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PURPLE VINYL


A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

Tape

A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

Beyond ecstatic to finally offer a glimpse into the world of voertuig. Working on music for several years, purely for themselves in sheds and studios tucked away in the outskirts of the hague, Tonal Oceans presents an album by the four piece act containing music embodying the true spirit of the city.

W&P by Offer van Kesteren, Gianni Tjon Tam Pau, Tijmen van Wageningen, Laurens ten Berge.

Artwork by Soft Turbo
Drawing by Ilan Havinga

Since releasing Bury Me at Makeout Creek in November 2014, Mitski has received international acclaim for her distinct, arresting sound and profoundly reflective lyrics.

If Songs of Praise was fuelled by pint-sloshing teenage vitriol, then Drunk Tank Pink delved into a different kind of intensity. Wading into uncharted musical waters, emboldened by their wit and earned cynicism, they created something with the abandon of a band who had nothing to lose. Having forced their way through their second album's identity crisis, they arrive, finally, at a place of hard-won maturity. Enter: Food for Worms, which Steen declares to be "the Lamborghini of shame records." It marks a sonic departure from anything they've done before, abandoning their post-punk beginnings for more eclectic influences, drawing from the tense atmospherics of

Merchandise, the sharp yet uncomplicated lyrics of Lou Reed and the more melodic works of 90s German band, Blumfeld For the first time, the band are not delving inwards, but seeking to capture the world around them. "I don't think you can be in your own head forever," says Steen. A conversation after one of their gigs with a friend prompted a stray thought that he held onto: "It's weird, isn't it? Popular music is always about love, heartbreak, or yourself. There isn't much about your mates." In many ways, the album is an ode to friendship, and a documentation of the dynamic that only five people who have grown up together - and grown so close, against all odds - can share

Exclusive Bundle LP+7"-
Exclusive lim.Yellow Vinyl + 7” Black Vinyl including exclusive Bonus Track “Slimbo”.

If Songs of Praise was fuelled by pint-sloshing teenage vitriol, then Drunk Tank Pink delved into a different kind of intensity. Wading into uncharted musical waters, emboldened by their wit and earned cynicism, they created something with the abandon of a band who had nothing to lose. Having forced their way through their second album's identity crisis, they arrive, finally, at a place of hard-won maturity. Enter: Food for Worms, which Steen declares to be "the Lamborghini of shame records." It marks a sonic departure from anything they've done before, abandoning their post-punk beginnings for more eclectic influences, drawing from the tense atmospherics of

Merchandise, the sharp yet uncomplicated lyrics of Lou Reed and the more melodic works of 90s German band, Blumfeld For the first time, the band are not delving inwards, but seeking to capture the world around them. "I don't think you can be in your own head forever," says Steen. A conversation after one of their gigs with a friend prompted a stray thought that he held onto: "It's weird, isn't it? Popular music is always about love, heartbreak, or yourself. There isn't much about your mates." In many ways, the album is an ode to friendship, and a documentation of the dynamic that only five people who have grown up together - and grown so close, against all odds - can share

TRANSPARENT PURPLE VINYL

If Songs of Praise was fuelled by pint-sloshing teenage vitriol, then Drunk Tank Pink delved into a different kind of intensity. Wading into uncharted musical waters, emboldened by their wit and earned cynicism, they created something with the abandon of a band who had nothing to lose. Having forced their way through their second album's identity crisis, they arrive, finally, at a place of hard-won maturity. Enter: Food for Worms, which Steen declares to be "the Lamborghini of shame records." It marks a sonic departure from anything they've done before, abandoning their post-punk beginnings for more eclectic influences, drawing from the tense atmospherics of

Merchandise, the sharp yet uncomplicated lyrics of Lou Reed and the more melodic works of 90s German band, Blumfeld For the first time, the band are not delving inwards, but seeking to capture the world around them. "I don't think you can be in your own head forever," says Steen. A conversation after one of their gigs with a friend prompted a stray thought that he held onto: "It's weird, isn't it? Popular music is always about love, heartbreak, or yourself. There isn't much about your mates." In many ways, the album is an ode to friendship, and a documentation of the dynamic that only five people who have grown up together - and grown so close, against all odds - can share

Tape

If Songs of Praise was fuelled by pint-sloshing teenage vitriol, then Drunk Tank Pink delved into a different kind of intensity. Wading into uncharted musical waters, emboldened by their wit and earned cynicism, they created something with the abandon of a band who had nothing to lose. Having forced their way through their second album's identity crisis, they arrive, finally, at a place of hard-won maturity. Enter: Food for Worms, which Steen declares to be "the Lamborghini of shame records." It marks a sonic departure from anything they've done before, abandoning their post-punk beginnings for more eclectic influences, drawing from the tense atmospherics of

Merchandise, the sharp yet uncomplicated lyrics of Lou Reed and the more melodic works of 90s German band, Blumfeld For the first time, the band are not delving inwards, but seeking to capture the world around them. "I don't think you can be in your own head forever," says Steen. A conversation after one of their gigs with a friend prompted a stray thought that he held onto: "It's weird, isn't it? Popular music is always about love, heartbreak, or yourself. There isn't much about your mates." In many ways, the album is an ode to friendship, and a documentation of the dynamic that only five people who have grown up together - and grown so close, against all odds - can share

Es kommt selten vor, dass eine Band mit ihrem bisher besten Werk ein comeback feiert, aber die finnischen ...And Oceans beweisen hier eindrucksvoll, dass "Cosmic World Mother" aus 2020 eine Symphonie stürzender Dämme kreativer Schleusen war, die in ein neues Gewässer, einen Ozean, wenn man so will, einbrachen.

Alles, was das erste Album seit 18 Jahren Pause von ...And Oceans gut gemacht hat - rasanter symphonischer Black Metal, berauschende Themen, die sich mit der Verbindung zwischen Philosophie und Übersinnlichem befassen, und das für ...And Oceans typisch abenteuerliche Songwriting - schafft "As In Gardens, So In Tombs" in den Schatten zu stellen und neu zu kontextualisieren. Es ist der Sound einer Band, die jedes Quäntchen Schwung mitnimmt und in jeder Hinsicht den Einsatz steigert.

Obwohl ...And Oceans noch nie ein Album zweimal geschrieben haben, klingt ihr neuestes Werk in vielerlei Hinsicht wie eine Gelegenheit für die finnische Gruppe, das, was sie begonnen hat, fortzusetzen und zu verbessern. Symphonischer Black Metal fühlte sich noch nie so spaßig, frei und fantastisch an!

FFV: Dimmu Borgir, Cradle of Filth, Limbonic Art, Children of Bodom, Emperor

Clear Blue/ Red Marbled Vinyl

Es kommt selten vor, dass eine Band mit ihrem bisher besten Werk ein comeback feiert, aber die finnischen ...And Oceans beweisen hier eindrucksvoll, dass "Cosmic World Mother" aus 2020 eine Symphonie stürzender Dämme kreativer Schleusen war, die in ein neues Gewässer, einen Ozean, wenn man so will, einbrachen.

Alles, was das erste Album seit 18 Jahren Pause von ...And Oceans gut gemacht hat - rasanter symphonischer Black Metal, berauschende Themen, die sich mit der Verbindung zwischen Philosophie und Übersinnlichem befassen, und das für ...And Oceans typisch abenteuerliche Songwriting - schafft "As In Gardens, So In Tombs" in den Schatten zu stellen und neu zu kontextualisieren. Es ist der Sound einer Band, die jedes Quäntchen Schwung mitnimmt und in jeder Hinsicht den Einsatz steigert.

Obwohl ...And Oceans noch nie ein Album zweimal geschrieben haben, klingt ihr neuestes Werk in vielerlei Hinsicht wie eine Gelegenheit für die finnische Gruppe, das, was sie begonnen hat, fortzusetzen und zu verbessern. Symphonischer Black Metal fühlte sich noch nie so spaßig, frei und fantastisch an!

FFV: Dimmu Borgir, Cradle of Filth, Limbonic Art, Children of Bodom, Emperor

Tape Es kommt selten vor, dass eine Band mit ihrem bisher besten Werk ein comeback feiert, aber die finnischen ...And Oceans beweisen hier eindrucksvoll, dass "Cosmic World Mother" aus 2020 eine Symphonie stürzender Dämme kreativer Schleusen war, die in ein neues Gewässer, einen Ozean, wenn man so will, einbrachen.

Alles, was das erste Album seit 18 Jahren Pause von ...And Oceans gut gemacht hat - rasanter symphonischer Black Metal, berauschende Themen, die sich mit der Verbindung zwischen Philosophie und Übersinnlichem befassen, und das für ...And Oceans typisch abenteuerliche Songwriting - schafft "As In Gardens, So In Tombs" in den Schatten zu stellen und neu zu kontextualisieren. Es ist der Sound einer Band, die jedes Quäntchen Schwung mitnimmt und in jeder Hinsicht den Einsatz steigert.

Obwohl ...And Oceans noch nie ein Album zweimal geschrieben haben, klingt ihr neuestes Werk in vielerlei Hinsicht wie eine Gelegenheit für die finnische Gruppe, das, was sie begonnen hat, fortzusetzen und zu verbessern. Symphonischer Black Metal fühlte sich noch nie so spaßig, frei und fantastisch an!

FFV: Dimmu Borgir, Cradle of Filth, Limbonic Art, Children of Bodom, Emperor

Nachdem sie in den letzten beiden Jahren an allen Ecken und Enden der Metal-Community für offene Münder gesorgt haben, kehren die Die deutschen Dark/Nu Metal Shooting Stars OCEANS mit einer weiteren walzenden, treibenden, dennoch melodischen und vor allem melancholischen Hymne zurück und beweisen, dass Blabbermouth richtig lagen, als sie sagten “OCEANS könnten sehr wahrscheinlich das nächste große Ding werden!”

Dieses Album besteht aus 3 EPs. 2 davon wurden bereits veröffentlicht:
„Hell Is Where The Heart Is, Pt. I: Love“ & „Hell Is Where The Heart Is, Pt. II: Longing“. Mit der Veröffentlichung der 3., „Hell Is Where The Heart Is, Pt. III: Clarity“, werden die 3 digitalen EPs zu einem Album („Hell Is Where The Heart Is“) zusammengeführt und auch physisch als ein Album veröffentlicht.

Anthology introducing the first of a series of albums based on the concept of Aquapelago.

‘’ Since the earliest days of the planet there has been a rhythm of tides that creates coastal interzones where humans have foraged and pursued various livelihoods. Developing boats to fish from and technologies that enabled them to immerse themselves deep underwater, the aquatic realm has been one explored, experienced and imagined in various ways. In an effort to express the vitality and richness of this environment I coined the term aquapelago in 2012. The wordplay was deliberate. The neologism was designed to distinguish the liquid inbetweenness of this space from the dry, scattered, lands of archipelagos.

The concept of the aquapelago coalesced around themes taken from various places. Epeli Hau’ofa’s idea of an Oceanic “sea of islands’” was formative but a number of songs were also inspirational. Torres Strait islander Seaman Dan captivated me with his experiences of pearl diving in the Darnley Deeps in his song ‘Forty Fathoms’ and Norfolk Islander singer Kath King imaged how sea-turtles might have experienced ecological change in her song ‘Tech me how fer lew’. Other reflections on watery realms also appealed. Debussy’s solo piano piece ‘La cathédrale engloutie’ soundtracked me as I researched myths of lost Lyonesse while Mike Cooper’s Kiribati, an ambient exoticist album about the imperilled archipelago (recently re-released on Discrepant), caused me to reflect on the social and cultural impact of sea level rise before that topic became a high-profile concern.

This compilation album takes the concept of the aquapelago into new depths and breaches it on fresh shores. The tracks are soaked with the aquatic. Bassy sonorities boom as if heard deep underwater. Bubbly textures breach the surface, water drips and seabirds soar high above waves. Sugai Kei samples fragments of text concerning the Ningen, a fantastic humanoid/whale that reflects the ‘aquapelagic imaginary’ of modern Japan and its preoccupation with industrial whaling. Andrew Pekler continues the orientation of his Phantom Islands project - a sonic atlas of imaginary places - with a soundscape as if heard by a swimmer just offshore, mixing sounds of the island and the sea together. Mike Cooper’s sonic reflection on Hong Kong’s Lamma Island is similar, combining the island’s ubiquitous barking dogs with the slurp of waves on rocky shores, conjuring a languorous time before Chinese crackdowns on the territory.

Taking another tack, the Dead Mauriacs gleefully water-ski through collage of tropical island exoticisms, replete with glitchy orientalism, while Babau combines skittering idiophone melodies with resonant glissandi. Vica Pacheco moves between dense and airy sounds, as if crossing between surf lines and the space above. Yannkick Dauby’s track is also imbued with in-betweenness, evoking ambient sounds heard through a ship’s hull. Sculpture’s ‘Froth Surfer’ realises its title, with bubbling sounds and rhythms that evoke Hawaiian surfing filtered through layers of time and distance. Reminding us of the shore necessary for aquapelagic spaces, Franceso Cavaliere and Tomoko Sauvage’s composition anchors the album, centred around shaken rhythms and resonant ringing tones and drones.

Taken together, the album sketches the contours of the aquapelago as it might be imagined and conjured in sound – an endless oceanic realm that laps on to beaches and crashes against cliffs. The performers navigate this space under alternately starry and cloudy skies, orientating themselves with sounds, textures and sonic samples of their terrestrial homes while we float with them. ‘’
Philip Hayward December 2021