Buscar:progress

Contains early rough and alternative mixes of the 10 tracks that appear on the "I Robot" album. Previously unreleased and are therefore making their first appearance on vinyl. 180g heavyweight Blue Vinyl LP.

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.

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 ! Mental Hardfloor, progressive and psychedelic. Excellent !

One of the biggest dark wave / electronic / goth sensations ABU NEIN returns with a brand new album called "Dark Faith". This is their third album and the band has over the years built a strong a steady following of fans around the globe. A Progress Productions priority release.

Nachpressung/Neuauflage des ausverkauften SMILE-Debuts vom letzten Jahr! Neue Vinylfarbe ist Solid Yellow, als Extra oben drauf gibt es ein 20seitiges, von Sängerin Rubee Feagan gestlatetes SMILE-Zine! SMILE zeigen mit ihrem hervorragenden Debut PRICE OF PROGRESS leichtfüßig auf, dass Post Punk im Jahre 2023 noch immer erfrischend klingen kann. Sie nehmen ihre Referenzen nicht als Dogma, bleiben experimentell, eigensinnig. Erzählerisch, eingängig, rough und anschmiegsam verschmelzen dabei die feinsinnigen, poetischen Beobachtungen von Sängerin Rubee True Fegan (USA) mit dem versierten Sound einer Band, die von Produzent Olaf Opal genau dahin gebracht wurde, wo sie hingehört: an den Startblock innovativer, kluger und sinnlicher Gitarrenmusik. In PRICE OF PROGRESS manifestiert sich das Zusammenspiel aus musikalischem Sturm und Drang und der Reife einer reflektierten Erzählperspektive. Was hier entstanden ist, klingt nun, 2023, in seiner jugendlichen Frische durchaus nach einem Debut - gleichzeitig aber nach dem Werk einer erfahrenen, über lange Zeit gewachsenen Band. Nur deutsch klingt es nicht, was sicher im Wesen von Sängerin Rubees True Fegans Heimat Albuquerque (New Mexico) begründet liegt, gleichsam aber in der Vielseitigkeit, die sich SMILE erlauben - und ihrer einhergehenden Virtuosität an den Instrumenten. SMILE versuchen sich dabei - einem Post-Punk britischer Machart folgend - durchaus in homogener Geradlinigkeit (Herrengedeck), lassen Kühle zu (Machine Dreaming) und folgen einem düsteren Ernst (Säge). Diese Facetten aber vermengen sich mit einer heiteren Experimentierfreude (Stalemate, Produce, Hungry Ghosts), mit Humor (Doohickey), mit verträumter Beschwingtheit (Commuter) und Genresprengender Pop-Af finität (Protection). So zeigt sich dieses stilsichere Album in einer Vielseitigkeit, die heute selten zu finden ist - und klingt trotzdem wie aus einem Guss. Die aus der Hüfte geschüttelte Dramaturgie ist dabei Paradebeispiel für die Innovation einer der spannendsten neuen Gitarrenbands, die nun auf dem Indielabel Siluh (Wien) eine Heimat zwischen Köln, Bonn und Albuquerque gefunden hat. Wahnsinn! (Hendrik Otremba/Messer).

12-inch album, Orange coloured vinyl, 3m spined LP sleeve, white polylined inner, 2-sided insert.

DJ 3000 Drops "Work In Progress" from the Album "Mezë" – An Ode to Detroit's Unique Sound

DJ 3000, the trailblazing figure in electronic music, unveils "Work In Progress," an electrifying track extracted from his latest album "Mezë." This song is a testament to the essence of Detroit's music scene, where the bassline reigns supreme, and less is indeed more.

"'Work In Progress' is all about that bassline," explains DJ 3000. "I wanted to capture the raw energy and infectious groove that defines Detroit's sound. The combination of a captivating bassline with a catchy vocal creates an irresistible vibe that's impossible to resist."

As the track evolved during production, DJ 3000 felt compelled to introduce stabs, adding an extra layer of Detroit funk that elevates the song to new heights. This infusion of elements reflects his deep-rooted love for Carhartt and Carhartt WIP, paying homage to both fashion and music in a seamless blend of urban culture and sonic innovation.

Joining DJ 3000 on the EP are two Detroit icons, Jon Dixon and DJ Godfather, each offering their unique take on "Work In Progress" through exhilarating remixes. Jon Dixon infuses soulful melodies and driving beats, while DJ Godfather injects his signature energy, resulting in remixes that push the boundaries of sonic exploration.

In addition to "Work In Progress," the EP features an exclusive unreleased tune titled "Kazani,” showcasing DJ 3000's commitment to delivering fresh and innovative sounds to his audience.

"Work In Progress" is not just a track; it's a celebration of Detroit's rich musical heritage and DJ 3000's dedication to pushing the boundaries of electronic music.

On "II" the band continue to go even further into the dark. Gloomy melodies all wrapped up with Erica Li Lundqvists fantastic vocals. Imagine a mix of She Past Away with Linea Aspera and you won't be too far away from the result.

The album is released on two different 180g deluxe vinyl with inserts and CD.

The perfect soundtrack to a dark autumn. Abu Nein is for sure ready to take the next step.

GER SMILE zeigen mit ihrem hervorragenden Debut PRICE OF PROGRESS leichtfüßig auf, dass Post Punk im Jahre 2023 noch immer erfrischend klingen kann. Sie nehmen ihre Referenzen nicht als Dogma, bleiben experimentell, eigensinnig. Erzählerisch, eingängig, rough und anschmiegsam verschmelzen dabei die feinsinnigen, poetischen Beobachtungen von Sängerin Rubee True Fegan (USA) mit dem versierten Sound einer Band, die von Produzent Olaf Opal genau dahin gebracht wurde, wo sie hingehört: an den Startblock innovativer, kluger und sinnlicher Gitarrenmusik. In PRICE OF PROGRESS manifestiert sich das Zusammenspiel aus musikalischem Sturm und Drang und der Reife einer reflektierten Erzählperspektive. Was hier entstanden ist, klingt nun, 2023, in seiner jugendlichen Frische durchaus nach einem Debut - gleichzeitig aber nach dem Werk einer erfahrenen, über lange Zeit gewachsenen Band. Nur deutsch klingt es nicht, was sicher im Wesen von Sängerin Rubees True Fegans Heimat Albuquerque (New Mexico) begründet liegt, gleichsam aber in der Vielseitigkeit, die sich SMILE erlauben - und ihrer einhergehenden Virtuosität an den Instrumenten. SMILE versuchen sich dabei - einem Post-Punk britischer Machart folgend - durchaus in homogener Geradlinigkeit (Herrengedeck), lassen Kühle zu (Machine Dreaming) und folgen einem düsteren Ernst (Säge). Diese Facetten aber vermengen sich mit einer heiteren Experimentierfreude (Stalemate, Produce, Hungry Ghosts), mit Humor (Doohickey), mit verträumter Beschwingtheit (Commuter) und Genresprengender Pop-Af finität (Protection). So zeigt sich dieses stilsichere Album in einer Vielseitigkeit, die heute selten zu finden ist - und klingt trotzdem wie aus einem Guss. Auch die ersten drei Singles zeigen gut das Panorama, das SMILE mit ihrem Debut aufmachen: Dog In The Manger erinnert zunächst an Talk Talks Happiness Is Easy, wechselt aber nach dem Drum-Intro schnell die Spur. Der Opener der Platte stellt Rubee als Sängerin vor, die, trotz einer gewissen Gelassenheit in der Performance, von Wut und Traurigkeit getrieben ist. Der Text ist eine politische Reflexion, ausgelöst vom gekippten Abtreibungsrecht in den USA, das sich mit einer alten griechischen Fabel verbindet. So startet das Album mit einem Rätsel und offenbart, das Musik noch immer eine Waffe sein kann - aus Sound, Herz und Verstand. In Doohickey, einem der beschwingtesten Songs der Platte, kramt Rubee in ihrer Erinnerung, besucht ihre verstorbene Großmutter, eine unfreundliche alte Frau, die in ihrem Haus hortete, was sie fand. So entsteht eine Kurzgeschichte über die weirdest person alive und zeigt SMILE als Band, in der Text und Musik nicht konkurrieren, sondern stets Symbiose feiern. Zackig und temporeich wie das erzählte Leben kommen auch Gitarren und Rhythmussektion daher, finden zu einer soghaften Dynamik, ohne mit billigen Sing-alongs zu arbeiten. Protection, die dritte Single, ist wohl das eigensinnigste Stück der Platte, erzeugt, gesanglich pendelnd zwischen Blood Orange und Bands wie Siouxsie & The Banshees oder Bow Wow Wow, eine breite und intensive Palette, bringt einen The Fall-artigen Witz ein und wird zwischen den vermittelten Gefühlen zur Achterbahnfahrt. Das Stück schrieb Gitarrist Lars Fritzsche, mit dem Ziel, einen klassischen Hit zu schaffen (gelungen, wenn auch nicht klassisch!) - und schuf in der Offenheit des Songs dabei eine perfekte Fläche, die nun gleich mehrere Stimmen der Band versammelt. Im Zentrum: Rubee, die hier einen Text performt, der zwischen Traum und Cut-up ihren poetischen Glanz scheinen lässt. Die aus der Hüfte geschüttelte Dramaturgie ist dabei Paradebeispiel für die Innovation einer der spannendsten neuen Gitarrenbands, die nun auf dem Indielabel Siluh (Wien) eine Heimat zwischen Köln, Bonn und Albuquerque gefunden hat. Wahnsinn! (Hendrik Otremba)

ENG SMILE IS A POST-PUNK BAND WITH A SINGER, WHO PREFERS NOT TO SING. INSTEAD, SHE INTONES HER POETIC STORIES SPIKED WITH PERSONAL REFLECTIONS. With their excellent debut PRICE OF PROGRESS, SMILE light-footedly show that post punk can still sound refreshing in 2023. They don't take their references as dogma, remain experimental, stubborn. Narrative, catchy, rough and cuddly, the subtle, poetic observations of singer Rubee True Fegan (USA) merge with the accomplished sound of a band that producer Olaf Opal has put exactly where it belongs: on the starting block of innovative, clever and sensual guitar music. In PRICE OF PROGRESS, the interplay of musical Sturm und Drang and the maturity of a reflective narrative perspective manifests itself. Ltd pink vinyl LP!

GER SMILE zeigen mit ihrem hervorragenden Debut PRICE OF PROGRESS leichtfüßig auf, dass Post Punk im Jahre 2023 noch immer erfrischend klingen kann. Sie nehmen ihre Referenzen nicht als Dogma, bleiben experimentell, eigensinnig. Erzählerisch, eingängig, rough und anschmiegsam verschmelzen dabei die feinsinnigen, poetischen Beobachtungen von Sängerin Rubee True Fegan (USA) mit dem versierten Sound einer Band, die von Produzent Olaf Opal genau dahin gebracht wurde, wo sie hingehört: an den Startblock innovativer, kluger und sinnlicher Gitarrenmusik. In PRICE OF PROGRESS manifestiert sich das Zusammenspiel aus musikalischem Sturm und Drang und der Reife einer reflektierten Erzählperspektive. Was hier entstanden ist, klingt nun, 2023, in seiner jugendlichen Frische durchaus nach einem Debut - gleichzeitig aber nach dem Werk einer erfahrenen, über lange Zeit gewachsenen Band. Nur deutsch klingt es nicht, was sicher im Wesen von Sängerin Rubees True Fegans Heimat Albuquerque (New Mexico) begründet liegt, gleichsam aber in der Vielseitigkeit, die sich SMILE erlauben - und ihrer einhergehenden Virtuosität an den Instrumenten. SMILE versuchen sich dabei - einem Post-Punk britischer Machart folgend - durchaus in homogener Geradlinigkeit (Herrengedeck), lassen Kühle zu (Machine Dreaming) und folgen einem düsteren Ernst (Säge). Diese Facetten aber vermengen sich mit einer heiteren Experimentierfreude (Stalemate, Produce, Hungry Ghosts), mit Humor (Doohickey), mit verträumter Beschwingtheit (Commuter) und Genresprengender Pop-Af finität (Protection). So zeigt sich dieses stilsichere Album in einer Vielseitigkeit, die heute selten zu finden ist - und klingt trotzdem wie aus einem Guss. Auch die ersten drei Singles zeigen gut das Panorama, das SMILE mit ihrem Debut aufmachen: Dog In The Manger erinnert zunächst an Talk Talks Happiness Is Easy, wechselt aber nach dem Drum-Intro schnell die Spur. Der Opener der Platte stellt Rubee als Sängerin vor, die, trotz einer gewissen Gelassenheit in der Performance, von Wut und Traurigkeit getrieben ist. Der Text ist eine politische Reflexion, ausgelöst vom gekippten Abtreibungsrecht in den USA, das sich mit einer alten griechischen Fabel verbindet. So startet das Album mit einem Rätsel und offenbart, das Musik noch immer eine Waffe sein kann - aus Sound, Herz und Verstand. In Doohickey, einem der beschwingtesten Songs der Platte, kramt Rubee in ihrer Erinnerung, besucht ihre verstorbene Großmutter, eine unfreundliche alte Frau, die in ihrem Haus hortete, was sie fand. So entsteht eine Kurzgeschichte über die weirdest person alive und zeigt SMILE als Band, in der Text und Musik nicht konkurrieren, sondern stets Symbiose feiern. Zackig und temporeich wie das erzählte Leben kommen auch Gitarren und Rhythmussektion daher, finden zu einer soghaften Dynamik, ohne mit billigen Sing-alongs zu arbeiten. Protection, die dritte Single, ist wohl das eigensinnigste Stück der Platte, erzeugt, gesanglich pendelnd zwischen Blood Orange und Bands wie Siouxsie & The Banshees oder Bow Wow Wow, eine breite und intensive Palette, bringt einen The Fall-artigen Witz ein und wird zwischen den vermittelten Gefühlen zur Achterbahnfahrt. Das Stück schrieb Gitarrist Lars Fritzsche, mit dem Ziel, einen klassischen Hit zu schaffen (gelungen, wenn auch nicht klassisch!) - und schuf in der Offenheit des Songs dabei eine perfekte Fläche, die nun gleich mehrere Stimmen der Band versammelt. Im Zentrum: Rubee, die hier einen Text performt, der zwischen Traum und Cut-up ihren poetischen Glanz scheinen lässt. Die aus der Hüfte geschüttelte Dramaturgie ist dabei Paradebeispiel für die Innovation einer der spannendsten neuen Gitarrenbands, die nun auf dem Indielabel Siluh (Wien) eine Heimat zwischen Köln, Bonn und Albuquerque gefunden hat. Wahnsinn! (Hendrik Otremba)

ENG SMILE IS A POST-PUNK BAND WITH A SINGER, WHO PREFERS NOT TO SING. INSTEAD, SHE INTONES HER POETIC STORIES SPIKED WITH PERSONAL REFLECTIONS. With their excellent debut PRICE OF PROGRESS, SMILE light-footedly show that post punk can still sound refreshing in 2023. They don't take their references as dogma, remain experimental, stubborn. Narrative, catchy, rough and cuddly, the subtle, poetic observations of singer Rubee True Fegan (USA) merge with the accomplished sound of a band that producer Olaf Opal has put exactly where it belongs: on the starting block of innovative, clever and sensual guitar music. In PRICE OF PROGRESS, the interplay of musical Sturm und Drang and the maturity of a reflective narrative perspective manifests itself. Ltd pink vinyl LP!

Jack Vegas is the sixth album by Swedish electro/post punk outfit Agent Side Grinder. It marks the band’s first exploration of American culture, drawing heavily on the beatnik-era works of Jack Kerouac and William S. Burroughs, as well as the proto-punk and avantgarde movements — while maintaining a contemporary storytelling perspective.

The American dream becomes a symbol for escape from a Europe ravaged by pandemics, war and financial instability. Lyrical themes revolve around boredom, resilience, government and corporate intrusion, and mental health — with the occasional glimmer of light. It’s a drum machine-driven road movie, plotting its course through the desperate heart of rural Sweden.

The name Jack Vegas’ is derived from a Swedish chain of low-stakes slot machines.

The album has been produced by former ASG member Henrik Sunbring, and recorded in Stockholm during 2022.

Genre-wise Agent Side Grinder has always existed in some kind of twilight zone. Deeply rooted in early electronic and industrial music as well as proto- and post punk, their sound is driven by iterative, suggestive beats and sudden bursts of untamed ferocity, built on equal parts dissonant samples and elegant melodies.

Limitiert auf 1.000 Exemplare!

Die schwedischen Progressive Death Metaller SCAR SYMMETRY haben die Wiederveröffentlichung von vier ihrer klassischen Alben angekündigt. Pitch Black Progress (2006), Holographic Universe (2008), Dark Matter Dimensions (2009) und The Unseen Empire (2011) werden alle am 14. April zum ersten Mal auf Vinyl erhältlich sein.

Limitiert auf 1.000 Exemplare!

Die schwedischen Progressive Death Metaller SCAR SYMMETRY haben die Wiederveröffentlichung von vier ihrer klassischen Alben angekündigt. Pitch Black Progress (2006), Holographic Universe (2008), Dark Matter Dimensions (2009) und The Unseen Empire (2011) werden alle am 14. April zum ersten Mal auf Vinyl erhältlich sein.

These two minimal synth-pop pearls were first released on the compilation “Walkin’ After Midnight” in 1982 and are in the same vein as early 80’s singles by Carol (Breakdown) and Rive Gauche (Friends Are Friends). Both tracks on the 7” are a delightful proof of the lively and creative music scene in Brussels during the early eighties, supported by labels such as Factory Benelux and Les Disques Crépuscule and the famous venue Plan K. 300 copies TIP!

FP030F pressed in half black half purple vinyl 500 copies hand-numbered. FP030G pressed in black with red splatter vinyl 500 copies hand-numbered. A match made in heaven and hell, since forming in the cradle of Europe Athens, back in 2012, dark synth duo Selofan have paved their own perditious way, reinventing the modern Darkwave scene throughout the continent and worldwide with their prolific creativity and work ethic over the past decade. Through varied experimental synth-scapes conjured with keen ears for sound design, production, and theatrical aesthetics, Selofan rest not on the laurels of just creating highly danceable coldwave infused music, but with together with Joanna Pavlidou's haunting vocals, and Dimitris Pavlidis' throbbing bass guitar, and modular synth compositions, the pair conjure whole other worlds and narratives throughout each album and music video they create. Thus far the Selofan have released 5 studio albums, issued through their own legendary label they curate themselves: Fabrika Records. Through their Fabrika family, Selofan have championed such acts as Lebanon Hanover, and She Past Away, aiding these bands in becoming two of the most popular Darkwave acts worldwide. Drab Majesty even cameoed in a She Past Away video while being hosted by Selofan during one of the band's frequent stays in Athens, and Kaelan Mikla, a handpicked favorite of The Cure, were first championed by Selofan, through the release of the Icelandic Trio's self-titled debut in 2016. In the Spring of 2020, Selofan released the video for the hopelessly plaintive "There Must Be Somebody", the first single from their forthcoming sixth studio album Partners In Hell, the follow-up to 2018's widely popular Vitrioli LP. "There Must be Somebody" is a discordant composition, mimicking the startled song of birds after a disturbance in a wooded enclave on a mountainside, while a magick ritual unfolds. The album itself opens with "Grey Gardens", a menagerie of morose melodies setting a sombre tone for the rest of a bleak record whose sound design and dreamscapes evoke the best sounds of British and German post-punk of the 80s. "Almost Nothing" is a brooding bell-driven track with a dark and pirouetting melody that is the perfect soundtrack to a figurine twirling in a music box. The German language "Nichts" means No, and this song is both sinister and cinematic with sighing keys, shuddering drum machines, and German lyrics sung with sorrowful conviction. "Zusamen", is a word often asked if you are together, or separate, is a dark ballad whose shadowy keys weave a nightmarish delirium, evoking the soundscapes of a lullaby sung in a haunted dollhouse. "4am" is a restless rhythm, whose soft percussive melody tosses and turns alongside subtle bass and string accents overlaid with despondent vocals. "Happy Consumers" sounds like the swirling of a finger drawn upon the edge of crystalline glass, with vocals and drum machines coming emanating from an adjacent room with echoing acoustics, collectively evoking the sound like lingers when the somnambulist wakes from his dream. "Absolutely Absent" hums onward like a phantom train ride that is a one-way ticket to madness, and with the next track "Metalic Isolation" the locomotive beats gather more steam, propelled forward with anachronistic melody. The album closes with "Auf Dein Haut", which translates as on your skin, and the song is both tactile and tenebrous with sensuously dark synth textures amidst howling German vocals that take flight like witches during a sabbat. Partner's In Hell was mixed and produced by Serafim Tsotsonis, and mastered by Doruk Ozturkcan.

Bastian Balders is back on his label with two deep techno tracks including one experimental.

Time In Progress is about the current time we all go through.

No more words to say.

95% white / 5% green vinyl.
Every record looks different,
every record is unique.