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It is with great pleasure that we announce Mitchum Yacoub's debut album Living High in the Brass Empire a showcase in unique stylings of tropical funk, afrobeat, cumbia, and soul; a musical patchwork threaded by a heavy, hypnotic rhythm section and powerfully vibrant horn lines. What sounds like a 12-piece ensemble was actually mostly recorded and performed by Yacoub at his home in San Diego, featuring a few close friends from local groups Sure Fire Soul Ensemble and Boostive. The horn section is comprised of Travis Klein, Bradley Nash, and Wesley Etienne (featuring Todd Simon on "Los Muñequitos"), each with distinguished performances that send the music to higher heights. Nuanced vocalist Divina Jasso lends humanity and introspection throughout the head-nodding soul sounds of "Never Knew", latin dance anthem "Cumbia Divina", and the syncopated funk of "Empire". You'll hear rhythms from Colombia, folkloric percussion of Cuba, interlocking grooves à la Fela Kuti, 70's r&b influence, and something in between it all. Drawing many inspirations into a refreshing and unified record, we think you'll enjoy Living High in the Brass Empire.

It is with great pleasure that we announce Mitchum Yacoub's debut album Living High in the Brass Empire a showcase in unique stylings of tropical funk, afrobeat, cumbia, and soul; a musical patchwork threaded by a heavy, hypnotic rhythm section and powerfully vibrant horn lines. What sounds like a 12-piece ensemble was actually mostly recorded and performed by Yacoub at his home in San Diego, featuring a few close friends from local groups Sure Fire Soul Ensemble and Boostive. The horn section is comprised of Travis Klein, Bradley Nash, and Wesley Etienne (featuring Todd Simon on "Los Muñequitos"), each with distinguished performances that send the music to higher heights. Nuanced vocalist Divina Jasso lends humanity and introspection throughout the head-nodding soul sounds of "Never Knew", latin dance anthem "Cumbia Divina", and the syncopated funk of "Empire". You'll hear rhythms from Colombia, folkloric percussion of Cuba, interlocking grooves à la Fela Kuti, 70's r&b influence, and something in between it all. Drawing many inspirations into a refreshing and unified record, we think you'll enjoy Living High in the Brass Empire.

When he‘s not writing or recording, Baba Stiltz immerses in fearless fiction by the likes of Denis Johnson and Dodie Bellamy; prose where pedestrian details become transcendent in aggregate and the inner lives of marginal characters are examined as though they were kings.
A similar thesis runs through „Paid Testimony“, the essential second tape of minimalist guitar music from the FilipinoAmerican-Swedish artist.

In recent years, Stiltz has made like Lee Hazelwood‘s Cowboy In Sweden in reverse, making annual pilgrimages from Stockholm to California and reconnecting with his roots via a guitar and a Fostex 4- track. He‘s drawn to the less glamorous corners of the golden state, an observant habitué of unkempt streets and dive bars stretching from LA to Vacaville. It‘s a long stretch from the jetset techno clubs
where Baba originally plied his musical trade, but it‘s where he finds characters and ideas worth writing about.
The characters on „Paid Testimony“ are on the edge and on the run. Surrounded by flawed men with big schemes since childhood, he extrapolates characters who plot bank heists and order milk and vodka in AM hours, the type of confrontation- prone characters who „say some shit, make everyone uncomfortable and then just split.“ To focus on the rawness of this document would discount the humor and sympathy with which he treats his characters, not to mention the subtly- psychedelic songwriting recalling David Berman, early Smog, the original indie rock minimalist poets.

On the final song, Stiltz looks back on the city that raised him „Stockholm,“ referencing „young professionals carelessly living“ before adding „I can‘t say I‘m not jealous even though I live my life just like they do.“ There‘s an honesty in the small details revealed on „Paid Testimony“, and a defined sense of place, be it Stockholm, Sacramento or some dim barroom across from the Bank Of America.

Baba doesn‘t quite fit in anywhere. This outsider quality has often been used as a marketing tool, yet here, it lends a writerly aspect to the proceedings, an unreality to the everyday.

With a voice that seems to speak from the heart of
the Estonian forest, Mari Kalkun’s music is at once
of a place and deeply personal.
 Rooted in ancient Estonian and Võru traditions, but
beautifully fresh and contemporary, ‘Stories of
Stonia’ reaches back to very old layers of tradition
to imagine what Mari’s ancestors would have
thought and sung about the world in an era of
skyscraper, steel and metal.
 Throughout the album’s nine songs, Mari explores
humanity’s controversial relationship with nature
with powerfully emotive musical backdrops.
 One of Northern Europe’s most important folk
singers, Mari has created a mysterious and
magical album

Somewhere in the Lower-Franconian vineyards lies a hidden and mostly unknown canyon, a place that often returns to the thoughts and dreams of Läuten der Seele’s Christian Schoppik. Though a much rarer occurrence now as a consequence of environmental change, chance encounters upon the area in the past would sometimes reveal small ponds amongst the reeds, teeming with life and populated by colonies of newts and the now endangered yellow bellied toad. The transience of the water and the wildlife it hosts, dependent on season or climate, lends the area an almost fantastical, dream-like quality. Was it ever even there at all? A secret place that may or may not be present holds vast appeal to some enquiring minds… Ertrunken Im Seichtesten Gewässer, the third Läuten der Seele album in two years, is inspired directly by these experiences. Translating as ‘drowned in the shallowest stretch of water’, a title as pregnant with dread as it is wonder, the themes present speak both to personal memories and a wider understanding of place and time, and how we might interpret our own position within an ever-changing, sometimes disappearing world.

The record is presented as two long-form pieces divided into four separate movements, each titled so as to reflect this natural environment and its intersection with imagination, relying on processes of collage that draw from myriad indeterminable samples, field recordings and various recorded instruments. Those familiar with Schoppik’s work, both as Läuten der Seele and with Brannten Schnüre, will find present many of his signature tropes - the way deeply layered collages render abstracted visions of the past alive in the present - though what is always significant about his approach is not so much aesthetic as the wider concepts it attempts to express and emote. Indeed, emotional response is key to the Läuten der Seele sound, how overlapping notions of nostalgia, memory and identity calibrate experience and understanding of who we are and the world around us, whether it’s a world that’s gone or another imagined into being. If you observe the artwork closely enough, you may find a clue as to the canyon’s location, though such specifics are besides the point. The music itself infers a wider sense of the impermanence that characterises hidden worlds, wherever they might be or whoever they might belong to.

A kind of hush pervades throughout Standards Vol VI, the latest release by The National Jazz Trio of Scotland, the ironically named project helmed by Falkirk’s musical polymath, Bill Wells, that is neither a trio, nor a jazz band. If this collection of ten covers probably comes closest to the latter in its late night renditions of actual standards, the presence of long-term NJToS member and collaborator Aby Vulliamy as the record’s lone vocalist adds to its solitary air. This follows Standards Vol IV (2018), which featured fellow NJToS co-founder Kate Sugden as primary vocalist, while Gerard Black, a member of the group since 2016, took centre stage in similar fashion on Standards Vol V (2019). Wells has long been a fan of Vulliamy, both of her work as a viola player with numerous collaborators, and as a singer.

Vulliamy played viola on Everything’s Getting Older, Wells’ 2011 collaboration with Arab Strap vocalist Aidan Moffat. Wells went on to play melodica on Vulliamy’s solo record, Spin Cycle, released on Karaoke Kalk in 2018. With the intent of producing the saddest heartbreak record ever made, Wells sourced a back catalogue of miniature epics, reinterpreting each tale of everyday yearning to make a canon of melancholy loungecore designed for nights in alone, if not always lonely. Beyond the concept of isolation behind Standards Vol VI, practical concerns added to the affair, with Wells recording backing tracks at home in Glasgow, while Vulliamy added her voice from her home in Yorkshire. The result on Standards Vol VI is a thing of quiet beauty that sees Wells and Vulliamy reimagine a panoply of pop classics in their own aloof sounding image.

Shades of Margo Guryan and Claudine Longet abound in Vulliamy’s delivery over Wells’ woozy, low-slung guitar and piano, with samples culled from a session with Teenage Fanclub’s Norman Blake. Little electronic percussive clicks and hisses lend things an even more otherworldly air on a record bookended by opener, Donovan’s proto hippy classic, Catch the Wind, and Dixieland miniature, Careless Love. The eight points in between take in a first half led by The Beatles’ normally jaunty We Can Work it Out, flipping the loveable mop-tops’ perky optimism for something more soul searching. This is followed by I Wish You Love, Albert Beach’s English language version of French songwriter Charles Trenet’s evergreen, Que reste-t-il de nos amours. The Bee Gees lost classic, To Love Somebody, is up next, with more impossible to answer questions coming in Why Can’t I?

The latter is a Rodgers and Hart composition that first appeared in the duo’s 1930 Broadway musical, Spring is Here, in which the show’s two heroines commiserate each other over their shared loneliness. Wells stumbled on the song in a tatty Rodgers and Hart songbook, which, like its subjects, had been left on the shelf before he and Vulliamy brought it in from the cold. The second half of Standards Vol VI leads with Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick’s much covered evocation of a pre dating app era from their 1964 hit musical, Fiddler on the Roof. This is followed by Billy Rose and Dave Dreyer’s showbiz staple (with Al Jolson also taking a credit), Me and My Shadow. While made famous by showbiz double acts ranging from Frank and Sammy to Robbie and Jonathan, here it flies decidedly solo. Johnny Mercer and Hoagy Carmichael’s Skylark comes next, a song inspired by Mercer’s yearning for Judy Garland. We hear ya, bub. The most downbeat take on Bacharach and David’s The Look of Love you’re ever likely to hear comes next, ushering in the short farewell of Careless Love, before the lights are turned out forever. Yeah, well. Whatever gets you through the night…

Repress!

Montreal’s eclectic producer CFCF (aka Mike Silver) follows 2019’s effusive corporate jungle opus Liquid Colours with a kaleidoscopic capital-E Electronica album that takes a range of styles from his earliest formative listening years (1997-2000) and throws them in a blender. Elements of jungle, house, UK garage, trance, pop and post-grunge are blended to form a glossy picture of restless youth in an
identity crisis: memoryland.

Inspired as much by Sonic Youth and Smashing Pumpkins as the Chemical Brothers and Basement Jaxx; as much by films like Millennium Mambo, Demonlover, Morvern Callar, Safe and Perfect Blue as late 90’s Prada — CFCF jumps across genres as a means of portraying a breadth of overlapping milieus and identities in this hyperactive Y2K period-piece that both explores and criticizes our own nostalgic impulses. From the opening intro’s announcement of arrival to the final credits, it’s an album as film as RPG, with the listener as its protagonist.

Opener “welcome.WAV” functions as a start-up sound file for the journey ahead: from “Life is Perfecto”, a propulsive breakbeat-dreampop hybrid, to a grotesquely-remixed ultra-French-house version of previously released single “Self Service”, and the recursive, metaphysical garage of “After the After”. Two guest vocalists lend their talents: Montreal neo-shoegaze icons No Joy, fresh off their own genre-defying Y2K exploration Motherhood, laconically lists off advice for aspiring fashion ingenues with bite in the alt-rock-IDM “Model Castings”, while Kero Kero Bonito’s Sarah Bonito sweetly delivers the penultimate “Heaven”, grunge-pop paean to the myth of Icarus.

In CFCF’s words:
“I was feeling fatigued by an overabundance of ‘calming’, productivity-oriented music, and wanted to explore something angsty, messy, and dark, while also applying a pop sheen. I see a loose narrative across the album: your early 20’s, a new city, new people, new temptations and new traps. Losing your sense of self to the whims of your surroundings and trends in music and fashion; the wrong people, and trying to dig yourself out of that hole. There’s a hope of moving forward that glimmers in the last quarter of the album, but it’s out of reach and seems to come at a price. And then the looking back on it later with perspective; or the looking forward to it before with anticipation. As a kid I couldn’t wait to be in my 20’s; in my 30’s it’s bittersweet to look back. That’s the core of memoryland: the gulf between the fantasy, the reality, and the memory, and how we live inside each of those at different points.”

Three years after his last album ‘I Need Space’, Mounika. is back on his favorite playground: electronic music, which arouses his curiosity since his beginnings. He is now ready to unveil ‘Don't Look At Me’, a new opus that takes us, by other paths, to his unique universe. Recorded during the confinement in the intimacy of his home studio, the French artist reveals little by little another facet of his artistic personality, more raw and affirmed, without totally abandoning the cottony sounds already proposed on titles like ‘Cut My Hair’ (diamond single) or ‘Tender Love’ (gold single). We discover sensitive compositions, still inspired by his love for trip-hop, piano and artists who made his musical culture during his youth: Moby, Ratatat, Air or Bonobo. After all, a Mounika. album without a tribute to these figures is not really an album...

But something new was needed to distinguish this opus from the previous ones. From the very first tracks, we can clearly feel this need for exploration that has always guided the French producer. ‘BonXair’ or ‘Nomadics’ take us, for example, in a more straight electronic, more heady than usual. In the same spirit, the rhythms close to the deep house of a track like ‘See You Dancing In The Dark’ offer to the album a new direction, and yet is quite representative of the work undertaken by Mounika. these last years.

In this new record that will also satisfy the fans of the first hour (a sample loop well felt, as on ‘Little Love’ or ‘I Looked Into Her Eyes’, always makes its effect), the French artist has also opened to collaborations of choice. Mounika. works on the heart, and thus wished to welcome those who have particularly marked him during his more or less recent discoveries. The American artist Roland Faunte lends his voice to the effective ‘Little Love’, while Ural Thomas & The Pain (discovered notably on the series ‘It's Bruno’) takes care of the chorus of ‘I Looked Into Her Eyes’. The British rapper Lord Apex delivers a spellbinding performance on ‘Memories’.

Finally, if you listen carefully, you can even hear Mounika. singing on some tracks... like ‘20’ or ‘Don't Smoke’. Put together, these appearances perfectly complement the energy transcribed by Mounika. throughout ‘Don't Look At Me’.

And what could be better than an amazing graphic universe to open the doors of this album like no other? Meet Carl & TJ, two cartoonish characters created in collaboration with Berlin-based artist Joe Taylor, who take care of guiding the listener through this new adventure. One is dreamy and contemplative, the other asks himself a lot of questions... and between them, they form a colorful duet illustrating with tenderness the universal emotions that punctuate this third opus, and that Mounika. will notably defend in the first part of Wax Tailor's French tour starting next April.

The successive pianos composing the productions of ‘When In My Heart In Your Heart’ then ‘Outro’ come, at the end of the record, to conclude the setting in orbit proposed by this ‘Don't Look At Me’. One more step in the sensory journey that Mounika. is committed, from the intimacy of her room to the international success, to build relentlessly.

L(oo)ping is a story that began with great trepidation and an initial polite refusal and may have never have been told. Even for Rone, who's used to making bold moves, the orchestra had always seemed a step too far.

'Motion' laid the groundwork for L(oo)ping, a journey in which Romain Allender (who worked The Grand Budapest Hotel by Wes Anderson and The Shape of Water by Guillermo del Toro amongst others) acted as a creative translator for Rone. Leafing through Rone's repertoire he selected the tracks that would better lend themselves for symphonic reinterpretations.

The eleven pieces chosen each mark a different stage in Rone's trajectory, from one of his first-ever productions, 'Bora', born in a studio flat in Paris in 2008 when he was still a student, all the way to the soundtrack composed for the 2022 short-film, 'Ghosts', written by Spike Jonze, directed and performed by (LA)HORDE. L(oo)ping isn't just an orchestral re-telling of Rone's work, however. New life has been breathed into the music through Allender's arrangements as well as Rone's own interaction with the Orchestre National de Lyon and conductor Dirk Brossé.

There's a rich dramaturgy to the music, but not once does the acoustic trample on the electronic nor vice-versa. Rather, L(oo)ping manages to achieve an elegant and playful tight-rope balance between both voices that keeps listeners hooked on suspense and surprise.

zake's fruitful contributions as an artist to his own Past Inside The Present label continues on this new album Deep Into The Unknown We Shall Endlessly Roam. It is an assemblage of arrangements made using archaic tape machines such as a Sony M-570V microcassette voice recorder and obsolete VSC Soundpacer, all on analogue tape. Of course that lends the music a misty, grainy quality that defines much of zake's ambient. Here his loops and found sounds meld and melt to create vast open spaces that are pregnant with emotion and tension. It's another magical work of ambient art that, says the artist, "is dedicated to those who continue to yearn for greater understanding."

Baby Rose makes healing music for the aimless and heartbroken. The Grammy-nominated singer/songwriter and producer's uniquely rich voice naturally lends itself to her powerful, smoke-filled ballads lamenting lost loves and broken futures. "I make music to help myself get through things," she says. The piercing honesty and vulnerability she brings to her lyrics in turn helps others process their feelings and find a place of healing. For Rose, it's a journey that's still ongoing. "If I'm going to leave anything behind, it's going to be getting people back to themselves," she says. "As I get back to myself, it's a constant reset: Remember who you are, remember who you want to be." You can hear the impact of this approach in Baby Rose's upcoming second album, Through and Through. Take the hypnotic "Fight Club." Over the track's simmering baseline and crashing cymbals, she declares, "I don't need no one else to show me the way." She describes the song as a "breaking of the shell. It encourages me to just go for it and not care about what anyone else thinks." Therein lies Baby Rose's strength: a determination to live, love, and create on her own terms. "I'm not just a singer with a unique voice," she says. "I'm somebody that has something to say." In the years since releasing her last album, To Myself, Rose has been painstakingly piecing together its sequel. Started almost immediately after its release, her new body of work finds her in a state of musical and personal transition. It's a subtle merging of new sounds_stirring rock, upbeat r&b, psychedelic funk, pop, and soulful ballads_, all mastered through analog tape to make the music feel warmer and all-encompassing. It's also a journey inward as she battles past fear and self-doubt to finally discover_and love_who she is, where she is. Finishing an album with such peace and firm resolution is a first for Rose, but she makes it clear: She's nowhere near done writing her story. "I think as long as I'm being raw and trying to push past my comfort zone, it will feel rewarding," she says. "I don't want to be the type that doesn't take risks because I'm afraid. I have to trust that as long as the music is honest and innovative, it'll be timeless."

Their masterpiece? With breaks for dayyyyyys and an almost ambient, heavy jazz atmosphere throughout, *this* is the apex of British jazz-rock fusion. We'll Talk About It Later was first released on Vertigo in 1971 and original copies are now very tricky to score. Like all the Nucleus records, it’s aged ridiculously well and this Be With re-issue, re-mastered from the original analogue tapes, shows off just why this deserves to be back in press.

Genius trumpeter and visionary composer Ian Carr was one of the most respected British musicians of his era. He was a true pioneer and saw the potential in fusing the worlds of jazz with rock, just as Miles Davis and The Tony Williams Lifetime did in the US. In late 1969, following the demise of the Rendell-Carr quintet, and tiring of British jazz, Carr assembled the legendary Nucleus. Regarding music as a continuous process, Nucleus refused to “recognise rigid boundaries” and worked on delivering what they saw as a “total musical experience”. We can get behind that.

Under bandleader Carr, Nucleus existed as a fluid line-up of inventive, skilled musicians. This constant evolution and revolution was all part of the continuous musical exploration and discovery that took jazz to new levels. And the music has kept relevant. To steal a line from a review of our re-issue of Roots, when it comes to anything Nucleus “it’s basically already hip-hop”.

We'll Talk About It Later is arguably Nucleus's best album. Not only that, it's in the top 5 of all fusion albums. By the time Nucleus entered Trident Studios in September 1970 to record Elastic Rock's successor, they had already won a best group award at the Montreux Jazz Festival. Once again presented in a Roger Dean designed die-cut gatefold sleeve it continued to demonstrate the chemistry and interplay that worked so brilliantly on Elastic Rock; Carr's sumptuous trumpet and flügelhorn lines, Karl Jenkins's funk-filled electric keyboards, Chris Spedding's wah-wah guitar, Brian Smith's sax and the rhythmic foundation of drummer John Marshall and bassist Jeff Clyne.

The group work and insane musicianship Nucleus were famed for is in evidence from the off. The intensely funky "Song for the Bearded Lady" is absolute FIRE, blasting out the speakers to leave listeners floored. Counterpoint riffing segues into a spacious groove and a Carr trumpet solo demonstrating the influence of electric Miles from the period. The stop-start funk of "Sun Child" would appeal to Soft Machine devotees whilst the genuinely touching "Lullaby for a Lonely Child" is a lovely downtempo ballad. Featuring an understated, reflective horn line from Carr and Smith and atmospheric, shimmering bouzouki from Spedding, there's an exotic flavour which contributes to the bliss. The ominous, sleazy title track retains a swaggering menace and is not the only track to lend a sort of heavy stoner rock atmosphere. The guitars and bass are deep and low throughout, conjuring heavy psych moments to go with the actual jazz and even funk. To say this album was in conversation with Bitches Brew would not be overstating the sheer brain-frying brilliance.

The Weather Report-adjacent "Oasis" opens Side B, a colossal track featuring nearly 10 minutes of steadily building melodic horns, keys and choppy guitar riffs. So ace, it could easily go on for another 10. Mesmeric. Spedding adds unique vocals to the undeniable groove of "Ballad of Joe Pimp" whilst saxophonist Smith's duet with drummer Marshall at the conclusion of "Easter 1916" - inspired by the Yeats poem about the Irish nationalist uprising in Dublin - adopts the wildness of the most incendiary free jazz.

This Be With edition of We'll Talk About It Later has been re-mastered from the original Vertigo master tapes, Simon Francis’ mastering working together with Cicely Balston's cut at AIR Studios to weave their usual magic with these wonderful recordings. The stunning die-cut sleeve has been restored with the original gatefold window pane depicting the Irish uprising in 1916. Incredible, timeless, guaranteed spine-chills.

Tom Trago returns to Rush Hour after 10 years with a wonderfully accomplished mini-album, tip!

During the years he spent living in Amsterdam, when his DJ career seemed to become an unstoppable juggernaut, Tom Trago was a regular visitor to Deco Sauna, a local institution that helped him “decompress” and de-toxify his body. Eventually, a more extended period of “decompression” was needed, with Trago moving to the coast to reassess his priorities and spend more time with his young family.

‘Deco’, his sixth album and first for Rush Hour in a decade, was recorded following an extended absence from club dancefloors, as Trago cut back on DJ commitments to prioritise family life. When he returned to the studio, often with his daughter by his side, Trago initially struggled to get back into the groove. The desire to make dancefloor-focused music had – temporarily, at least – deserted him; instead, he found himself drawn towards a desire to create “electronic lullabies” and music that reflected his more pastoral environment (his home backs on to a patch of woodland in which he would walk every day).

Returning to his most familiar synthesisers – and specifically the first synthesiser he bought, on credit, as a young DJ and wannabe producer – Trago set about navigating different musical routes without the straight-jacket of club-focused dancefloors. Occasionally, old friends from Amsterdam would join him in the studio – Tracey and Maxi Mill, both of whom are part of his Voyage Direct label roster, contributed to tracks on the album – but for the most part the production process was a solo endeavour: musical therapy for an artist determined to do things differently after years spent making club hits and sweat-soaked peak-time workouts.

The results are rarely less than spellbinding. Trago sets his stall out with opener ‘Dark Oak’, a gorgeous, colourful, sun-bright scene-setter co-produced by Tracey that layers tumbling lead lines, chiming melodic motifs and kaleidoscopic chords atop the gentlest of bubbly beat patterns. Maxi Mill lends a hand on ‘Central Park’, a deep and hypnotic excursion marked out by rhythmic bleeps, minimalistic beats and layered melodies, and the summer sun-down rush of ‘Never Peace a Puzzle’, where kaleidoscopic synth sounds, meandering solos and looped electronic stabs rush towards a dancefloor of the mind.

Trago’s desire to create “electronic lullabies” for his young daughter comes to the fore on ‘To Be Left Unlocked’, a hypnotising fusion of spacey electronic motifs, Steve Reich style (synth) marimba melodies and slowly building musical intensity, while the echoing Fender Rhodes riffs, squelchy synth-bass, glistening guitar notes and sparse, snappy post hip-hop beats of ‘When The Sky Is Watching Us’ doff a cap to the producer’s roots as a bedroom beat-maker.

Given the project’s genesis, it’s perhaps fitting that Trago chose to conclude proceedings with ‘It Might Be Forever’ and the digital only ‘Blue Dope’, the album’s most rejuvenating, immersive, and vibrant moments. Both feature sustained chords painted with vivid aural brush strokes and come blessed with the merest hint of a rhythmic pulse – a thread that subtly runs throughout Trago’s most mature and musically rich album to date.

Matt Anniss

'MOb' - powered by the crowd, harbours a dynamical system and wave of musical disorder that characterises their compositions. Their music is carved into a world of melodious electronic jazz, kraut, filmic and exploratory post-punk. The compositions are mainly based on open forms of tonal and non-tonal linear material, while improvisation lends a balance to the production of melodic material and the creation of multifaceted sonic atmospheres.

PURPLE VINYL


A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

Tape

A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

US-based Mystery Circles is the next stop for Hiroshi EBINA following a previous outing here last year. This new cassette is another beautifully organic ambient soundscape with delicate pads and a sense of quiet hope and atomism. The beauty of the album cover really portrays the majesty of the music within as gentle chords linger in the air above warm and fuzzy drones. Some pieces are more empty that others which only lends the appearance of a wispy pad all the more weight while some grow in stubby intensity as sounds are layered up and draw you in ever deeper.

The follow up for the instant classic Impresiones Acidas from 2022. Felipe again lends his fusion sensibilities to infectious grooves to create a modern version of the golden age of house music. With non other than Kai Alce on remix duties on the title track. Tip!!!

Tartelet Records is thrilled to present the debut album from Doc Sleep – 10 tracks of exquisitely rendered melodies and rhythms shaped with grit and beauty in equal measure. Birds (in my mind anyway) is a widescreen vision of electronica as a medium to express your personal situation and respond to your environment – a rave adjacent art form free from the perceived rules of the dancefloor. To date, Melissa Maristuen known as Doc Sleep has established herself in the context of the club – first engaging with the culture in San Francisco before moving to Berlin. She helps run the Room 4 Resistance party, DJs on Refuge Worldwide, co- owns the Jacktone label and has released on Detour, Dark Entries and her own label. But in making Birds (in my mind anyway) she set herself an ultimatum.

“At the time of recording this album, my life, all my routines and priorities had to change – music was no exception. I decided if I couldn't be happy making an album free of the dancefloor, I was finally going to be done with music. Instead, I found a musical voice free of tempo and textural restriction. Eventually, I had a sound, and once I had the sound, the album came pretty quickly. It was a very different process writing music for no one...except myself.”

If the impression given is one of a consistent style across the album, think again. Doc Sleep moves freely between tempos and themes, even if there are some recurring qualities binding the music together. She weaves fluttering arps with poise, lending them an almost choral quality which gives the album a very human touch. But they’re equally emotionally ambiguous or pockmarked with sonic interference – reflections of the collisions and conflicts
that typify the human experience.

Every inch of the album is a personal touch – the title was pulled from Doc Sleep’s mother’s response to hearing the album, while her friend Kiernan Laveaux offered a beautiful text which appears on the back. Those closest to her all fed into the artwork process, which captures the curious dichotomy between urban brutalism and botanical finery often found in the parks of Berlin – a vital place of respite when she was making the album.