Buscar:quiet light

On Hungry Animal, Luke Temple continues to trace the invisible lines between the personal and the cosmic _ between what we feel, what we observe, and what we inherit simply by being alive. The album reunites Temple with Doug Stuart (bass) and Kosta Galanopoulos (drums), the core of his Cascading Moms ensemble, whose instinctive chemistry anchors the record's balance of rhythmic precision and melodic drift. Together they shape a sound that feels handmade and fluid, delivering sharp observations in soft focus. The album opens with "Clean Living," a tenderly libidinous groove, unraveling purity myths and self-discipline _ less a confession than a celebration of the futility of striving for perfection in a flawed world. From there, "Echo Park Donut" shifts into the memory of an unsettling vignette drawn from a violent incident outside Temple's Los Angeles home. The band moves with a quiet pulse beneath the story, suggesting both detachment and the surreal intimacy of fear. The title track, "Hungry Animal," grounds the album's broader questions: how well can we really know one another, or ourselves? Temple's lyrics circle around the idea that we are animals among animals, driven by instinct and affection alike. It's both playful and philosophical, one of the record's emotional centers. Temple's bandmates bring an understated mastery to these pieces. Stuart's melodic, infectious grooves converse fluidly with Galanopoulos's drumming, which breathes life into each song even as it gently propels them forward. The trio's interplay feels both weightless and deeply rooted _ commanding the listener's attention and empathy without ever forcing it. With Hungry Animal, Luke Temple and the Cascading Moms create a world where reflection becomes rhythm and consciousness gains texture _ a record of quiet revelations and deliberate grace.

Stoop Kid is the jangly indie rock project of Diest-born Jens Rubens. After Camp Careful (2021) and Mount Cope (2023), Stoop Kid returns with his third full-length album Office Overdue, a ten-song collection that captures the quiet fatigue, flickering humor, and
fragile hope of keeping it together in a world that won't slow down.

'Office Overdue' is a collection of songs Jens made at home in his modest home studio. For this album, he wanted to let go of pressure and expectations more than ever, and only work on music when he genuinely felt like it.No fancy studio, no producer, just walking upstairs and messing around. The result doesn't always sound perfectly polished: the drums are sometimes clumsily programmed and more than a few wrong notes made it onto the record. The guitars were allowed to hit a bit harder this time, with the '90s slacker vibes coming through more prominently. The result is a record that feels raw and honest, and above all, was made purely out of enthusiasm.

Office Overdue explores the attempt to keep functioning in everyday life while the world around us feels on the verge of collapse. The songs move between mental exhaustion and self-reflection, carried by a dry, sometimes bitter humour that helps lighten the weight. The album focuses on repetition and routine, and on the tension between wanting to care for others and being trapped inside one's own head. Themes of anxiety, guilt and dissociation recur throughout, but are always accompanied by small moments of connection, gentle resistance and acceptance. Office Overdue embraces the mess, the doubt and the false notes, without drawing grand conclusions. Not everything is resolved, but the persistence remains.

Following her compelling debut EP Mending, Frida Touray returns with Homebody, a work of raw emotional clarity, crafted duringa time when her voice was literally fighting back. Diagnosed mid-process with a rare condition that forced her into silence andstillness, Touray chose not retreat, but rebuild. From the quiet corners of domestic life, she’s shaped a collection of songs thatradiate warmth, vulnerability and quiet endurance.Musically, Homebody expands on Touray’s jazz-soul foundations with sparse, atmospheric production that amplifies her voiceand message. There’s a newfound looseness in her phrasing, a deeper sense of presence in every word she sings. You can hearthe letting go, of perfection, of control, and the deepening of purpose in its place. Each track lands with unfiltered intimacy andemotional architecture, a subtle act of defiance wrapped in softness.This is music built on stillness and shaped by resilience. A reflection on self-worth, illness, femininity, community and healing.Songs that speak to the unseen parts of recovery and the small rooms we build ourselves back up in. Homebody is a record foranyone rebuilding from the inside.

Força Maior combines the vital saxophone explorations of Pedro Alves Sousa with the infinitely subtle electronic processing of Pedro Tavares. Sousa (aka Má Estrela) is known for manipulating his woodwind through guitar pedalboards & amplifiers, creating far-from-ordinary sonics rooted in unceasing curiosity. For his part, Tavares (aka funcionário) conjoins video & sound work to create space for the pensive wanderings where memory and imagination interlace.

The album Morte Lilás was recorded over a week in June 2023 in Pedro Alves Sousa's family farm, located in the village of Ferreirim, near Lamego, in Portugal. The partly abandoned farm served as the residency, studio, and inspiration for the album: it is a 400-year-old granite farm that belonged to a member of the "40 conspirators"—a group that led the revolution for Portugal's independence from Spain in the 17th century.

Morte Lilás is a remarkable album of committed meditation. Each day on the farm was a recording day for the two Pedros: Sousa on sax & electronics, Tavares on sampler & processing. Apart from slight sonic incursions from the surrounds—the birds on 'Quinta à tarde'—and the sporadic use of sine tones, the source sounds all start from the saxophone. It is then processed both by Sousa & Tavares. The album unfolds as a saxophonic tapestry that breathes with quiet intensity. Each piece invites close listening, revealing fine gestures and tonal shifts that shape a contemplative, ambient space. Força Maior move with calm precision.

The album opens with the unhurried overture 'Quinta à Tarde' a Portuguese pun on Eno's Thursday Afternoon that announces the textures at play. Sousa's breathy entrance is paired with a soft, delicately shifting, backdrop. As the track progresses, time seems to stretch. The arrangement resists urgency, favouring subtle evolution over dramatic turns. Pensive layers shift & drift, creating a sense of suspended motion that brings the listener into the environs of Morte Lilás. 'Quinta à Tarde' is a long-form fade, shifting emphasis from Sousa to Tavares.

'Cubos' continues the gauzy feel, but with a more up-tempo tilt. Rhythmic clicks & pings setup a swung time for the sax to interpose melodic lines that are fed back & bent with cascading delays. Força Maior in distilled form.

Força Maior is in top form on the title track 'Morte Lilás', a sprawling centrepiece that showcases their command of atmosphere & emotional pacing. By turning up the reverberation & leaning into a continuous format, they dissolve the gap between hypnotic trance & articulate reverie. Then, a moment of stillness. The track pauses, not abruptly but like a tide pulling back, revealing the contours beneath. What follows is a return to the album's more relaxed architecture: understated rhythms, softened textures, and a sense of spaciousness that opens space for reflection. It is a transition that feels organic, as if the song itself needed to exhale before settling back into its contemplative groove.

'Menta' is another short-form miniature of the band's signature contours: beautiful loops of air pressure gradients that carry an emotive weight & light.

The album closes with 'Cascata do Inferno'. The title suggests violence, but the music whispers instead—an atmospheric cascade of breath & tone that emerges in slow, deliberate waves. Short melodic cycles are matched by shimmering electronic chords. It's a piece that rewards patience, draws the listener in to drift downstream, eyes closed, into the serene turbulence of its current.

Belia Winnewisser and Fatuma Osman have known each other since childhood, a friendship rooted in shared afternoons of music and late 90s/early 00s girl core. Their first joint debut EP Vertex, released through the Swiss label Light of Other Days, emerges as both a continuation of that bond and an exploration of process, weaving together collective memories with their present-day musical language.

Resisting polished closure, the record circles around the idea of limerence in sound: suggesting rather than declaring, outlining atmospheres that leave room for the listener’s imagination to fill out the blanks. Across its five tracks Belia and Fatuma oscillate between the personal and the universal, immediacy and nostalgia. The opening track Emerald rises like morning light; fragile, blissful, and quietly radiant. Covering Madonna’s 80s single Angel feels natural and slots seamlessly into the EP’s arc: as a defining pop presence of the last four decades, she embodies less an idol than a subtle compass. Surrender, the first track on the B-side, draws you into the club, vibrating between vulnerability and release. Each step extends their vision further, revealing a cohesive body of work.

Vertex holds opposite poles in tension, creating a space where vulnerability and intensity create dialog. What lingers is a realm of possibilities: a conversation between two friends and collaborators who understand that sound can be as much about what is left out as about what is expressed. Vertex documents their progression, marking a milestone without concluding it.

Groggy, engrossing new work from Ulla under their newly minted U.e. tag, riffing to the sublime on a set of (mostly) acoustic reveries that tap into the kind of smokey vapours favoured by the likes of Vincent Gallo, Voice Actor, Jonnine.

A new year, label, album and handle for Ulla, a multifaceted artist who has draped our pages with wonder, under numerous aliases and collabs, for almost a decade. On ‘Hometown Girl’ they distill transience and flux into a quiet set of chamber works subtly resembling the room recorded nuance of their ‘Jazz Plates’ side with Perila - here taken a step further into more elusive, low-lit dimensions.

In a mode that’s wistful and melancholic, listening to the album’s dozen discrete pieces feels like leafing thru a journal of hand-written notes, reflecting on the feelings that come with separation from loved ones and displacement from familiarity. Ulla performed and recorded all of the instruments themselves, lending a tangible tactility to layered arrangements of woodwind, keys, strings, drums and voice, lightly speckled with electronics and perfused with open window field recordings.

They locate a crackling frisson of personality in the voice notes and day-dreaminess of their mottled inscapes, gauzily demarcating lines between past and present selves. In that aesthetic and approach we can also hear similarities to Jonnine’s blue-skied ‘Southside Girl’ or crys cole’s poetic sensuality, often leaning into the domestic surreal.

A frayed, opening salutation ‘Good Morning’ signals a delirious half hour in Ulla’s company, variously swaying to the downstroked jazz swing of a ‘Lavender (NF)’ spritzed with clarinet, whilst ‘Froggy Explorer’ stirs the air like Jan Jelinek on a barely-there tip. The Basinski-esque fritz of degraded loops really snags the imagination along with a twinkling nightlight ‘Ball’, as the album opens out into its most fully resolved songs with a closing couplet of disarming wonders ‘Drawing of Me’, and a blurry ‘Mute’ that feels like Ulla 〜almost〜 reveals too much before retreating back into the shadows.

Rochelle Jordan is proudly stepping into her diva era. To those in the know, the Los Angeles-based British-Canadian singer and songwriter has long been an underground force coaxing together the mutually flirtatious scenes of daring alt-R&B and heart-pumping electronic music. With her longtime creative director/producer KLSH, she’s cultivated a singular marriage of sound — mixing soulful sensuality, house bump, DnB wildness, hip-hop swagger, and pure experimentalism — that’s spread not only through certain circles, but also to the mainstream. At the same time that her gauzy 2014 single “Lowkey” was going viral in 2023 — racking up 21 million streams on Spotify alone — she was in the studio cooking with tastemaking beatsmiths like KAYTRANADA and Sango, quietly preparing to melt dance floors and headphones alike.

Now, as the timelines merge, Jordan is approaching success with the sparkle of a brand new star and the stance of someone who’s earned everything she has. Her new musical chapter aims to carry forward the magic that fans feel in her coquettish vocals and bold soundscapes even as she reaches deeper into her pop bag. The fact that her first single of 2025, the darkly dazzling “Crave,” was produced by Chicago house legend Terry Hunter (Janet Jackson, Mariah Carey, Beyoncé) speaks volumes to this exact moment in Jordan’s ascendent trajectory.

“My goal when I first started making music was to bring back something that I felt had started to fade away for me,” says Jordan. “That certain essence or sound that would give me butterflies in my stomach when I’d listen to music — it would unleash some kind of chemical that would make me feel happy and excitable and curious, something that would make my soul shine. My number one goal is always: How do I give people that feeling when they listen to my music?”

Jordan grew up in Toronto raised by British-Jamaican parents. She remembers hearing one of her older brothers cycling through a variety of music at maximum volume in the room next to hers. “Reggae to soul to drum and bass to garage music to gospel,” Jordan recalls. “It was all intertwining for me at such a young age.” She developed her own sound quietly, and soon met KLSH through MySpace. They traded multiple songs back and forth daily until he flew her out to L.A. to record what would become her debut project, 2011’s R O J O. That collaboration hasn’t faltered since, resulting in sonically surprising, subtly infectious sets like Jordan’s breakthrough 2014 album 1021 (with “Lowkey”) and 2021’s dance-steeped revelation, Play with the Changes.

“If you’re talking about Rochelle Jordan, you’re talking about KLSH,” she says. “It’s one and the same. We come from the same inspiration source.” With him at her side to this day, Jordan is crafting new listening experiences as radiant as refracted light glimmering through a prism — an incredible space from within which to explore love in all its iterations — from romantic infatuation to self-affirmation, and strength in womanhood to pride for what she’s accomplished thus far.

More than a decade into her career, Jordan has arrived at a new stage of life and creativity — she’s a seasoned professional, a fully realized woman, and she’s excited to continue growing. “I know my story isn’t necessarily a new one,” she says. “I look at 2 Chainz, who became 2 Chainz way later on in his life. I look at Tina Turner, who became Tina Turner at 40. I want to be another story of resilience for people.” As she prepares to unveil more of her vision, and fans clamber for a long-awaited fourth album, Rochelle Jordan is casting aside self-doubt, and appreciating and underlining her status as a verifiably influential reigning diva in her one-of-one sonic space.

French chanson, electro beats, pared-down or synthetic piano: at 21, Iliona draws on all of this. Plural, multifaceted, elusive. Yet her lyrics resonate as if one were singing heartache—and the love one hopes for—for the very first time.
She composes, records, and produces her tracks alone, determined to keep them as close as possible to the tunes, harmonies, and silhouettes she holds in her mind. This time, they are infused with the light of an intense love, and still carried by extreme sparseness in their arrangements: nothing—from electronic arpeggios to melodic autotune—is ever superfluous; everything has its place. Lifted by a new lightness, the tracks also echo the spirit of the yéyé sound Iliona has been listening to for a few years, without necessarily knowing the name of every songwriter or the mark they left behind. It’s their longing for carefree abandon that hovers over the hypnotic Si tu m’aimes demain and its music video inspired by the New Wave, the Beatles, and all those future memories you begin to build when you’re in love.


A gentle warmth also sweeps through the hazy doo-wop contours of Tête brûlée, and the lo-fi twist of Cocoon; but always with that veil of shadow that once floated over the apparent nonchalance of Françoise Hardy’s songs. That unease, that worried smile, resurfaces in the lovely pop gallop of Garçon manqué, an ode to the deepest friendships—the ones you hold in your arms to dance or, sometimes, to cry. Or in the delicate Cent fois, which whispers, “when will the movie scenes we quietly dreamed of come to life?”
The answer, perhaps, lies in wherever you hide, the party finds you, a superb soundtrack to an imaginary drama, whose venomous keyboards unfold the pictorial strength of Iliona’s songs.

"“Back of My Mind” represents a bold, inward journey—a turning point in his evolving artistry. Gone is any trace of uncertainty: instead, Drew channels a quiet confidence, and understated shift in his music style while sharpening his sense of self and sound with remarkable clarity. As a testament to his growing talent, Drew played almost every instrument on the album, giving each track a deeply personal and authentic feel.

With a debut for the ages, Drew Pulliam is about to make his mark on the music scene as a triple threat – singer, songwriter and instrumentalist. Pulliam said, “I feel like this album is finally approaching what I hear as my sound. I just hope I’m on the right path
because it’s the only one I know.”"

This new chapter marks Gordon’s first solo release as Leaving Laurel - a deeply personal and instinctive body of work born from a period of rediscovery. The record began as an open exploration of whatever music naturally came through, a process that became both freeing and revealing to Gordon. The album is a wordless love story told through sound. An emotional arc that mirrors the stages of falling for someone: the spark, the curiosity, the vulnerability, and the quiet realisation that your heart has opened without you even noticing. The album carries an uplifting, hopeful energy, reflecting both personal growth and newfound love - ‘our lives entwined' is a tribute to Gordon’s journey of finding “the one.” Following the loss that inspired ‘when the quiet comes’, Gordon’s eulogy to his late friend and musical partner Pierce, this album finds light emerging from grief. Where the previous record lingered in somber reflection, this album begins in that same emotional landscape but quickly blooms into something more vibrant and full of life. The opening track transitions from the cold, atmospheric tones of mourning into a more radiant energy - a sonic awakening symbolising the shift that came after meeting someone who changed everything. Sonically, the record expands Leaving Laurel's signature sound while embracing new textures. Gordon moved away from the lo-fi experimentation of earlier works, leaning instead into a more expressive palette driven by synths and fresh instrumentation, while still preserving the nostalgic warmth that defines Leaving Laurel. The result is a collection that feels both renewed and rooted - a reflection of growth, optimism, and the timeless beauty of connection.

Kulture Galerie releases its 3rd Digital Artefacts cassette tape: "Mediterranean Blue" by NYC's own Alien D. Alien D is back on Kulture Galerie. Prior to this, Daniel Creahan has been featured on labels such as Lillerne Tapes, Banlieue Records, and Theory Therapy, and now shares a 6 track EP called Mediterranean Blue that lands on Filippo MSM's tapes series Digital Artefacts, the label's more experimental output.

The work is something of a companion piece to his recent release on Theory Therapy, “For the Early Hours of the World in Bloom,” exploring similar states with a more hazy, fluid sensibility. The compositions here trace back to a week spent several years prior on the Puglia coastline, where, in the midst of a read through of Helene Cixious’s Tomb(e), he began compiling a series of works drawing the gleaming sun, swirling waves and jagged, rocky coastline of the region, mixing in fragments of slow, pulsing low end, wafting synth elements and a range of processed samples dwelling on states of transition, life and love. Waves and dripping water swirl around lilting saxophone, kick drums drown the mix in heavily side-chained throbs of bass, and breaks rush in and out of the mix, making for a series of recordings that seem to view the dancefloor as a dream, always front of mind but hazily remembered.

“I was obsessed with these balances between the light-washed, dusty landscape and these quiet modest homes dotting the hills, and all I could think about was the passage of time, falling in and out and back in love, and the slow drift of memory,” he says. “It was like waking up with a new thought.”

With their highly anticipated fourth album, The Third Sleep, Norwegian progressive rock band Oak delivers a striking exploration of societal complacency and the struggle of the individual. The album contrasts light and darkness, both thematically and musically, seamlessly blending folk-inspired acoustic passages with the raw intensity of progressive metal, evoking echoes of Opeth and beyond. Expanding on the lyrical themes of The Quiet Rebellion of Compromise, The Third Sleep ventures deeper into the subconscious, weaving suggestive and poetic storytelling with sharp social commentary. More outward-looking than its introspective predecessor, the album invites the listener to engage, interpret, and reflect. With a rich musical foundation that spans classical piano, electronica, progressive and hard rock, Oak has carved out a distinctive sound-both captivating and challenging in equal measure. Recorded in Ljugekroken (Oslo), the album was mixed by David Castillo (Katatonia, Leprous, Opeth) and mastered by Jacob Holm-Lupo (White Willow, Donner) at Dude Ranch Studio, Sandoya. Prepare to experience The Third Sleep, a thought-provoking journey through sound and emotion.

Following the kaleidoscopic ambition of Djesse Vol. 4, Jacob returns with The Light For Days – a stripped-back, emotionally resonant body of work that is reflective of the quiet core of his artistry.

Recorded in just four days in the very room where his career first took flight, The Light For Days trades scale for intimacy, spotlighting Jacob’s unmistakable voice and a deepening relationship with the guitar. The result is a collection of originals and handpicked covers that feel immediate, heartfelt, and timeless.

The Light For Days is a powerful reminder of the versatility that has earned Jacob seven GRAMMYs across various genres. For those who’ve seen Jacob live, this record will feel like coming home. For everyone else, it’s an invitation to see and to hear him in a new light.

Straight out of the local mud of the city of Antwerp comes dancing this next Souvenirs from Imaginary Cities slab of free-flowing bits of electronic wonder : Schönen Abend by Simon B. Just in time to ease you out of this endless winter and right into springtime. Like the previous hit by Purple Uncle, this flower takes some time to bloom and fill up your head and body with it's ear wormy fragrance.

It's hazy and cinematic, makes you think of Italian electronic pioneers and their library magic, Patrick Cowley's School Daze and Haruomi Hosono in some kind of gothic manner. It's quite stripped and lush at the same time, rhythms like minimal mechanics make you fly above the river and land just outside reality. It's a nice place where soft jazz tingles right around the dark corner, and that particular mix of exotica and melancholia — the trademark of this port city's best electronic auteurs is definitely in the air. The river still shines, but she’s deeply poisoned. The old town has lost every bit of fresh air but keeps on digging for old gold. This bitter pill is served with delicacy and lightness, the wound is dressed up seductively — feet in the mud, head in the air. Stuff is sensuous, with quiet places reminding of the good side of those times when the big wheel stopped turning ever so madly. A strange quietness whistles through the leaves. Some things take time to unfold. In or out of C.

Four years in the making, this is the solo debut LP of Simon B, a longtime contributor to Antwerp's improvised music scene (Groovecats Deluxe, Wij Blij Trio ). Primarily a double bass player, he also has a deep-felt passion for offbeat electronica and the rainbowy side of American minimalism, which takes front here. The smoky voice on the last track belongs to Nina-Joy Thielemans, Nina-Joy is part of Particals, a trio working with live electronics and field recordings, releasing an lp on Ultra Eczema later this year. Furthermore, you can hear the tenor and soprano saxophone of Adia Van Heerentals on 4 tracks, deepening out Simon's naturally flowing compositions and playing around with his melodies. You may know her from Bodem and her strong presence in the Belgian jazz scene lately.

Simon's electroacoustic experiments — using a clarinet and some outboard effects — were important tools in finding the very specific colour of this record. There's this airy character, like wind blowing through old layers of bricks and over the river, anchored with a deep sense of bass, gathering ages of dust and memories in these eight elegantly wobbling tracks, forming a perfect whole that’s really coming together in one deep listening from A to Z.

The centrepiece is perhaps Come to Me, instrumental and reprise with vocals, but no fillers on this one. Every part of the mystery is needed to come to its end and back again. It's a record that works in the morning, to open up a day and in the quiet corners of the night, with it's sleazy quirkiness, smiling towards you from the right corner of the eye. A perfect compagnon for your long-form wandering habits, light reflections on a wet surface obsessions, coffee slurping in the morning and the forgotten art of beachcombing. Quite essential these days, witnessing a world going apeshit.

Eisenmund, the debut by Berlin-based Schimmel über Berlin is a thing of pounding, brittle beauty that seeks to continue on from where angst-ridden, early-eighties Berlin left off. Angular, monophonic synths, guitars that slice through with wiry yet melodic urgency, basslines that pulse with a taut, driven precision and drums that meld everything together. Liv Billerbeck’s vocals come from the middle distance, drifting between detached and desperate, as if transmitted through a wintery cityscape.

Title track Eisenmund jangles with reedy synths floating over a carpet of bass and mournful vocals dripping with a sense of loss. This mood spills over into the other tracks, like post-punk jewel Schreck with its iridescently lovely guitars.

Eisenmund is sharp, atmospheric, and quietly thrilling - proof that the shadows of the eighties can still dance under today's flickering lights. The album, immaculately produced by T-Rex, captures that classic post-punk mood of urban decay, late-night introspection and stubborn sense of motion, which for someone like me, who was there back in the day, seems utterly familiar without ever sinking into mere nostalgia.

Fiona Sangster (Xmal Deutschland)
Die Band Schimmel über Berlin ist eines der vielen Klanggesichter der Liv Billerbeck, ein Gesicht, das man niemals sieht, das im Verborgenen sich umblickt und agiert und das trotzdem aber in einer seltenen Klarheit erscheint. Man sieht es beim Hören, schemenhaft. Ihr Schaffen ist befallen vom West-Berlin der 1980er Jahre (Xmal Deutschland, Malaria etc.).

Eine Rolle, gerade in der musikalischen Brillanz und Produktionsraffinesse, spielt britischer Post-Punk, der sich sehr klar auch im treibenden Spiel von T-Rex ​​​(Bass + Produktion), Việt Phương Vũ (Gitarre) und Christian Ramisch (Schlagzeug – mit Phương übrigens bei der ebenfalls sehr guten Band NOJ) zeigt: The Sound, Killing Joke et. al.!

Es handelt sich bei dieser Musik um einen Sound mit retroesquem Anstrich, der spürbar eine vergangene Luft atmet, einer Nostalgie an eine ferne Zeit anheimfällt, die das Quartett ob ihres Alters nicht erlebt haben kann, und die vielmehr eine Sehnsucht bedeutet, in der Unerfüllbarkeit eine Melancholie mitbringt, eine Art treibende Traurigkeit spürbar macht. Das allein ist groß! Was weitergehend daran aber so interessant, besonders und wahnsinnig schön ist: Das klingt in Billerbecks Schaffen – und insbesondere hier, beim Schimmel über Berlin – nicht wie eine Kopie, ein Abklatsch, eine Reminiszenz oder das, was in der so called NNDW bald flächendeckend geschieht: das Anzapfen einer überholten Coolness. Denn etwas ist ganz gegenwärtig daran, in der Eigenständigkeit, macht einem eindringlich das Hier und Jetzt spürbar, auf unterschiedlichen Ebenen: Traurigkeit, ja, aber auch Bock, bis in die Morgenstunden auszugehen, schnellen Schrittes über rutschiges Kopfsteinpflaster zu traben. Musik dann wieder zum Verkrümeln in zugigen Altbauten, von Schreien über einen nebelbedeckten See im Umland Berlins.

Und eben kein Eskapismus, auch wenn die Musik zur Flucht taugte. Merkwürdig ist, dass in dieser Retroschleife dann etwas Märchenhaftes mitschwingt. Vielleicht liegt es auch in der authentischen 1980er-Jahre Produktion, in der immer wieder so ein Klimpern, ein Schellen durchkommt. Es mag aber auch an den Texten liegen, die etwas von Minnesang haben und in ihrer Klarheit, die aus der Kühle und den Kargheiten (der Vergangenheit, der Gegenwart, der Zukunft) entsteht, doch Wärme transportieren.

Wir hören darin heute, trotz all dem Bewusstsein für die Vergangenheit, den Sound einer seltenen Dichterin der Gegenwart. Das ist von einer Intensität, die einen bald absorbiert. Eisenmund etwa, das Titelstück, ist so ein Song, bei dem man sich hinsetzen oder gleich hinlegen muss. Da sind Dinge, die man nicht ändern kann. Wie geht das? Also: nach vorne, heftig, und dann aber so weich und traurig. Hätten Schimmel über Berlin die 1980er-Jahre dieser Stadt beschallt, sie wären hiermit, das mögen sie selbst vielleicht gar nicht hören, die Helden dieser Zeit gewesen. Eisenmund ist das tollste Album, das mir seit Jahren begegnet ist – und die bisherige Klimax dessen, was aus der Allee der Kosmonauten hervorgeht.

Und wenn man das alles so hört, aufmerksam hört, wird einem, obwohl das alles so ein einziger, riesiger Hit ist, völlig klar: Hier geht es nicht darum, irgendwo damit zu landen, irgendwo mitzumischen, erfolgreich zu sein oder in aller Munde. Hier geht es darum, einfach nur genau das zu machen, was es ist! Alles andere ist egal.

Der Klagegesang wird mich immer umwehen.

– Hendrik Otremba

Sugaring a Strawberry, the sophomore record from Julia, Julia, is a study in coming undone—on purpose. Recorded at COMA, Julia Kugel's home studio, and mixed through a custom Flickenger clone, the album drifts in and out of clarity like memory itself. It's emotionally retrospective, creatively unvarnished, and deeply human. You can hear it in the hiss, the warmth, in the vocals so raw they're like an open window. These songs weren't engineered for perfection. They were built to breathe. Her long-time collaborator and husband, Scott Montoya, mixes it all so loosely that you can hear the air between tracks— a space that makes the music feel inhabited rather than recorded.


"Bound" opens the album like a secret passed between sisters, solemn and unspeakably close. It begins with the softest of touches: hushed guitar, a near- whispered delivery that carries the intimacy of someone singing only for one other person. It's a love song, but not romantic, more ancestral in the way long bonds can be. All glow and undercurrent, "I Know," is like hearing someone hum through a wound. The track arrives as if it had been waiting, coiled and complete, to be sung. Its pulse is slow but insistent, anchored on a hypnotic loop and a vocal that's half-incantation, half-confession. One of the most outward-facing songs on the record, "Feeling Lucky," opens like a cigarette flicked in the dark– smoky and a little bit slick. Built on a skeletal beat and a nearly detached vocal, it leans into a sarcastic swagger that barely masks the ache beneath. The delivery is droll and glazed, the instrumentation is sparse and a little woozy, leaving space for her voice to sway—a shrug of a song, stylish in its sadness. "A Love That Hurts" drifts in on soft, fingerpicked guitar and a dry, close-mic vocal that feels both haunted and immediate. The mix is stripped down and analog-warm, letting tape hum and silence frame the emotion. Julia sings like she's remembering something she doesn't want to, each line a slight unraveling. Like the rest of the album, "A Love That Hurts" doesn't push toward resolution. It sits in the ache, sifts through it, makes it beautiful.

Sugaring a Strawberry doesn't seek catharsis so much as stumbles into it. There's a quiet volatility to these songs like they might fall apart if you press too hard. It moves in shadow and softness, asking questions it doesn't answer. It doesn’t end with closure. It ends with truth.

Martin Denny returns with his loyal crew of multi-instrumentalists that had previously performed on
Forbidden Island, Primitiva, Hypnotique & Quiet Village: stand up bass player Harvey Ragsdale, vibe player Julius Wechter (also a member of the legendary recording unit The Wrecking Crew) and percussionist Augie Colon who was called the “Grandfather of Hawaii Percussion”. And of course, the famous cover girl on Martin Denny’s albums, Sandy Warner, otherwise known as “The Exotica Girl”, returns as well. Although Denny was recording his output at an astonishingly brisk rate, there’s something about Exotica Vol. III, which makes it one of his best and most sought-after with collectors and listeners. Of course, the brilliance of the lead-off track of Les Baxter’s “Jungle River Boat”, with its tight vibe-and-percussion workout intertwined with Colon’s iconic bird calls and other worldly sounds, only makes the sweet, lazy water sounds of the following track “Harbor Lights” all the more delightfully mysterious. So pour your drink of choice, dim the lights, open the windows, and let Exotica Vol. III roll across you.
“His last volume is a no-brainer. The material is simply too good to avoid.” – AMBIENT EXOTICA

Embrace The Abandon is the new project by THE MON, the solo vision of Urlo, vocalist, bassist, and founding member of the Italian heavy-psych veterans Ufomammut.

Structured in two complementary chapters — Songs of Abandon (November 7th, 2025) and Songs of Embrace (March 6th, 2026) — the project tells a journey of duality: loss and surrender on one side, acceptance and rebirth on the other.
The first chapter, Songs of Abandon, is perhaps the most intimate and vulnerable work Urlo has ever created.
Born in a moment of solitude and personal darkness, the album originated from a radical exercise: writing one song a day, for nine consecutive days, using only acoustic guitar and voice.
A collection of stripped-down, emotionally raw ballads. Rooted in acoustic textures and intimate songwriting, these songs explore loss, vulnerability, and the quiet spaces left behind — a personal exorcism of what could have been but never was.
Later, these sketches were shaped into fully realized tracks, with lyrics and subtle layers of sound — not to overwhelm, but to underline the fragile, raw atmosphere that pervades them. The result is a stripped-down, emotionally charged collection that embodies an inner search: the power of music as a tool to face abandonment, to dig into oneself, and ultimately to glimpse the possibility of an embrace.
With Embrace The Abandon, THE MON reaffirms itself as one of the most personal and uncompromising projects.
It is a body of work that fuses vulnerability and strength, speaking directly to the listener with sincerity, leading them through shadow towards light.
An intimate yet powerful sound experience, intertwining the minimalism of acoustic folk with the dark, visionary tension that has always defined Urlo’s artistic path.