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Straight Outta Caledonia is the first commercially available “Greatest Hits” of the outsider songwriter Jackie Leven, an artist
who has largely remained in obscurity in his native Scotland despite being one of the greatest wordsmiths – and singers – it ever
produced. A well-travelled musician who began making psychedelic, progressive music in the late 60s before emerging as an
epic storyteller full of pathos, humour and humanity in the 90s, Leven lived and wrote like many of the fragile, gregarious
characters of his songs; large, full of life and empathy. Leven passed away in 2011 after recording 30+ albums under different
guises or with his briefly successful New Wave band Doll by Doll. Straight Outta Caledonia is a compilation collated by Night
School Records on its Archival label School Daze that seeks to introduce Leven’s music to new generations.
In an age of isolation, alienation and loss of visceral experience, Jackie Leven’s music can be massive and welcoming. It feels
connected to some universal humanity and vibrates with vitality. His songs are often full of tragedy and comedy simultaneously,
cutting straight to the heart, often plugging directly into the nervous system of the listener. His lyrics are rich, dense with imagery
that can veer from apocalyptic to the comically banal in a sentence, with a songwriting panache that can be heavy handed to
almost bursting point before skewering the song with a clownish, warm punchline. His productions ranged from Bob Dylan’s
Rolling Thunder Revue style rock band orchestrations with strings and organ as on the epic Ancient Misty Morning or they could
be pared down to the purest form of folk song as on Poortoun: Leven on stage alone with an acoustic guitar, albeit played with a
mastery of the instrument that he often only hinted at. Musically his sound can bend traditional structures or stay completely
confined within them yet still forever push towards an ecstatic release, as on the cinematic Snow In Central Park.
The most exciting, jaw-droppingly effective tool at Leven’s disposal was his voice. A multi-octave instrument that, though
damaged during a savage assault in Fife, he used with flair; he had both a brazen disregard for the rules and a deep humility, all
of which is evidenced with every phrasing. A baritone that could flit up through the register – always touched by his gentle
Kirkcaldy accent – it’s the prime delivery method for his songs. Leven’s voice enabled him to inhabit the characters in his songs to
an uncanny degree, a skill that in turn enables the listener to empathise with them and, subsequently, the singer. It’s most evident
in stand out song The Sexual Loneliness Of Jesus Christ, a breathtaking re-telling of the life of its protagonist, not as a pure,
sinless messiah but as a sexually frustrated, solitary man condemned to an existential loneliness no one else will ever feel. In
many ways the track is the archetypal Jackie Leven song. Produced by Pere Ubu’s David Thomas, what strikes the ear first –
after the samples of unemployed workers in Glasgow following the closing of the Clyde shipyards – is the audacious, rhythmic
tremolo effect Leven employs through the verses before the production opens up to allow Leven’s vocal to lift into a soar, a
freeing glide powered both by the force of the singer’s chutzpah and the inherent, doomed destiny of the protagonist. With any
other singer such subject matter could come across as gauche or worse, pretentiously sonorous, but Jackie Leven’s genius was
such that he could be this cinematic and brazen while touching something elemental and true in the beholder. It’s a skill evident in
every song on Straight Outta Caledonia, the trademark of a songwriter who revelled and excelled in intensity with a lightness of
touch.
In his lifetime, Jackie Leven toured, wrote and recorded at a ferocious rate. He recorded under aliases to avoid record contract
restrictions, played house shows in Europe after or instead of official concerts, events which were often spoken word story telling
masterclasses as well as performances of his often bewilderingly dense songbook. His music has traditionally been catalogued
as “folk” music and has been largely banished to a small, dedicated group of international fans and apostles both private and well
known, like author Ian Rankin or Glenn Matlock. Since his passing in 2011 however, there has been a growing recognition
amongst a newer generation, with artists like James Yorkston or Molly Nilsson publicly stating the influence of the unsung
troubadour on their own craft. Jackie Leven’s fairytales for hard men are often forensic deconstructions of masculinity, sad and
ecstatic, light and shadow, always endlessly rich, a resource as bountiful as Leven himself’s human spirit undoubtedly was.

Zwerm is a Belgian-Dutch electric guitar quartet (with a backyard rehearsal shed located in Antwerp) that operates along the borders between styles and traverses traditions that are typically not convergent. Zwerm rhymes Larry Polansky with Nadah El Shazly and are galvanized by the likes of guitars pioneers like The Velvet Underground and Sonic Youth, the microtonal DYI-er Harry Partch, Middle Eastern sonorities and the prog-madness of Kind Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard. ‘Musical adventure’ is not just a hollow cliché for this quartet, but a genuine commitment. Zwerm calls itself a ‘guitar quartet’, but that can be interpreted broadly as well as with a pinch of salt: “If we want to do something on instruments we don’t really master, we’ll just figure out a way to make it work.”
Toon Callier, Johannes Westendorp, Kobe van Cauwenberghe and Bruno Nelissen all met in 2007 while working on a project with Glenn Branca. A new guitar quartet was born and it became clear rather quickly that staying in the strictly contemporary compositions lane was not for this quartet-with-five-to-six-members (an organizational chart is available upon request).
An appetite for new and lasting collaborations has been a constant theme throughout their artistic parcours. The group has shared stages with theatrical producers like Walpurgis and Post uit Hessdalen, dancers such as Ecce and with the musicians Fred Frith, Stephen O’Malley, Shiva Feshareki, Rudy Trouvé, Mauro Pawlowski, Larry Polansky, Eric Thielemans, Yannis Kyriakides, François Sarhan, Serge Verstockt and Stefan Prins. These projects have not always translated into records, but they have been decisive in creating a unique musical approach. In 2015, when Zwerm was asked by De Handelsbeurs to collaborate with Fred Frith, they proceeded to pen a few new musical sketches over which Firth sublimely improvised. In 2018 ‘Badminton in Tehran’ was released, their first record that was made up completely of only the group’s compositions.
“a basket full of buttons here
and if you push the wrong one: fear
and if you push the right one: love
or maybe none of the above”
The route that Zwerm has taken is often defined by the question “What if... ?” - like a dart thrown at a musical map, not quite blindly, but naive enough to lead to unexpected endings.
“What if we play Renaissance pieces written by John Dowland, but instead of playing lutes we play these tunes with a Telecaster – and then jam it through effect pedals and an amplifier?”
“What if we connect one hundred guitar pedals and just leave our guitars at home?”
“What if we record a record with ten different one-page-pieces that we found on the Internet?”
In 2020 our metaphorical dart landed on “What if we tried microtonality?”.
‘Microtonality’ sounds a bit creepy, but actually there is nothing to be afraid of: there are no out-of- tune notes, just alternate notes. On the continents where Western musical theory is less stringently applied, microtonality is the rule, and has become the subject of many deep and thoughtfully written theories. However for Zwerm, this phenomenon occurs in many, often surprisingly lighthearted forms. A dilapidated piano that has settled into a beautiful microtonal tuning of its own accord, enthusiastic choral singing, a guitar whose three strings are tuned a quarter-tone higher, a saz (Turkishquarter-tone lute), a maddening guitar pedal, ...
"the dreams they were convicted for telling only lies reality came after for claiming to be wise what you don’t see is what you get just never light a spark I’m a crow in the dark”
“And… what if we work with a drummer?” Enter Karen Willems - dummer, extraordinaire, and ardent player in groups, projects and collaborations galore. One chance meeting and the deal was done. It was obvious before the start that Willems was the versatile and creative percussionist-in-a-toy-store necessary for this project. And in the studio, to our delight, she demonstrated an easy dexterity when switching quickly from one idea to the next.
At the reins behind the scenes was producer Rudy Trouvé, who – during previous sessions for ‘Badminton in Terhran’, when the classically trained guitarists went completely off the rails, staring deeply and forlornly into their scores, looking for answers – was able to pinpoint the problem and get the wagons rolling in the right direction again. Completing the team were Mark Dedecker (recording)and Joris Calluwaerts (mixing).
The results are in and it’s called ‘ Great Expectations’ – a title that, in several ways, fits perfectly with these strange times.‘Great Expectations’ goes wide! Zwerm is at its best when it can run along the borders between style and across traditions that otherwise would not necessarily intersect. The most straightforward rockers have a proggy tinge while the dreamy psychedelic songs lean more toward Richard Youngs. And if a nice melody dared come to close to becoming a ‘Kit-Katjingle’, then barbs-a-la-Pere-Ubu were trailed, tracked, found and promptly embedded. ‘Heavy Machinery’ sits neatly somewhere between Captain Beefheart and Richard Wagner, and ‘On My Way To Aguno’, set to an Iranian folk song chord progression, grew into a hyper-personal lullaby. Zwerm used the saz (Turkish lute) and the sinter (Moroccan gnawa bass instrument) without falling into pastiche psychedelia, but you can still sense the orient.

Air Lows is the debut solo album by Silvia Kastel. The Italian artist has been a fixture of the underground since her precocious teens, clocking up many miles in Control Unit with Ninni Morgia ('It's like Catherine Deneuve dumped two cases of post-Repulsion psychiatric notes over Pere Ubu's Dub Housing, lit the fuse and, ahem, stood well back" - Julian Cope), including collaborations with the likes of Smegma, Factrix, Gary Smith, Aki Onda and Gate (Michael Morley of The Dead C). Both solo and in her work with others, Kastel has explored the outer limits and inner workings of no wave, industrial, dub, extreme electronics, free rock and improvisation. Air Lows is both her fullest and most refined offering to date, a work of vivid, isolationist electronics which draws deeply on her past experience but assuredly breaks new ground. Prompted by a late-flowering interest in techno and club music, Kastel sought to create something which combines a steady rhythmic pulse with the otherworldly sonorities of musique concrete, and avant-garde synth sounds inspired by Japanese minimalism and techno-pop (Haruomi Hosono's Philharmony being a particular favourite). The formal artifice of muzak / elevator music, the intros and outros of generic popular songs, the extreme light-heavy contrasts of jungle, the creative sampling of hardcore, and the very 'human' synths in the jazz of Herbie Hancock's Sextant and Sun Ra: all were touchstones for Air Lows' conception and composition, and all strains of music addressing - or complicating - the relationship between the human and the technological. By extension, visual inspirations also proved important: anime, and the avant-garde fashion of Rei Kawakubo. What does that shirt or dress sound like Though used sparingly, Kastel's voice remains her key instrument, whether subject to dissociative digital manipulations as on 'Bruell', delivering matter-of-fact spoken monologues, or providing splashes of pure tonal colour. Recorded between her expansive Italy studio and a more compact, ersatz set-up in Berlin, Air Lows gradually takes on some of the character of the German capital: you can hear the wide streets and uninhabited spaces, the seepage of never-ending nightlife, the loneliness. Air Lows is The Wizard of Oz in reverse: the glorious technicolour J-pop deconstructions of its first half leading inexorably to the icy noir of 'Spiderwebs' and 'Concrete Void'. These later tracks are reminiscent of 2015's magnificent 39 12', Kastel in the role of numbed, nihilistic chanteuse stalking dank, murky tunnels of reverb and sub-bass. But in fact there is contradiction and emotional ambiguity to Air Lows from the outset, and throughout - a sense of both infinite space and acute claustrophobia; energy and inertia; fluency and restraint.