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Sediment is an assemblage of field recordings made in the Swiss canton of Jura on a single day in August 2022. Jura's rock and limestone formations create a complex topology which hosts a diversity of sound spaces; human, more-than-human, geophonic, subterranean and extra-terrestrial. By walking and driving through this landscape curious pockets of activity are revealed to the listener. The layers of strata that make up Jura; earth, rock, forest, cables, pipes, factories, planes and radio towers inform the sound strata. These recordings incorporate and embrace these many layerings; the acoustic, radio, magnetic, vibrational, tectonic, resonant.

Over the course of a day Tim Shaw and Laurent Güdel followed their ears, they visited forests, mountains, rivers, hydroelectric plants, caves, radio broadcast towers, wind turbines, train tracks, sacred wells, man made tunnels and abandoned factories, harvesting sounds from this tangled and ever-changing soundscape. Using various listening devices they attempted to listen into the full spectrum of activity, hydrophonic, geophonic, air-pressure, electromagnetic and radio.

Sounds harvested include pieces of limestone being submerged into water, electromagnetic fall out from cell towers, the resonance of a limestone processing factory, VLF radio, the mechanisms of infrastructure, radio controlled airplanes and acoustic signals. These files are mixed and blended together to create a new stratification.

The final compositions were separately pieced together in each of the artist's studios using the collective corpus of recordings. The result is two different sonic interpretations of this layered, ancient and complex landscape.

Tim Shaw works with sound, light, and communication media to create performances, installations, and site-responsive interventions. His practice spans environmental sound art, digital media, media archaeology and walking. He frequently presents his work at festivals, in forests, caves, warehouses, up mountains, and in museums and art galleries all over the world.

Laurent Güdel explores analogue synthesis, phonography, and sound archives through multi-channel electroacoustic compositions, live performances, installations, and audio publications. His work explores the politics of sound, the means of production of early electronic music, and the archaeology of audio technologies, their infrastructures and institutions. He is also co-curator of Kopfhörer, a series dedicated to live experimental music.

Transparent Caracao Vinyl. To All The Ones That I Love wurde im bandeigenen Studio im Westen Melbournes aufgenommen, wobei Gitarrist Greg Rietwyk für Produktion und Mix zuständig war, bevor das Album von Kris Crummett (Closure in Moscow, Dune Rats, Currents) gemastert wurde. Dies ist das vierte Album von Press Club, und die Reife der Band spiegelt sich in den zehn Tracks wider. Dem Hörer wird ein Ritt durch verschiedene Genres geboten, während das Album Themen wie Introspektion, Entwicklung, Veränderung und das Lernen aus vergangenen Fehlern durchläuft. Die Band beschreibt die Entstehung des Albums als eine unglaublich spannende, kreative und befreiende Erfahrung: Die Songs wurden alle gemeinsam in ihrem Studio über mehrere Monate hinweg geschrieben. Diese Art des Schreibens gab der Band die Freiheit, mit verschiedenen Genres zu experimentieren und die Tiefen all ihrer Einflüsse auszuloten.

To All The Ones That I Love wurde im bandeigenen Studio im Westen Melbournes aufgenommen, wobei Gitarrist Greg Rietwyk für Produktion und Mix zuständig war, bevor das Album von Kris Crummett (Closure in Moscow, Dune Rats, Currents) gemastert wurde. Dies ist das vierte Album von Press Club, und die Reife der Band spiegelt sich in den zehn Tracks wider. Dem Hörer wird ein Ritt durch verschiedene Genres geboten, während das Album Themen wie Introspektion, Entwicklung, Veränderung und das Lernen aus vergangenen Fehlern durchläuft. Die Band beschreibt die Entstehung des Albums als eine unglaublich spannende, kreative und befreiende Erfahrung: Die Songs wurden alle gemeinsam in ihrem Studio über mehrere Monate hinweg geschrieben. Diese Art des Schreibens gab der Band die Freiheit, mit verschiedenen Genres zu experimentieren und die Tiefen all ihrer Einflüsse auszuloten.

Thug Life: Volume 1 is the only studio album by hip hop group Thug Life, started by rapper Tupac Shakur, it was released on September 26, 1994 by Interscope Records. The group featured Big Syke, Macadoshis, Mopreme, The Rated R and Tupac Shakur. Among the notable tracks on the album are “Bury Me a G”, “Cradle to the Grave”, “Pour Out a Little Liquor” (which also appears on the soundtrack to the 1994 film Above the Rim), “How Long Will They Mourn Me?” and “Str8 Ballin'”. The album was originally released by Shakur’s label Out Da Gutta Records. Due to heavy criticism on gangsta rap at the time, the original version of the album was scrapped and re-recorded with many of the original songs being cut. The album only contains ten tracks because Interscope Records felt many of the other recorded songs were too controversial to release. It has been said that 2Pac created two other versions of this album, with many of the songs still remaining unreleased. Urban Legends/UMC will reissue Thug Life: Volume 1 in 1LP 180 Gram black vinyl on 22nd November, 2019.

Reissue des Debütalbums "Kontraband" (2019) des mittlerweile mit einem Grammy ausgezeichneten, jamaikanischen Reggae-Künstlers Kabaka Pyramid, der mit seinem unverwechselbaren Musikstil die Kraft, Energie und Melodie des Reggae mit der Lyrik des Hip-Hop verbindet. "Kontraband" wurde von Damian "Jr Gong" Marley produziert, der selbst - neben Akon, Chronixx, Protoje, u.a. - mit einem Feature vertreten ist.

Big new release by Peter Van Hoesen! Continuing his exploration of intricate techno systems, their effect and direct perimeter of action, Peter van Hoesen turns in his newest four-track piece, ‘Prime Directive’: a fascinating dive into the artist’s shape-shifting headspace and inner creative chaos.

Fuelled on a furnace-hot mix of abstract-leaning immersion and hi-octane rhythmic thrust, ‘Prime Directive’ looks at contemporary techno from the angle of experimentation and intuitive abandon. The result comes in the form of four distinct movements, each carving out their own logic and associated behaviour out an endless pool of potentialities. Here comes chaology unfolding in all its unadulterated, visceral glory.

‘Definition by Absence’ breaks the trip in to the sound of a faux-random symphony: its train-like swing and fiery bass seesaw coalesce through an elliptic fluttering of sorts, iterative and not, patterns moving in and out of synchronicity as van Hoesen applies more or less pressure on both ends. All in gusty in-your-face-ness, ‘Variables Edit 1’ whirls and swirls like an ominous vengeance of nature; Its puncturing kicks and whistling menace set against stellar winds and rabid machinery on the prowl for its next victim.

An even more unsettling piece of disjointedly arrhythmic, anti-club music for the dance floor, ‘Prime Directive’ will have you zoning out like a bad dream, flush with metronome-faced monsters and molten clocks hanging from dead trees. ‘Morphology’ could be PVH’s attempt at giving his concepts a carnal carcass to hold onto. Here, rhythm becomes somewhat less erratic, offering his 360-degree vision more melodic surface and actual room for dispersion. One to keep the boundaries pushed and status-quo challenged, this is techno at its most entrancingly bold and fearless.

*This new four-track epic from Peter van Hoesen comes draped in a fine piece of artwork courtesy of Atact, and pressed according to our standards in 180g audiophile quality so you get to experience the Belgian master's chiselled sound design in all its glory.

Following the epic and potent album 'Blood' recently released on Infinite Machine; Shanghai-based producer Laughing Ears alights on Hemlock with a killer three track EP.

Losing Track
Dense with pin-sharp atmospherics and gentle intertwined melodies, this lush piece evokes 90's IDM breakbeat and trance and propels them into far away realms.

Bite the Bullet
Bleeps and homespun breakbeats dance into the night on this quirky workout, keeping us on our toes with unhinged edits and a twisted breakdown.

Breakaway The rudest cut on the EP, Breakaway lamps up the pressure for a full sub bass rinse out riding on loose but fully loaded drums.

File under: IDM, grime, breakbeat
RIYL: rRoxymore, Autechre, Dj Crystl, Bruce, Musical Mob

"Traumazine" ist das zweite Studioalbum von Megan Thee Stallion. Die Leadsingle des Albums, "Sweetie Pie", mit Dua Lipa, erreichte Platz 15 der US Billboard Hot 100 und wurde in den USA und Kanada mit Platin ausgezeichnet. Das mit Gold zertifizierte Album debütierte auf Platz 4 der Billboard 200 Charts und erreichte damit ihre fünfte Top-10-Platzierung. Außerdem erreichte es Platz 3 in den US R&B/Hip-Hop-Charts und Platz 19 in Kanada. Vier weitere Singles wurden aus dem Album ausgekoppelt, darunter "Plan B" (#29 US Hot 100, #7 US Rap / Hip-Hop - Goldstatus), "Pressurelicious" (#55 US Hot 100, #14 US R&B/Hip-Hop), "Her" (#62 US Hot 100, #19 US R&B/Hip-Hop - Goldstatus) und "Ungrateful" (#82 US Hot 100, #29 R&B/Hip-Hop).

Dies ist das erste Mal, dass "Traumazine" auf Vinyl erhältlich sein wird.

“Limbs of a Lion” arrives in a dazzling array of shimmering psychedelia, the newest offering on fleet.dreams’ own Vinezza records. Following “Echoes of Ego” his acclaimed inaugural 12”, “Limbs of a Lion” sees fleet.dreams’ artistry and form blossoming into realms of kaleidoscopic cadence & textural buoyancy. The production flows through a classically dubwise live analog mixing setup, new spheres of delays & echoes evolving fleet.dreams’ process to embody a unique & fully realized intersection of live instrumentation & dynamic synthesis.

Each track takes on its own entrancing sway, opening the listener towards beguiling spaciousness, experiences in rhythm, and a healthy dose of surrealist dreaming. “Masked in Porcelain” gleams with mystique, tinged with flanger in a firmly driving dancefloor mode, guiding us deeper into mysteries held by skylines and moonlight. “Secret of the Golden Flower” brings forth photosynthetic gated vocals built for eyes closed body movement, evolving from a cosmic conga groove confidently manifesting in ensnaring kinetic activation.

“iLL Enargeia” brings a touch of depth, stepping into tomorrow with a confident saunter, perfect for the blissful delirium of new beginnings or a space of breadth and reflection in the midst of astral metronomes. The closing title track “Limbs of a Lion” sees us out on a hopeful note, awash in bold luminescence & inviting us to go deeper and deeper within ourselves amidst the grounding embrace of bassline pressure.

Embodying a dance of intangibility towards new unknowns, “Limbs of a Lion” aspires to manifest the grace of movement through our beings - magnetizing and enhancing our danceable forms, frolicking beyond words together. Each track boldly stands on it’s own while orbiting a cohesive whole, perfect for all set and settings, a staple for the DJ crates, and a sign of a musicmaker with even more exciting creations on the horizon.

*words by Kiernan Laveaux
Early support from: Kiernan Laveaux, Daniel Rincón (NAP), 2Lanes & Amelia Holt

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

*REPRESS* 2x12"

Poland's finest reggae dubstep export is back to guide us through the long dark winter with his highly anticipated second studio
album, Subconcious. Mat Miller solidified his position as one of the most exciting global ambassadors for the sound with his 2011
debut album and he returns to the mighty Moonshine Recordings with another killer full length selection of thick dread bassweight
and proper roots vibes. Matt's influences have always been varied, and his music's rich diversity is in full effect across the LP as he
adeptly shifts between tempos and moods, utilising his ear for melody and rhythm to create an absorbing collection of timeless
sounds. The ground shaking sub-frequencies central to each track are built to challenge soundsystems and ignite dancefloors,
whether it's on the livewire rhythms of his jungle indebted track 'Wicked Dub', the driving sonic force of the drum and bass styled
'Different Dub' or the dubbed out, skank-ready movements of tracks like 'Earthwalker' and 'Indra'. As well as the all-powerful bass
pressure, Radikal Guru works with a colourful array of instrumentation, and brings in characterful vocalists YT, Danman and Echo
Ranks to provide melodic lead and reggae lyricism on 'Stay Calm', 'Know Yourself' and 'Warning!' respectively. The final result is
shining example of modern roots/ reggae-centred music in 2013, executed brilliantly and certain to last the test of time.

In the spring of 1983, members of Genesis reconvened at their studio, named The Farm in Chiddingfold, Surrey, to start work on a new studio album, their first since Abacab (1981). Genesis became their first album written, recorded, and mixed in its entirety at the studio room; previously they had to write in an adjoining space. Having the group work in their own space without the additional pressure of booking studio time and fees resulted in a more relaxed environment. They were joined by engineer Hugh Padgham, who had also worked on Abacab,

AllMusic writes: "Moments of Genesis are as spooky and arty as those on Abacab — in particular, there's the tortured howl of "Mama," uncannily reminiscent of Phil Collins' Face Value, and the two-part 'Second Home by the Sea' — but this eponymous 1983 album is indeed a rebirth, as so many self-titled albums delivered in the thick of a band's career often are. ... Anybody who paid attention to 'Misunderstanding' and 'No Reply at All' could tell that this was a good pop band, primarily thanks to the rapidly escalating confidence of Phil Collins, but Genesis illustrates just how good they could be, by balancing such sleek, pulsating pop tunes as 'That's All' with a newfound touch for aching ballads, as on 'Taking It All Too Hard.'" AllMusic reviewer Stephen Thomas Erlewine gives the album 4.5 Stars.

For fans who appreciate the evolution of the band's music over the years, owning this album is important as it represents a distinctive phase in their career.

This is the definitive deluxe 45 RPM 2LP Analogue Productions (Atlantic 75 Series) reissue of the classic Genesis. A classic for all true Genesis fans!

Tappa Zukie is not only one of Jamaica’s greatest DJ’s, is also a much respected producer and arranger. Looking back through his master tapes we have found a lost release that due to being a worldwide recording artist and the pressures that this carries, it has stayed on his musical shelf and been passed over... until now.

When rhythm was King way back in the 1970’s, the predominant feature of the final mix down would in most cases be the drums and bass. Bringing drums and bass to the fore, the other instruments that create the tunes mood would take a back seat in the mix. With such fine musicians in the horn sections as Vin Gordon, Deadly ‘Headley’ Bennett and the unstoppable Tommy McCook, it sometimes felt, their services if nothing else were slightly underused.

So one way of rectifying this situation was one that Tappa himself instigated, putting a release together by picking some of his favourite productions that carried classic horn lines alongside those tightly recorded rhythms. Pushing those horn lines up in the mix and so making a feature of some of those touches that although added some colour to the original cut, laid back in the mix to the more Sound System friendly drum and bass cut.

When looking at the music with this approach, some of the other influences that were also in Tappa’s mind can be noticed more. Maybe it’s a Jazzier / Bluesy feel shining through. A strange thing happens that almost takes the song down the avenue of a soundtrack album. An unreleased film score to accompany an unreleased film.

So sit back and enjoy a lost release that time and place did not find time to see the light of day. As the opening track testifies and in the immortal words of Mr Tappa Zukie himself.. “Your Musical Daddy is back... Horns Up !!!!”

As a founding member of Dublin experimental folk group Lankum, Ian Lynch explores submerged leylines of music and song. Forging a musical path that is all at once dark, mysterious and foreboding, but ultimately transcendental. His new solo project One Leg One Eye sees him taking a fresh approach to musical arrangement culminating in a sound that is more rooted in the raw aesthetics of second wave black metal than contemporary folk. The project was born across 2021, a period in which Lynch was able to enjoy the freedom of experimenting and exploring different paths of sound design without expectation or pressure. Seeking out interesting settings to record music and gather field recordings, there are several environments, external and interior, whose respective essence have seeped into the spirit of the music and come to represent Lynch’s artistic approach and development with this singular debut album, …And Take The Black Worm With Me. Rediscovered spaces in Dublin and the familiar enclave of his bedroom are intrinsic to the distinct and sometimes harrowing atmosphere conjured throughout the album’s five enveloping compositions. One particular location, an abandoned factory where his father worked when Ian was a child, provided a space of great inspiration and intrigue during this time. Lynch frequently visited the large abandoned warehouse and sang with his shruti box, contented in his solitude. ‘I’d Rather Be Tending My Sheep’, grew into existence from those initial sessions, eventually finding a home as an emotive centrepiece to the album. Reflecting on the overall recording of …And Take The Black Worm With Me, Lynch says, “Everything I was doing with these songs was all kind of new to me; experimenting with different sounds, textures and palettes and seeing what I could come up with by piecing it all together. I spent about a year making the album. I loved the whole process because it was basically just me in my bedroom recording everything. The experience of recording like this and having my own time to do it was amazing. I could focus on recording a specific element and happily spend all day working on that one part, doing it as many times as I wanted. At the end of the day if it didn’t feel right, I could just try it again the next day. When you’re on your own you can spend as much time as you want on particular parts until you feel that it’s absolutely perfect. I found that to be a really liberating experience. It was probably my favourite experience recording music.” The collection of songs (and their chronology) featured on …And Take The Black Worm With Me tell a story unique to Lynch’s experiences with anxiety and recognising his shadow self. Whilst the album became an outlet of personal expression for Lynch, the overarching themes and subsequent journey to confront one’s internal dichotomy of light and dark before accepting this inherent duality is universally shared. The eerie and often unsettling world contained within the album’s texturally dense opener ‘Glistening, She Emerges’, driven by the captivating drone of distorted uilleann pipes, immediately immerses the listener in this transportive work. It descends with a great heaviness, yet woven throughout the arrangement is a fascinating and indescribable entity that draws you further into this otherworldly dimension. This mood continues as the tracklist progresses and transitions into Lynch’s haunting realisation of ‘Bold and Undaunted Youth’ which further demonstrates a cinematic influence to Lynch’s compositional style. Sonically, Lynch effectively builds an impressively vast terrain with brilliantly murky lo-fi recording techniques and an unshakable curiosity to move beyond conventional structures and play with the timbre of the instruments available to him. From recording hurdy-gurdy or concertina to tape and experimenting with loops and effects pedals to stitching field recordings together, there’s an intimacy established between Lynch and his audience established through the simultaneously eerie and beautiful tones courting through …And Take The Black Worm With Me. This culminates in ‘Only the Diceys’, the extraordinary closing track in which we reach a place of resolution mapped into the album’s narrative structure. Mixed by longtime collaborator John ‘Spud’ Murphy in his Dublin-based Guerrilla Sounds Studio and mastered by Harvey Birrell …And Take The Black Worm With Me features contributions from Ruth Clinton (Landless) on church organ and vocals by Laurie Shanaman (Ails, Ludicra). Of Shanaman’s participation, in particular, which further illustrates the lo-fi and DIY ethos to the recording, Lynch says, “Laurie is my favourite black metal vocalist of all time and so I reached out to her hoping to have her involved in some way. She did, and she features on the opening track by providing some incredible screams. She recorded them into her phone and sent them over to me; what appears on the album is literally a phone recording of her screaming in her kitchen!” …And Take The Black Worm With Me continues Ian Lynch’s groundbreaking work with Lankum; recontextualising traditional forms and generating new spheres of music in his wake, confirming his status as one of the most interesting and innovative artists working in Ireland today.

Six years removed from their last release, Seattle’s Great Grandpa return with Patience, Moonbeam - an ambitious and deeply moving new album that almost didn’t happen. A decade of making music together was put on pause while each of the band’s were called indifferent directions. But as with any good relationship built on mutual love, trust, and a mountain of shared history, the quintet reunited, scrapped most ideas of songs they had put together, and started fresh to work on what would become their best album to date, due out in March on Run For Cover Records. Whereas 2019’s Four of Arrows mostly came together in the pressure cooker atmosphere of the studio with the help of an outside producer, Patience, Moonbeam emerged slowly through a generous demoing process. With fewer constraints and more control, the band had the opportunity to experiment and take their time, leading to a collection that feels and sounds more fully, confidently, themselves. Built on an “open door policy” for writing and recording, Patience, Moonbeam is the result of how seamlessly all five members contributed to the creation of the album. The result is a record that swings like a pendulum from heavy to tender, playful to weighty, painting a sonic illustration of the pains and pleasures of being alive across eleven songs. What could suffer from a kitchen-sink approach instead comes together brilliantly, a testament to the band’s musical and spiritual connection. With Patience, Moonbeam, Great Grandpa has crafted a triumphant document of what happens when your collaborators become your chosen family.

Six years removed from their last release, Seattle’s Great Grandpa return with Patience, Moonbeam - an ambitious and deeply moving new album that almost didn’t happen. A decade of making music together was put on pause while each of the band’s were called indifferent directions. But as with any good relationship built on mutual love, trust, and a mountain of shared history, the quintet reunited, scrapped most ideas of songs they had put together, and started fresh to work on what would become their best album to date, due out in March on Run For Cover Records. Whereas 2019’s Four of Arrows mostly came together in the pressure cooker atmosphere of the studio with the help of an outside producer, Patience, Moonbeam emerged slowly through a generous demoing process. With fewer constraints and more control, the band had the opportunity to experiment and take their time, leading to a collection that feels and sounds more fully, confidently, themselves. Built on an “open door policy” for writing and recording, Patience, Moonbeam is the result of how seamlessly all five members contributed to the creation of the album. The result is a record that swings like a pendulum from heavy to tender, playful to weighty, painting a sonic illustration of the pains and pleasures of being alive across eleven songs. What could suffer from a kitchen-sink approach instead comes together brilliantly, a testament to the band’s musical and spiritual connection. With Patience, Moonbeam, Great Grandpa has crafted a triumphant document of what happens when your collaborators become your chosen family.

A new squad emerges from the depths of the underground: Soundboy Dead. No backstory, no revealed identity, just pure sound system pressure. The enigmatic project blasts off with Deflagration, a four-track EP that doesn’t just demand attention, it commands it. This is dub pressure weaponized, low-end warfare built to test any soundgirl or boy.

From the very moment you press play, there’s no doubt—this is a full-on sonic assault. 140 BPM riddims hit like a batterram. Dubwise basslines, twisted and distorted, strike like a torpedo hurled from the shadows beneath. Meanwhile, gnarly synths and vocal chops cut through the mix like an unholy horn sounding from the starless night. Each track is engineered to dominate the dance and obliterate any sound system into scattered atoms.

Soundboy Dead come with a clear statement: no gimmicks, no compromises. Sound clash in its deadliest form.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

This album is produced by Neil Perch in the Alte Ziegelei studio and features the world reknowned Zion Train brass section along with vocals from Zion Train singer `Cara' and the award winning poet Roger Robinson. Featured on several tracks is Paolo Baldini playing guitars and bass guitar alongside veteran musicians - Trinny Fingers, Blacka Wilson, Dreada One and Professor Skank who hails from Crete. For this album Zion Train return to their roots with copious amounts of analogue Dub mixing performed by Perch on his TAC Scorpion vintage mixing desk. With mastering at the Pressure Mastering, and artwork by the highly acclaimed anarchist artist Marko Gin from Croatia, this album presents Zion Train at their creative, anarchic best. Zion train are one of the most unique and enjoyable live dub acts on the planet, their use of dynamic onstage dub mixing whilst performing alongside acoustic instruments and exceptional vocalists, make Zion Train one of a kind.