frame as Sonig, like FCO, channelled the fervour and formalism of the experimental music history of the Rhineland, which includes Kraftwerk, krautrock, and key early electronic music studios.

Following an eleven year hiatus, Laurent Baudoux reassembled the group in 2024 and presented a new album with the esteemed Glaswegian label 12th Isle late in that same year. Building on the strength of the new iteration, and with the aim of reappraising some of the rich yet oblique history of the group through this new lens, FCO have remastered and reissued their 2013 album, 'An Insane Portrait'.

The recordings were originally commissioned in 2009 for Fabrizio Terranova's film 'Josée Andrei, An Insane Portrait' about the truly remarkable figure Josée Andrei. Shot in San Francisco, the film is an intimate portrait of Andre. Blind from birth, she is a witch, painter, photographer, tarot reader, and psychology and modern literature graduate.

'An Insane Portrait' captures a stripped-back FCO, with Baudoux working solely with original FCO member Ann Appermans. The configuration of Baudoux's electronics and Appermans' bass guitar yield a tender and preciously melodic suite of instrumentals.

Originally released on vinyl by Sonig in 2013, the remaster will again be presented by the label in a limited cassette edition and in digital formats, each featuring a bonus track that was not included in its original release.

On her debut album, Lucy Gooch stays true to her electronic foundations, while incorporating more acoustic instrumentation and digging deeper into her folk roots through songwriting. But at the heart of Lucy's music is her rapturous vocal, with which she has experimented more than ever over the course of her first full-length. Many of the pieces on 'Desert Window' started out as vocal improvisations from which she pulled a narrative. Taking cues from the incantatory chanting found in middle English poetry such as 'The Names of the Hare', as well as the prescient imagery in contemporary works like 'The Hearing Trumpet' by Leonora Carrington (1974). "To a larger extent, this became an experiment in placing my voice in a more narrative way, while remaining oblique," Gooch explains. While her previous work could be compared to drawn-out landscapes punctuated with moments of romance and radiance, this album feels grounded in materiality and the everyday. Gooch's voice is at times strident, while elsewhere restrained and broken. "I lost connection to my voice and then had to rediscover it, which was exhilarating. There were these bursts of energy where I'd be messing around and occasionally stumble upon something". There are hushed melodies and exhausted squalls, creating dissonance and space. The result is an atmospheric balance between Kate Bush and Cocteau Twins harmonies, Vangelis major chords, and a juxtaposition of folk ambience reminiscent of the offset madrigals of The Third Ear Band and Italian cult film composers Goblin. It is a complex and elegant album, an all-consuming series of songs that reach into jazz, electronica and classical song construction.