Suche:pit bailey

Blume presents The Days Pass Quickly Immersed in the Shadow of Eternity, a new work by Lea Bertucci commissioned by the ZKM Center for Art and Media Karlsruhe and premiered in Karlsruhe in November 2025. Written for, and created in collaboration with, the flutist Norbert Rodenkirchen, it draws on his collection of Renaissance, Medieval, and Neolithic instruments, harnessing sounds that have been largely absent from the modern world. What does it mean to employ one of humanity's oldest known technologies, the flute, appearing in human hands tens of thousands of years before the advent of the wheel, within an experimental, electroacoustic composition that is inherently forward-thinking?

Since her emergence within New York City's Noise scene during the early 2010s, Bertucci has balanced a fierce dedication to the DIY ethos and immediacy of the underground with a refined sense of creative rigor and ambition, moving from brittle, challenging compositions for saxophone, electronics, and tape toward investigations of acoustic phenomena, site-specific resonance, and complex harmonic interplay. Following her return to the rural environments of Upstate New York where she was born and raised, her work has entered a more introspective phase, with an expanded instrumental, technical, and vocal palette that has found her increasingly composing for others, as on 2023's Of Shadow and Substance and on Fata Morgana, a work for organ released earlier this year.

The piece grew from a meeting with Rodenkirchen after a performance by the early music ensemble Sequentia, to which he belongs. Struck by his ability to conjure "spirits from deep within human memory, as a clarion call into the present", Bertucci began a series of conversations that led the pair into the studio at ZKM in the summer of 2024. Conceived for ZKM's 42.4 speaker system, grouped into 8 discrete outputs before being mixed down to stereo, the work aligns with the collaborative process she has honed alongside her solo efforts, in duos with Ben Vida, Lawrence English, and Olivia Block: a dialog with personal and responsive agency offered to both musicians.

It carries forward her inquiry into the fundamentally human aspects of listening ("I am looking for sounds that call from somewhere deep within the listener and that tap into archetypal human knowledge and feeling") and her investigation of psychoacoustic phenomena and otoacoustic emissions through a meticulous alignment of pitches and timbres. Where many of her most celebrated efforts played, and played with, the room, this one is rooted in an implied space: the flutes recall and blur the boundaries between the eras and environments in which those instruments were originally played, from acoustically engineered Renaissance and Medieval halls to the naturally reverberant caves of the Neolithic, and those of the present.

Bertucci is not the first to bring ancient sound sources into experimental music: Harry Partch's instruments drew on Greek, Chinese, and Japanese precursors, Alvin Curran regularly plays a conch shell, and Walter Maioli has spent decades working at the borders of experimental music and archaeology. Her piece occupies a more rarefied position through its hybridity, combining advanced technology with archaic sound sources while sidestepping the exoticism and romantic primitivism that can hobble such efforts. Compared with its closest cousin, Phill Niblock's Four Full Flutes, where the instruments are manipulated beyond clear recognition, here the flutes remain recognizable and embrace the layers of history they carry. The result is an electroacoustic work that largely forgoes the auditory signifiers of the idiom: it could easily pass for a live ensemble, and only attentive listening reveals that it could only have been made through advanced technology.

As Rodenkirchen's playing interweaves with Bertucci's computer-facilitated arrangements of flute samples, ranging from pulsing clusters to dense combinations of sustained tones, timbres, and distances, the piece draws connections with folk and spiritual traditions across human history: Medieval polyphonic ecclesiastical music, Sardinian canto a tenore, Pygmy vocal music, Buddhist chant. By conjoining one of our earliest known technologies with our most advanced, Bertucci proposes that our tools are not the message, but rather the unending continuum of humanity itself. Issued by Blume in a highly limited vinyl edition of 300 copies on transparent light blue vinyl, with newly commissioned liner notes by Bradford Bailey.

Black Truffle is thrilled to announce Dalbergia Retusa, an extensive double LP selection of the solo guitar music of Hans Reichel, compiled by Oren Ambarchi. Last heard on Black Truffle as one quarter of the joyously anarchic Bergisch-Brandenburgisches Quartett, Hans Reichel (1949-2011) is one of the great figures of experimental guitar music. Though perhaps lesser known than peers like Derek Bailey, Fred Frith and Keith Rowe, Reichel’s rethinking of the instrument was in some ways the most radical of all. Early on, he dispensed with existing guitars to build a series of his own that explored the use of additional strings and fretboards, moveable pickups, extra bridges, special capos, and other innovations documented in the extensive booklet accompanying this release.

Reichel was a long-term resident of Wuppertal, the small Western Germany city that became an unlikely centre of European free jazz in the late 1960s, also home to Peter Brötzmann and Peter Kowald. His solo debut Wichlinghauser Blues was an early entry into the FMP discography and began a relationship with the label that stretched into the 1990s; all the solo performances heard here were first released on FMP. As Reichel says in the charming archival interview with Markus Müller included here, he was ‘always a cuckoo’s egg at FMP’, a label that began as an outlet for roaring European free jazz. What strikes the listener right from the opening selection on Dalbergia Retusa—‘Return of the Knödler show’, from 1987’s The Dawn of Dachsman—is the extraordinary beauty of Reichel’s music, at once alien in the shimmering sonorities and unconventional pitch relationships made possible by his invented instruments, and deeply lyrical, even romantic in its harmonic content. Growing up in West Germany in the 1960s, Reichel’s formative influences were mainly British and American rock bands, a background that shines through in many of the pieces included here: ‘An old friend passes by’ is haunted by the ghost of Hendrix’s rhythm guitar, and the wild closer ‘Heimkehr der Holzböcke’, taken from a rare 1975 7” and the only piece to use overdubbing, layers errant hammer-on and slide tones over a Canned Heat boogie chug.

Reichel was an important source for the development of Oren Ambarchi’s own extended approach to the electric guitar. Appropriately enough, his selection opens with the very first piece by Reichel he ever heard, on a flexidisc included with a 1989 issue of Guitar Player magazine. Though Reichel collaborated with others extensively in many settings and also performed on violin and his other major contribution to instrument invention, the daxophone, his music for solo guitar remains at the core of his oeuvre. Focusing exclusively on solo pieces recorded between 1973 and 1988, the 23 pieces on Dalbergia Retusa showcase the range and consistency of Reichel’s work, allowing the listener to see how his performances developed hand-in-hand with his instrumental inventions. On a piece from his very first LP, played on an 11-string instrument (partly strung with piano strings and using a schnapps glass a slide), we hear his intensive exploration of fret-hammering to create zither-like, chiming tone, which Reichel would hone further in later years with a double fretboard guitar specifically designed to be hammered rather than fretted and picked. On a piece from 1979’s Death of the Rare Bird Ymir, Reichel uses two steel-string acoustic guitars at once, with beautiful results: ‘some even say too beautiful’, he jokes in the interview included here. Many of the pieces from the 1980s make use of varieties of the ‘pick behind the bridge guitar’, instruments of uncanny harmonic richness primarily designed to be played on the ‘wrong’ side of the bridge. At times the unexpected behaviour of attacks, resonance, and decay can almost seem electronic, conjuring up the technology-assisted work of Henry Kaiser or even Fennesz, but realised solely through Reichel’s unorthodox techniques on his invented instruments. Extensively illustrated with photos and Reichel’s own plans and drawings of his instruments, Dalbergia Retusa is an essential introduction to the unique world of Hans Reichel. Rarely has music been at once so strange and so beautiful.

Carlos Giffoni reconnects with Thurston Moore for two sides of loose-limbed axe noise, oscillator worship and hard-phased, Spacemen 3-style feedback.

Giffoni’s been on a roll recently. Since the No Fun founder returned to the scene with »Vain¡, a genius set of synth mutations that appeared in iDEAL back in 2018, he’s been slowly ramping up the activity, dropping the celestial »Dream Walker« on Stephen O’Malley’s Ideologic Organ in 2024 and following it with »Pendulum«, a bumper compendium of collaborations, just a few weeks back. For those who remember Giffoni’s first trip round the block, he was always able to hold his own chopping it up in person, not just by mail.

Just scrub through his early catalog and you’ll see collabs with Nels Cline and Chris Corsano, Merzbow, Jim O’Rourke and Lasse Marhaug, and of course, Thurston Moore. The two rekindle their thing on »IGUANA’« picking up where 2001’s fabled »4 Guitars Live« performance left off. Here, Giffoni straddles a tabletop synth and FX while Moore attacks his signature Jazzmaster with a drumstick and a screwdriver – vibes fully intact.

Moore is on blistering form, sounding as if he’s taken a step back to refresh his approach since the early ‘00s when he could be spotted moonlighting on any number of basement-adjacent noise sides. Sawing at his strings and turning the guitar into a shrieking resonator, he leaves only faint vapours of the classic Sonic Youth sound as opiating accents on his animalistic wails and rumbles. On the opening half, his whammy – assisted shreds are balanced out by Giffoni’s off-world whirrs and airlocked vibrations, building a dense wall of noise towards an unexpectedly elegiac conclusion. At some point, Giffoni’s rasping churr transforms into a simmering shudder and Moore’s into hymnal drones – squint a bit and you could almost call it pretty.

Of course, they ramp things up on the flip, dissolving the melancholia with smokey white noise and twangy, post-Derek Bailey chimes that Giffoni accompanies with aggy oscillations. Like every great taped noise set, the recording quality is crucial - »IGUANA« was captured from the pit by Guillermo Hernandez Avendano, the dad of Lia Miranda who provides the cover photo. It’s that kinda show.

HONESTY are not a band in the traditional sense. With four core members - George Mitchell, Matt Peel, Josh Lewis and Imi Marston - and a rotating cast of collaborators which have included musicians and visual artists like Kosi Tydes, Softlizard, Rarelyalways, Florence Shaw and Liam Bailey, the Leeds-based collective emerged as an exercise in doing things differently on a journey towards self-acceptance.

HONESTY’s debut album, ‘U R HERE’ is released on Partisan Records. With influences that range from Mount Kimbie and My Bloody Valentine to Björk and Burial, ‘U R HERE’ represents a renewed sense of creative expression amidst a world that can sometimes seem like it’s crumbling apart.

The songs on ‘U R HERE’ are a fluid, exhilarating, and uniquely introspective take on club music - sonically mapping the psychological impact of the modern age and harnessing the vitality and freedom that comes with new beginnings. ‘U R HERE’, right now, and that is all that matters.

Black LP in a gatefold sleeve with spot gloss finish.

Das Debütalbum der jungen Band aus Chicago auf Golden Nugget Doppelvinyl. LP 2 enthält 11 Bonustracks, darunter B-Seiten, Live-Tracks und ein My Bloody Valentine-Cover.

"Reaffirms that indie rock, as a style and ethos, can still feel like the most exciting thing a young person could be into.” - Pitchfork

Zukunftsweisender Indie-Rock hat in Chicago eine lange Tradition. Neuzugang und Hoffnungsträger Friko bilden da keine Ausnahme und verwandeln jeden Song in einen Moment der kollektiven Katharsis. Auf ihrem Debütalbum knüpfen Sänger/Gitarrist Niko Kapetan und Schlagzeuger Bailey Minzenberger an die brennende Energie ihrer Debüt-Single Crimson To Chrome an, indem sie Elemente von Post-Punk, Kammer-Pop und experimentellem Rock miteinander verschmelzen und die berauschende Kraft ihrer Musik mit einer Flut von temperamentvollem Ensemble-Gesang verstärken. Poetisch, explosiv und von erhabener Gefühlsrohheit.

"Imagine: It’s sometime in the back half of the 19th century, America. You’re sitting in the parlor of your mansion, or in the only room of your shack; things are dusty and smell like sweat and hair, no matter how wealthy you may be. You don’t own a phonograph, and you don’t know who Tony Hawk is, but you have an inkling of how good the word 'shred' is going to feel when it enters the local slang. Suddenly, a tall, elegant figure with beautifully maintained fingernails emerges from some corner of the room, carrying a guitar. He says in a soft voice, 'I have a transmission for you, from the coming few centuries. Would you like to hear it? I figured you wouldn’t have a dongle, so I brought my guitar.' You may be apprehensive, but you shouldn’t be. Shane happens to be an internationally renowned virtuoso of the guitar. Specifically, he’s the kind of virtuoso who is as deep on style as he is on technique. His technical prowess is almost maddeningly complete; aiming paradoxically for the yards-long target called “breadth” he’s somehow hit all of it, 500 arrows piercing every pore of the landscape. He has that much technique not for the sake of guitar worship but to best bring the music forth clearly and in his own hand, like a pearl formed in a specific sea. I know this because I’ve sat next to him in multiple countries and American states and seen him deliver transmissions of that extreme honesty, with that extreme capability. Like Derek Bailey’s 'Ballads,' this record brings you into the room and the breath of a true musician whose mastery does not overshadow his appreciation of the music that inspired it. The title, 'Repertoire,' underscores the beautiful songs he chose to perform, all standards of 20th century musical excellence. The in-time persistence of his blues-walked 'Lonely Woman.' The grand registral descent he performs on 'Pithecanthropus Erectus,' like a rare document of the trip down from Everest. Dig how 'Better Get Hit in Your Soul,' emphasizes the folk blues water coursing through Mingus’s Ellingtonia, how Aphex Twin’s 'Avril 14' and the Minutemen’s 'Cohesion' sound so much older than Cage’s 'Totem Ancestors.' 'Repertoire' puts forth the idea that time is arrangement: time and arrangement are each only as successful as they are faithful to their origins and expansive in their style. Again, lest you fear the alien smoothness some associate with the concept 'virtuoso,' remember here we’re dealing with a time- traveler. His virtuosity is home grown, born of human work rather than some abstract or divine touch; the aim is not to go beyond the realm of human technical possibility but to expand it in the direction of human, meaning, timely. This guy can play anything, and for you, for this record, which sounds intimate and as present as a transmission from a time-traveler, he chooses to."—Wendy Eisenberg

LP reissue of Collective Calls, the first duo LP from Evan Parker and percussionist Paul Lytton. Mythically alluded to as ‘An Improvised Urban Psychodrama In Eight Parts”, Collective Calls utilises electronics, pre-records and homemade instruments to wryly in/act self investigation. Having just recorded the cliff jumping Music Improvisation Company with Derek Bailey, Christine Jeffrey, Hugh Davies and Jamie Muir, Parker was at the point where he was thinking, ‘what’s the next thing?’ On Collective Calls, only the 5th release to appear on the newly minted Incus label, percussionist Paul Lytton arrives with an arsenal of sound making sources to push Parker into ever new territory. Recorded in the loft of The Standard Essenco Co on Southwark Street by Bob Woolford (Topography of the Lungs, AMM The Crypt), Collective Calls has more in common with noise or music concrete than with jazz; sitting comfortably alongside Italian messrs Gruppo di Improvvisazione Nuova Consonanza or the husband-wife duo of Anima Sound. According to Martin Davidson, it was a Folkways record that Lytton was obsessed with around the time of this release - Sounds of the Junkyard - its track titles like “Steel Saw Cutting Channel Iron in Two Places” working to give you a good idea of the atmosphere of Collective Calls. Paul Lytton had encountered the use of electronics in music in 1968 when he was invited to play drums on the recording of An Electric Storm by White Noise (along with David Vorhaus, Delia Derbyshire and Brian Hodgson). He had seen Hugh Davies using contact mics in the Music Improvisation Company, and soon set about assembling a Dexion frame akin to drummer John Stevens’, except that his own was armed with several single-coil electric guitar pickups, long wires and strings with connected foot-pedals to modulate pitch. Influenced as much by Stockhausen, Cage and David Tudor as he was by Max Roach and Milford Graves, Lytton’s percussion is abstract, expressionist and at times totally mutant. Sometimes rolling extremely fast, then screeching almost backwards over feedback, Lytton gives Parker room to play some of his weirdest work. Parker is listed as performing both saxophones, but also his own home made assemblages, including one dubbed the ‘Dopplerphone’ - a length of soft rubber tubing (activated by a saxophone mouthpiece and manipulated to alter the rate of airflow) attached to a longer length of clear plastic tubing (whirled around the head whilst being played) ending in a plastic funnel. Thickening the brew even more, Parker would also add a cassette recorder, on which he would play back collected sounds and previous recordings of the duo. Imagining the set up in a 70s loft, it’s an assemblage more akin to what today's free ears might see at a Sholto Dobie show, spread out on the floor of the Hundred Years Gallery, the shadow of Penultimate Press lurking in the corner. It’s a testament to Parker’s shape shifting sound - the ever present link to birdsong being at its most warped here - terrifically free and unfussy, wild and loose from any of the dogma that might come in later Brit-prov years

Black Truffle is thrilled to present a previously unheard performance by rudra veena master Ustad Zia Mohiuddin Dagar, recorded in the North Indian city of Vrindavan at the Druhpad Samaroh festival in 1982. Z.M. Dagar was a nineteenth-generation descendant of the Dagar family of musicians, famed for their profoundly meditative approach to the tradition of Hindustani court music. Perhaps the most revered members of the family were the brothers Mohinuddin and Aminuddin Dagar, who played a key role in reawakening interest in dhrupad in the mid-20th century. The great exponents of the tradition from whom Z.M. Dagar descended were all singers, and dhrupad is essentially vocal music. However, as Z.M. Dagar explained, the veena family of instruments plays an important role in the education and practice of dhrupad singers, especially as an aid to mastering the fine microtonal nuances of pitch essential to the genre. Introduced as a child by his father to the rudra veena, a large and low-pitched veena amplified by two enormous gourds, Z.M. Dagar became the first modern dhrupad musician to perform with it as an instrumental soloist, giving his first recital at the age of 16. Devoted to the instrument throughout his life, he made innovations to its design and materials, as well as introducing novel techniques (such as playing without the use of the traditional wire plectrum, resulting in the remarkable warmth of his tone). In the great Dagar family tradition, his approach to the various ragas that make up the dhrupad repertoire was stately, slow, and considered, with a great emphasis on the alap, the heavily improvised exposition section. True to form, in this recording of Dagar performing the night raga Yaman Kalyan, the alap section stretches out to more than forty minutes of slow-motion bliss, a frozen tanpura drone hovering above Dagar’s gracefully bent notes and elegantly twisting phrases. In the alap’s first half, Dagar’s figures are so intently focused on the lower reaches of the rudra veena’s range that they register more as shudders and moans than melodic patterns. As the performance continues, he slowly climbs in pitch, though continuing with the same intent focus on the articulation of single notes and subtle microtonal variations. This leads to the jod section of the performance, which, though still accompanied only by the tanpura, gradually takes on a more rhythmic character. Developing almost imperceptibly over the course of nearly thirty minutes, the jod moves from the stillness of the opening alap to a rapid pulse that announces the closing section of the piece, where Dagar is joined by Shrikant Mishra on the pakhawaj (a double headed hand drum). Where many performers use the final section of the raga as an exercise in unrestrained virtuosity, Dagar and Mishra subtly weave a web of finely shifting accents and hypnotic melodic variations, bringing the recording to a fitting conclusion while remaining within the meditative space occupied by the performance as a whole. Adorned with beautiful archival photographs of Dagar taken by Swedish percussion legend Bengt Berger and accompanied by detailed notes from Bradford Bailey, Vrindavan 1982 is a stunning document of music unmatched in its patient focus and mysterious emotional depth. .

Whereas many electronic producers aim at being the most prolific in their genre, or the most extreme, Lucy and Rrose have wisely chosen to be the most consistently curiosity-provoking representatives of their craft.


Whereas many electronic producers aim at being the most prolific in their genre, or the most extreme, Lucy and Rrose have wisely chosen to be the most consistently curiosity-provoking representatives of their craft. Their decision to team up as a production duo for the newest Stroboscopic Artefacts EP may have seemed inevitable, given their shared responsibility for shifting techno's focus towards the facilitation of profound psycho-acoustic effects. And yet, even those who saw this coming will still be in for a wild ride.

Lucy's skill as a studio technician - displayed capably over his trilogy of full-length albums - has always been enhanced by his skill as a storyteller and as an artist with reverence towards myths and the pull of the unknown. This sonic personality is a perfect complement to the scientific severity of Rrose, for whom the electronic pulse beat and subsonic massage permit entry to a febrile psychic landscape whose contents are never entirely what the individual listener might expect or be prepared for.

As with both of the artists' solo offerings, these recordings feel as much like the branching off point for new creative acts rather than as objects to be passively enjoyed. As such, the opening "Chloroform" is a somewhat ironic title for a piece that is anything but anesthetic: at high volumes, its monstrous low-end surge and prickly, scintillating sonic ephemera are very likely to bring attention to otherwise imperceptible phenomena. "Peeling" continues in this style with a more urgent tempo, developing its own cascade of sensory impressions from seemingly unstable deep-bass loops, injections of intentional surface noise, and pitch-shifted / harmonizer-effected phantom phrases.

"Stained Glass," maybe the most straight-ahead piece on the record, is still a potent distortion of the mundane primed with shivering bell tones, tamed feedback and hints of speaker cones fraying. The climactic "Foil Gardens" is an elegant study in harmonics whose time-dissolving ability nods to the works of composers like Charlemagne Palestine or Eliane Radigue, without being a pure homage to either. The undertow of distortion beneath the glistening tone waves, in particular, provides a distinct update to the legacy of so-called
tonal 'minimalism'.

The end result here is a record that feels uncannily lifelike: an organism that always seems on the verge of a heuristic breakthrough, and whose full potential may not even be known by its creators.

Words by Thomas Bey William Bailey

'Funny Cow charts the rise to stardom of a female comedienne through the 1970's and 1980's. It is set against the backdrop of
working men's clubs and the stand-up comedy circuit of the North of England. From her troubled childhood to her turbulent adult
relationships, the Funny Cow uses the raw material of her life experiences to bring her unique style of comedy to the stage. A
stand-up comedienne in an all-male world, Funny Cow delivers tragedy and comedy in equal measure. The film stars Maxine Peake,
Paddy Considine, Tony Pitts, Alun Armstrong and Stephen Graham, is directed by Adrian Shergold and produced by Kevin Proctor
and Mark Vennis. Richard Hawley, Corinne Bailey Rae and Ollie Trevers all appear in the film. Richard wrote the title track 'Funny
Cow', 'A Little Bit More' and, with Mark Sheridan, the duet with Corinne Bailey Rae 'I Still Want You'. He also wrote the
instrumentals 'Laundrette Accordian', 'Leaving Mike's House'. 'Walking Round The Bookshop', and 'End Hospital Sequence' and 'End
Sequence', which all feature in the film. Ollie wrote the songs 'Twist It Shake It', 'From Then Til Now', 'Bad But Good' and
'Nightmare In Paradise' and again, all feature in the film.

Big Crown Records is proud to present Ekundayo, Liam Bailey’s debut record on the label. This album is a long time in the making, and after listening, clearly worth the wait. It didn’t take a long time to record, but it did take years for all the stars to line up.

Bailey, born and raised in Nottingham, England, the son of an English mother and Jamaican father got his early influences from his mom’s record collection. Bob Marley and Dillinger, Stevie Wonder and The Supremes, The Beatles and Jimi Hendrix would eventually shape the singer/songwriter we know today.
Fast-forward to 2005, Liam is in London and doing the whatever-gig-you-can-get musician hustle with hopes of landing a record deal. And it was through this time that Liam first teamed up with Leon Michels, musician / producer luminary, and the co-founder of Brooklyn's own Big Crown Records. Liam flew out to New York and those first sessions together produced the now classic tunes “When Will They Learn” and “I’m Gonna Miss You” which still get spins at reggae spots around the globe. That trip helped kick off what was to follow next for Liam: a slew of record releases, label deals, and working with some wildly-notable mainstream producers. Even a just-famous Amy Winehouse heard one of Liam's apartment-made, lo-fi recordings through a friend and liked what she heard. Regardless of the audio quality, Liam's particular sound shone through—all guitar, warm-rough and genuine soul. She signed him to her label shortly after.

But, as the story can go with major labels, they already had an idea of the Liam they wanted to make, promote, and push. With the typical pay-day enticement, Liam did his best to fit into whatever shape they put him to. "'Maybe I can make it work,' that's what you're thinking," Liam remembers, "but, you quickly find out that you can't."

While Liam’s career went through a bunch of record industry twists and turns he and Michels stayed in touch and would regularly connect and collaborate. Finally, in 2019, the time was right to do a full-length album together. And this time, it would be free of any restricting major label presumptions and opinions. "This is the record we always wanted to make," says Michels. Set to release in November 2020, the album is called Ekundayo. And the word's meaning may be all you need to know to get to the essence of this project. It means "sorrow becomes joy" in Yoruba, a language spoken mostly in Western Africa. On the surface, Ekundayo is a weighty Reggae record, full of new and old textured riddims. But listen more in-depth, and you'll find subject matter that's more recognizable from a modern-day R&B record. An example of the former is the first single off the album. Sung to the most beautiful woman at the nightspot, "Champion" is a joyous anthem powered by a silly-thick Juno-bass throb and 808-proof drums. In short, "Champion" is dancehall-ready. But then there's a song like "Don't Blame NY." Moody and sparse with a somber drive, you might have to resist the urge to compare it to a Frank Ocean-ish type vibe. Liam's voice is in a different but fitting element here, showing stripped-back emotion and soulful restraint. Anyone who has lived and tried to thrive in New York won't have a hard time relating to the lyrics but they may join the masses who blame the city, while Liam points the finger at himself and sings praises to The Big Apple.

Credit to Leon's hand, elements of Jamaican production are everywhere, peppered throughout the record. Like the pitch-perfect organ stabs that push through the authentically positive "White Light," or the muted, percussive guitar strums that chug along in the back of "Fight." In the same vein of any fantastic singer/songwriter album, Ekundayo is a reflection of who Liam Bailey is, taking on topics and approaches he never would think of just a few years ago. Some evidence: "Ugly Truth" is about reconnecting with his biological father, a subject he once thought would be too personal to address. The journey from conforming to major labels to this latest record has been a long one for Liam, and a bit of a struggle. But struggle may be the only way we truly grow and evolve. With a new clarity of purpose, sound, and life, Liam has found joy out of those struggles. And it's called Ekundayo.

Big Crown Records is proud to present Ekundayo, Liam Bailey’s debut record on the label. This album is a long time in the making, and after listening, clearly worth the wait. It didn’t take a long time to record, but it did take years for all the stars to line up.

Bailey, born and raised in Nottingham, England, the son of an English mother and Jamaican father got his early influences from his mom’s record collection. Bob Marley and Dillinger, Stevie Wonder and The Supremes, The Beatles and Jimi Hendrix would eventually shape the singer/songwriter we know today.
Fast-forward to 2005, Liam is in London and doing the whatever-gig-you-can-get musician hustle with hopes of landing a record deal. And it was through this time that Liam first teamed up with Leon Michels, musician / producer luminary, and the co-founder of Brooklyn's own Big Crown Records. Liam flew out to New York and those first sessions together produced the now classic tunes “When Will They Learn” and “I’m Gonna Miss You” which still get spins at reggae spots around the globe. That trip helped kick off what was to follow next for Liam: a slew of record releases, label deals, and working with some wildly-notable mainstream producers. Even a just-famous Amy Winehouse heard one of Liam's apartment-made, lo-fi recordings through a friend and liked what she heard. Regardless of the audio quality, Liam's particular sound shone through—all guitar, warm-rough and genuine soul. She signed him to her label shortly after.

But, as the story can go with major labels, they already had an idea of the Liam they wanted to make, promote, and push. With the typical pay-day enticement, Liam did his best to fit into whatever shape they put him to. "'Maybe I can make it work,' that's what you're thinking," Liam remembers, "but, you quickly find out that you can't."

While Liam’s career went through a bunch of record industry twists and turns he and Michels stayed in touch and would regularly connect and collaborate. Finally, in 2019, the time was right to do a full-length album together. And this time, it would be free of any restricting major label presumptions and opinions. "This is the record we always wanted to make," says Michels. Set to release in November 2020, the album is called Ekundayo. And the word's meaning may be all you need to know to get to the essence of this project. It means "sorrow becomes joy" in Yoruba, a language spoken mostly in Western Africa. On the surface, Ekundayo is a weighty Reggae record, full of new and old textured riddims. But listen more in-depth, and you'll find subject matter that's more recognizable from a modern-day R&B record. An example of the former is the first single off the album. Sung to the most beautiful woman at the nightspot, "Champion" is a joyous anthem powered by a silly-thick Juno-bass throb and 808-proof drums. In short, "Champion" is dancehall-ready. But then there's a song like "Don't Blame NY." Moody and sparse with a somber drive, you might have to resist the urge to compare it to a Frank Ocean-ish type vibe. Liam's voice is in a different but fitting element here, showing stripped-back emotion and soulful restraint. Anyone who has lived and tried to thrive in New York won't have a hard time relating to the lyrics but they may join the masses who blame the city, while Liam points the finger at himself and sings praises to The Big Apple.

Credit to Leon's hand, elements of Jamaican production are everywhere, peppered throughout the record. Like the pitch-perfect organ stabs that push through the authentically positive "White Light," or the muted, percussive guitar strums that chug along in the back of "Fight." In the same vein of any fantastic singer/songwriter album, Ekundayo is a reflection of who Liam Bailey is, taking on topics and approaches he never would think of just a few years ago. Some evidence: "Ugly Truth" is about reconnecting with his biological father, a subject he once thought would be too personal to address. The journey from conforming to major labels to this latest record has been a long one for Liam, and a bit of a struggle. But struggle may be the only way we truly grow and evolve. With a new clarity of purpose, sound, and life, Liam has found joy out of those struggles. And it's called Ekundayo.

Dutch techno duo D&S - or Dennis & Stephan to their parents - hail from Rotterdam and have a penchant for the classic sounds of Detroit. Their previous releases on SK Black, Orbis Records, Indigo Aera's AEX compilations, ARTS and Girada Unlimited have earned them support from the likes of Adam Beyer, Marco Bailey and Ilario Alicante, and this tasty new EP for Abstract Reasoning looks set to find similar favour.

The pitter-patter of classic drum machine hi-hats drive the title track along with swooping, filtered pads and gentle licks of acid, the track gradually evolving into a veritable bubble bath of 303 goodness and gated synth swells. Incidence continues the theme, with gentle cymbal rides splashing over continually evolving acid blips and bleeps while mystical waves of chord melody envelope your senses in a foggy haze.

The second half of the EP flips the script beautiful with two broken beat tracks that show they have a real prowess for melody as well as rhythm. Lost In Sequence's thumping kicks are punctuated by the rolling tribal percussive elements and looming, sorrowful pads. Intricate rhythms and beautiful use of reverb and other FX create a dreamy atmosphere throughout. Partisan sees a morphing, resonant synth motif pulse over another pleasingly thick kick rhythm, and swirling, ethereal layers of atmosphere. All in all it's a superb release that has something for the dancefloor as well as the home stereo.

At last, the vinyl reissue of this masterwork, adding two hitherto unreleased gems recorded solo for Charles Fox's Radio 3 programme Jazz in Britain, in the same few months of 1980 as the stunning Aida performances.The phrase 'in the moment' is often bandied about with reference to free improvisation, and indeed there's no better way to describe Derek Bailey's playing. The acoustic guitar is notoriously lacking in natural reverberation — notes barely hang in the air for a couple of seconds before they disappear — which explains the almost non-stop flow of new material in these stellar performances. Bailey knew from one split-second to the next exactly where to find the same pitch on different strings, either as a stopped tone or a ringing harmonic, and there's never a note out of place. 'He who kisses the joy as it flies,' in the words of William Blake, 'Lives in eternity's sunrise' — and this music is forever in the moment, constantly active but never gabby, kissing the joy.One of the special pleasures of the BBC set is the guitarist's own laconic commentary, a deliciously deadpan description of what he's doing while he's doing it — 'I like to think of it... as a kind of music' — and the interaction between words and music is a particular delight. 'You may have noticed a certain lack of variety,' he quips, while unleashing a furiously complex volley. Is it a coincidence that the final seconds recall the famous cycling fifths of the coda to Thelonious Monk's Round Midnight Surely not — for Bailey, like Monk, was a note man par excellence. And they're both still alive and well in eternity's sunrise.

Blah Blah Blah are proudly putting the together the final touches to their 10th release celebrations, and to help bring the party, bubbling up London producer 'Cropper' has given BBB the honour of releasing his most treasured possession 'Forever'.
Forever has already gathered a preview courtesy of Pitchfork, thus cementing the support he received from Huxley, Tensnake, James Zabiela, Thefft, and Ben Westbeech among others for his previous record 'Deeper/Drift'.In Renato Pagnani's (Pitchfork) own words: 'Forever, is a hybrid of disparate-but- complimentary moods. Dark, crawling bass spreads out across the house track like stretched molasses, evoking the kind of late-night dread that comes with finding yourself alone in an unfamiliar neighborhood long after last call, but there's a warmth to this low- end rumble that prevents "Forever" from holding you at arm's length as it twists and turns. This bittersweet ache is given yet another dimension thanks to the vocals looped throughout the track, which are simultaneously defiant and vulnerable...' Selected Feedback: Sam Bailey Radio 1 'Sick (5/5)' // Maya Jane Coles - 'Nice Deepness (4/5) // Eton Messy - Love the track (4/5) // Maxxi Soundsystem - 'Sweet. ps happy 10th....