Search:recall ii

Compiled onto one vinyl album for the first time, Landlocked (Numbers, 2026) presents Hallucinator’s 1999 debut album originally released under Mark Ernestus and Moritz von Oswald’s label Chain Reaction. Writing much surrounding the culture of what would be later considered ‘Dub Techno’ and its’ primary distribution center, Hard Wax, leads one down roads of shifting primary sources and decades old overheard smoke break recollections. Maybe brevity primes the listener to the paralinguistic to approach the sound on its terms; focusing on how things are uttered and not what.

This theory will remain unconfirmed. Hallucinator original press release left us with three or so gestures to consider over the years since:

“A new act on CHAIN REACTION”s distinct productional thesis. HALLUCINATOR are 3 people from he UK/London and this their first release ever- that’s all what the artists want to let us know…. This record is dedidacted to the memory of Stephen Lawrence!”

The first gesture is one of personnel. Since ’99, we’ve gotten to learn a bit more about the artists behind the Hallucinator project. All London-based, all writers, composers, and sound-designers— Anna Piva, Edward George, Trevor Mathison. These three seem to flow between parameters as aesthetic tactic and tacit structure to the work itself. For example, other collaborative shapes have come from this lineup including Flow Motion (Piva, George and Mathison) as well as the now defunct Black Audio Film Collective of which George and Mathison are founding members.

The second gesture is in the second line of the previous press release, “distinct productional thesis.” Much of Landlocked’s affect and sequencing seems to suggest an emotional study of entropy at the level of sediment. Rhythms play with space and capacity through polyvalence. The production chose subtractive vertigo, often switching and bringing back in elements that vanished from the track 6 minutes ago. Dubbing out so much of a track, one begins to associate sound akin to memories held in the experience of running your hand across a concrete block as a child. Felt (re)memberance in lieu of narrative tale. Using textures that flicker between colour and percussion, Hallucinator’s 12-tracker of loudspeaker perception music might be a mediation on the psychic wake of the Cold War. Intermittent strata of ambience and groove convects an active margin rifting event underneath a scorched geology of power in Western Europe. Again, this is all grapevine hearsay.

But it’s silence that voices the third gesture. The album’s sparse application of the written word touches on the ennui paradox of being landlocked on an island. Stuck. Trapped in the psychosis of occidental hypercentricism. A looping silence of Black British tragedy: “to the memory of Stephen Lawrence”. 18 year-old Lawrence was stabbed to death at a bus stop in southeast London by six white men in 1993. The rift of grief and implicit reiteration of modern subordination left by this hate act went legally silent for almost two decades until Lawrence’s killers were ultimately sentenced to virtually life in jail in 2012. Only six years removed at the time of Hallucinator’s initial invocation of rememory, the mind-numbing accretion of what Black Studies Professor Denise Ferreira da Silva might call “unpayable debt”, finds demonic ground across Landlocked, forming an aural sense of what continues to be refused.

The album ventures through spaces of overactive non-happenings: ‘Red Angel’’s factory floor dub flashes between smokestack and jungle visions, or the halfway mark’s stilted breath of ‘Dusk’ lending its mood to the sort of sedated dreams built from daily life under colony rule for instance. That linked rhythm links us back to our linked fates across Black and Brown folk is real, thus the syncopated signals through this work behave on the level of transnational radiotelegraphy, sounding out its windswept tension of a body negotiating a meat-grinder schema of linear production and wage for others to know that unspeakable thing can be broadcast in every drum tongue.

As the silence continues to reverb, we return to the sort of meaning-making that cannot be told but felt. Soothing to some, disturbing to others. Landlocked, a Rorschach test for a crumbled empire.

This compilation took almost four years to come together. For the residency, the band Alexander Flood composed three new pieces, which they developed with the ensemble over two rehearsal days before performing them across three concerts. The core ensemble - Lucy Liebe, Franka Fairy, Tara Sarter, Raffaelo Visconti and Nonny Smith - remained together throughout the summer of 2024, growing into something far greater than just a band. This compilation not only documents the music played by the Residence Band, but also captures the wider story of the other bands that we recorded while they were on tour and who came to the studio with me the following day. Kai appears here after performing at Holidays in 2024. Sonic Interventions recalls a special milestone: the band's first concert outside Berlin, which took place at Holidays in 2023. Sasha Berliner performed at the Jazz Klub, which is illustrated throughout the comic included in this booklet. Benedikt Montiel Mathews joined the Jazz Montez project through a year-long internship and a record we released together. Hind Ennaira led the successor to the Residence Band during a weekend at El Barrio in 2024. However, her recording was not made in Frankfurt, but in Essaouira, Morocco, during a spontaneous late-night session.

Inlcuding: Pressed on high quality 150g vinyl, the record comes packaged in a beautiful cover, designed by artist Verena Mack. It features a 20 page booklet that includes a fictional comic on the making of a Jazzklub.

Includes unlimited streaming of Jazz Montez Presents Vol. III via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

This autumn sees the release of ‘En de stilstaande tijd voor (elektro-)akoestisch ensemble’ (And Stationary Time for (electro-)acoustic ensemble), the new album by composer and musician Sietse van Erve. With this release, Van Erve marks a definitive turning point in his artistic career: bidding farewell to his long-standing pseudonym Orphax to continue under his own name.

From Rewire to the Studio
The foundations for this album were laid during a memorable live performance at the Rewire Festival 2025 in Den Haag (The Hague). There, Van Erve presented the composition for the first time with an ensemble featuring Anne La Berge (flute), Gareth Davis (bass clarinet), and Dario Calderone (double bass). The leading Dutch newspaper De Volkskrant praised the performance as "incomprehensibly still", drifting on a single, drone-like tone through which the instruments softly float.
Van Erve recalls the intensity of that debut: “I don’t think I’ve ever been as nervous for a performance as I was for Rewire. A packed hall in Amare, during such a major festival”. Following a second successful performance at Festival Musica in Strasbourg, the decision was made to capture the work permanently in the studio.

A New Vision of Nostalgia
The composition originates from Van Erve’s fascination with time and nostalgia, inspired by a 1960s postcard of a Spanish village where time seemed to freeze. While based on a solo piece from 2020, the (electro-)acoustic instrumentation provides a completely new interpretation. The transition from solo electronics to an ensemble brought unique challenges. Van Erve explains: “Certain effects can be triggered with a single knob on a synthesizer, but they result in almost unplayable parts for other instruments. In those situations, I presented the challenge to the group and we searched for a solution together.’’

Identity and Evolution
The album also marks a personal transition for the artist. Regarding the departure from his moniker, he states: “I was looking for the right moment, and now it feels right. With this project, I have finally been able to do what I’ve had in my head for a long time... I feel I have achieved something, and that is why I think it is a good time to initiate the name change."

Realisation through Crowdfunding
Recorded in the spring of 2026 at Studio 150—located in a former church in Amsterdam-Noord known for its exceptional acoustics—the album was captured by Joeri Saal. The production of the deluxe vinyl LP and CD was made possible through a successful crowdfunding campaign via Dutch platform Voordekunst, where supporters contributed to the studio and production costs.

David August's most expansive, ambitious album to date, the Italian – German composer and producer lets his vast sonic universe collapse, rediscovering in its wake an instrument that's been a constant presence in his life. 'Hymns' is a deeply personal set of candid piano – led reflections that tell a simpler but far more distinctive story; rather than concentrate on the life cycle of humanity and civilization, August narrows his field of vision, tracing his own background and re - asserting his relationship with a musical language he'd tried hard to unlearn. An intimate, instinctual album that emerged from isolation and contemplation, 'Hymns' is also a surprisingly hopeful suite of soft hued, evocative improvisations that well up from the depths of the soul. In August's own words, "it should recall light, not darkness."

On “Cold Sweat,” James Brown famously called to “give the drummer some.” In 1974, Philadelphia vibraphonist Khan Jamal called to Give the Vibes Some, with superb results. Pianist and composer Jef Gilson’s PALM label gave Jamal the platform he needed to deliver a thorough exploration of contemporary vibraphone. After launching PALM in 1973, Gilson quickly demonstrated that he would only produce records not found anywhere else. Give the Vibes Some, PALM number 10, was another confirmation of this guiding principle.

Raised and based in Philadelphia, Khan Jamal took up the vibes in 1968, after two years in the army during which he was stationed in France and Germany. Decisively drawn to the instrument by the work of the Modern Jazz Quartet’s Milt Jackson, Jamal studied under Philadelphia vibraphone legend Bill Lewis and soon made his debuts in the local underground.

Early in 1972, Jamal made his first recording, with the Sounds of Liberation. The band attempted an original fusion of conga-heavy grooves with avant-garde jazz soloing. Saxophonist Byard Lancaster, an important figure in Jamal’s development, contributed much of the solo work. Later in 1972, Jamal made his leader debut with Drum Dance to the Motherland, a reverb-drenched, never-to-be-replicated experiment with live sound processing. Both albums appeared on the tiny musician-run Dogtown label.

“We couldn’t get no play from nowhere. No gigs or recording sessions or anything. So I took off for Paris,” Jamal recalled in a Cadence interview with Ken Weiss. “Within a few weeks, I had a few articles and I did a record date. It didn’t make me feel good about America.” That was in 1974, while Byard Lancaster was recording the music gathered on Souffle Continu’s recent The Complete PALM Recordings, 1973-1974.

Jamal’s record date delivered Give the Vibes Some. At its core, it was an exploratory solo vibraphone album, even if two tracks added (through technological resourcefulness?) a très célèbre French drummer very much into Elvin Jones appearing under pseudonym for contractual reasons. Another track, for which Jamal switched to the vibes’s wooden ancestor, the marimba, added young Texan trumpeter Clint Jackson III. The most notable article published on Jamal during this stay in France was a Jazz Magazine interview. Jamal’s last word there were “The Creator has a master plan/drum dance to the motherland.” “Give the vibes some” could be added to this programmatic statement.

When SW. AKA, Stefan Wust, first established SUED in 2011, their compelling, cosmic and anonymous material struck a rare chord, emanating far beyond the freeform Berlin underground in which it was written. Unknowingly, Los Angelean Oliver Bristow had
established a parallel musical universe, founding the hyper-specific label Acid Test, inviting pioneering artists such as Donato Dozzy, Tin Man and Pepe Bradock to indulge in glorious interpretations of 303 control. Without compromise, these were records that quietly
reinvigorated electronic music.
Some years later, a new label, SWOB, unites Wust and Bristow in a very different landscape. And while it would be easy to transform the purity and integrity of this special alchemy into something like nostalgia, yearning for an alternative culture before
influencers and against algorithms, SWOB endeavours to find inspiration in arguably tougher truths.
“By the mid-90s, the techno scene had already reached a breaking point”, recalls Wust.
“Today, the scene is so highly professionalized that it barely resembles what was once called the "underground. But "underground" was never more than the simple reality that music circulated on cassettes among friends or that dubplates were played at illegal
parties... The consequence of today’s professionalization is the death of the original movement.”
Still, no one can kill an idea. Here, inspired by the “Outside Tekno” or “Outkast Techno” that emerged to subvert even back in the day, SWOB are proud to introduce the tekkNOthing trilogy, a new project from SW. beginning on cassette and culminating later
on vinyl. Some years in development, tekkNOthing first began to take shape during the 2020 global pandemic, when ‘the underground’ quickly began to mean something radically different once again.
“I noticed how everything was accelerating while simultaneously spinning in circles – existing in a kind of creative limbo on a global scale”, recalls Wust. “And that’s where true freedom lies: for artists – in any sense – to consciously engage with this necessity. In
other words, irrationality or nonsense can eventually generate meaning.” While hardly capitulating to the contemporary hammering of techno’s most recent developments, tekkNOthing’s first chapter quickly establishes a frenetic pace; tracks like ‘nuclearFALLoutX’ and ‘paslolESmess’ interlock and unfold at a tempo removed from that typically associated with SW. while ‘euroBSS’ and ‘viscousHEAT’ successfully experiment with a more guttural palette, veering far into a rejuvenating and previously uncharted leftfield.
A resolutely human endeavour, the music of SW. is nonetheless written and recorded in the looming shadow of AI, whose free-form adoption of pop culture, hip-hop and techno reminds Wust of “when photography emerged in the 19th century... painting was no
longer bound to naturalism. Similarly, music today is no longer bound to fixed standards – through AI, it can become truly free.”
If not in competition, than taking inspiration from this landscape of new opportunity, tekkNOthing diversifies further with eight unpredictable tracks across part II, taking in stuttering machine-funk on ‘crAMPDUNK’, a freeform organ jam via ‘sonicENdo’ and the
inexplicable piston-percussive, post-punk exotica heard on ‘poorTENOOR#a#01’ DJs with dual cassette decks skills might even find function in the more overtly floor-focused ‘DU ¨NEhowSE#1takeÄ’ or ‘lookLOOK’.
The times may have changed, but the promise remains simple; more music, more freedom.

A sense of destiny hangs over Sentir Que No Sabes, Mabe Fratti’s fourth solo-credited album released in a five year span. Her work has always possessed a finely tuned sense of drama capable of expressing a range of emotional states, and across this new album, she conveys the struggle to process various relationships or situations–and the actions that come next. Sentir Que No Sabes is urgent and clear, poppy, generous and approachable, while showcasing a considerable emotional hinterland. It is also, as Fratti is quick to mention, “groovy.”

Written and recorded with her partner, multi-instrumentalist, and co-composer Héctor Tosta (I.La Católica, Titanic), Sentir Que No Sabes is the result of an intense, detail-oriented process. Fueled by a new confidence gained in their collaborative project, Titanic, and its critically acclaimed 2023 LP, Vidrio, the two hunkered down in the familiarity of their studio (aka Tinho Studios) to bash out the initial sonic coordinates of her new record. “We talked and talked, and discussed ways of playing and recording, until things became inevitable,” Fratti explains. “We recorded a bunch of demos at our home studio and that meant we had a lot of time to re-edit and experiment. We really dug in. We were super focused on detail.” Tosta also took up the controls as producer and arranger-in-chief for all additional instruments. The album was later completed at Willem Twee Studios in Den Bosch in the Netherlands, and Pedro y el Lobo Studios and Soy Sauce Studios, in Mexico City.

For the final studio recordings, the pair were joined by drummer Gibran Andrade and trumpetist Jacob Wick to fill out and expand on Tosta’s percussion and brass arrangements. This small group of friends were able to work quickly and openly, and without fear: a testament to the exhaustive groundwork put in at Tinho Studios. This can be heard in three short, intermediary tracks that also manage to be the most aggressive on the record: “Kitana” (a scratch-laden instrumental that acts as a strange prelude for the last track, “Angel nuevo”) and a pair of two-minute instrumental interludes, “Elastica” I and II. None are throwaway mood pieces; rather they act as emotional cue cards, and hint at the way Fratti and Tosta created the overall atmosphere of Sentir Que No Sabes.

A strong sense of rhythm irrigates the sound from the jump, as heard on the glorious opening track, “Kravitz.” Here, the brilliant plucked cello line acts as a bassline and props up the steady thump of the kick drum. The cello’s growl serves as a conduit for a set of slightly paranoid lyrics that tell us “Quizás haya oídos en el techo” (“maybe there are ears in the ceiling”), while the song also introduces another staple of the record: the clever brass stabs, whistles, parps, and other interjections that paint a canvas of traffic in a city. It’s a postmodern, widescreen sound that for some might recall The Blue Nile’s Hats.

Sentir Que No Sabes is a record full to the brim with a modern pop sensibility, invoked by the sort of magpie spirit that ensnares anything it can find, repositioning sounds for the here and now. The keys and melody on the melancholy “Pantalla azul” (“Blue screen error”) transport us back to the glossy mid-1980s. “Oídos” (“Ears”) is a beautiful slice of contemporary, hybrid pop, in which Fratti’s vocal lines delicately spin themselves around the lean structures erected by the brass and drums, and the descending “plink” of a set of piano chords. Then we have a gloriously strong ending with the swell of “Angel nuevo” (“New angel”), another cinematic track full of gentle, instrument-rich swells and eddies that manages to be almost endless in its range–and yet intensely personal, as Fratti’s voice is close, almost whispering in your ear. A much needed lullaby for our fractious times.

The lyrics, for their part, have a stop-start quality to them, and hint at the small, incremental emotional taxes we pay through just living our lives. They circle around the music like birds waiting to swoop. There is something of the spiritual in all of Fratti’s work that expresses itself in a form of yearning: she looks to new horizons while personal dramas find themselves internalized, contextualized, and then dealt with through metaphor. Here, she was keen to mention Tosta’s constant encouragement in her finding a path to best sing or phrase her words to impart their maximum effect. “Hector was super inquisitive about my lyrics and asked me questions about what I meant, which sometimes is something you don't wonder so much about in isolation,” Fratti explains. “Besides, he is a great poet, and you can see that in what he did on the Titanic record. This made me go deeper into my lyric writing and definitely transformed it into something that I feel super happy about now.”

Take “Enfrente” (“In Front”), a track that initially comes across as a languid, glossy number, with plucked cello strings standing in for a bass line and brittle synth parts. Soon we catch on to a brilliant minor chord switch, which mirrors the fear and doubt expressed in the lyrics as someone “trembles up to the podium” in a “search for meaning.” There’s also the startling introduction of a vocoder in “Quieras o no” (“Whether you want it or not”); it comes precisely at the point Fratti sings “Quieras o no es un desastre” (“Whether you want it or not, it's a disaster”). Moments like these leave room for interpretation and, over time, create a strong bond between the listener and the record.

In fact, across Sentir Que No Sabes, each phrase–whether instrumental or vocal–becomes at some level emblematic of acts and moods that impart deep emotional significance. We see this best on “Intento fallido” (“Failed attempt”), which could be the score to feeling trapped in self-doubt, only to suddenly be sprung free by the song’s gloriously upbeat ending. On “Márgen del índice” (“Index margin”), the quicksilver switch between initial disharmony and a beautiful melody is breathtaking, all augmented by evocative arrangements, textured production, and the slightly playful, gnomic lyrics. The track’s emotional ecosystem allows another brilliant ending, which uses the simple repeated phrase, “Cómo lo va a ver?” (“How are you going to see it?”).

So what to make of Sentir Que No Sabes? High gloss Pastoralism? The sound of a city-bound, post-post modern soulscape? No matter the emotions evoked, it's the work of an artist coming into their own, and creating a benchmark record.

Following their eponymous 2023 debut, Chestnut People once again emerge from the Wood to deliver Volume 2, a lichen-scented batch of blissed IDM and crackling tech. While retaining the filtering step of its predecessor, Volume 2 plunges deeper into the honey pot with rich melodic density, recalling the gentle pluckings and starry-eyed glitch of 00s Icelandic electronica. The music unfurls in programmatic detail like a misted forest dream–winged creatures buzzing as brush collapses under our feet.

Second EP (1970) by the legendary Bolivian band Climax, recorded during their hard rock period, before evolving their sound toward progressive rock a few years later with the release of their well-known album "Gusano Mecánico". Includes a new funky version of 'Born to Be Wild' by Steppenwolf, as well as three original compositions by the band. On October 7, 1974, the now-historic "Gusano mecánico" was released - the only full-length album by the legendary Bolivian rock band Climax. Founded in 1968 from the remnants of the disbanded Los Black Byrds and the unrealized project The Turtles, Climax was formed by guitarist José "Pepe" Eguino and bassist Javier Saldías, who developed a strong bond with drummer Alvaro Córdova, cemented by their shared passion for rock. Together, they embarked on a journey of self-discovery, spending several months in the United States during a crucial period straddling the end of the Summer of Love and the lead-up to Woodstock. This period, perhaps the most significant of the 1960s Bolivian countercultural movement, saw an explosion of artistic expression driven by dissatisfaction with the society that the youth had inherited from their parents. Within this context, the influence of iconic bands such as The Jimi Hendrix Experience, Cream, Blue Cheer, and Emerson, Lake & Palmer played a pivotal role in their decision to return to Bolivia and form the country's first 'power trio'. Their early EPs paid tribute to their musical heroes. Their second EP "Born to Be Wild II" was released in 1970, it featured a new funky version of the Steppenwolf original. It also introduced the band's first original compositions and their new influences: 'Ritmo de la Vida,' an instrumental chord-driven melody with Latin jazz overtones where we begin to hear the influence of Santana; 'El Abrigo Café de Piel de Gallina,' a standard blues number that recalls 'All Your Love' by Otis Rush; and 'The Seeker,' with a Latin vibe and lyrics that include the first reference to drug use in Bolivian music. First time vinyl reissue.

Allison and Katie Crutchfield have formed a new band called Snocaps. Their 13-track debut album, released digitally as a surprise, will be made available on April 17, 2026 in vinyl & CD formats. An indie-rock record that recalls Allison"s band Swearin" and Katie"s early records as Waxahatchee, Snocaps was born out of the twin sisters" desire to work on music together as they had in their teens and twenties. Allison and Katie are backed by friends and close collaborators Brad Cook and MJ Lenderman. The album was produced and almost entirely engineered by Cook, and all four musicians play multiple instruments across the record. After a handful of shows at the end of 2025, Snocaps will be put on ice for the foreseeable future, although, as Katie says, "Allison and I have been, in some way, shape or form, doing this together for over 20 years," so it is practically a given that they will work together on music at some point again in the future.

Allison and Katie Crutchfield have formed a new band called Snocaps. Their 13-track debut album, released digitally as a surprise, will be made available on April 17, 2026 in vinyl & CD formats. An indie-rock record that recalls Allison"s band Swearin" and Katie"s early records as Waxahatchee, Snocaps was born out of the twin sisters" desire to work on music together as they had in their teens and twenties. Allison and Katie are backed by friends and close collaborators Brad Cook and MJ Lenderman. The album was produced and almost entirely engineered by Cook, and all four musicians play multiple instruments across the record. After a handful of shows at the end of 2025, Snocaps will be put on ice for the foreseeable future, although, as Katie says, "Allison and I have been, in some way, shape or form, doing this together for over 20 years," so it is practically a given that they will work together on music at some point again in the future.

First time reissue of JP free jazz rarity, pre-Seikatsu Kōjyō Iinkai group.

The single album self-released by the quartet Shūdan Sokai in 1977 is one of the most vital documents of mid-seventies Japanese free jazz, documenting Tokyo’s free scene at the precise moment when it began to shift to a handful of tiny venues on the western fringes of the city. In Free Jazz in Japan, Teruto Soejima identifies the extant venue Aketa no Mise in Nishi-Ogikubo as the pioneer of this decamping from the centre: a cramped basement beneath a rice shop, seating just 20 people. Musician-run, operated on a shoestring, these spaces offered a vital site for community, creativity, and a small measure of financial independence — “even though it was in a basement, in spirit it was a loft.”

Among the most active of the new venues was Alone in Hachiōji, nearly an hour from Shinjuku, in a district shaped by universities, lower rents, and a thriving counterculture. Originally opened in 1973 as a jazu kissa, Alone was unusually spacious and equipped with a stage, grand piano, and drum kit. Around 1974, Junji Mori and Yasuhiro Sakakibara began working there, booking free jazz players on weekends and establishing the venue as a crucial hub. Mori recalls early appearances by figures including Kazutoki Umezu, Toshinori Kondo, and others who would define the scene.

In early 1976, Umezu and pianist Yoriyuki Harada — recently returned from New York’s loft jazz environment, where they had played with musicians such as David Murray and William Parker — formed Shūdan Sokai with Mori and drummer Takashi Kikuchi. The name, meaning “mass evacuation,” pointed to their self-chosen exile in Hachiōji. With Alone as their home base, the quartet developed a music characterized by an infectious sense of enjoyment and a willingness to integrate free jazz with elements of song structure. Harada switched between piano and bass; the group experimented with rap-like vocal pieces, jabbering nursery rhymes over bass rhythms.

They returned to Alone on December 24 to record Sono zen’ya (Eve), releasing it on their own Des Chonboo Records, partially funded by advertisements from local businesses printed on the rear cover. The closing “Ballad for Seshiru,” dedicated to Harada’s newborn son, unfolds over a delicate piano melody that moves into emphatic chords as intertwining alto lines rise and spiral.

Alone closed in September 1977, and Shūdan Sokai soon dissolved, later morphing into the expanded Seikatsu Kōjyō Iinkai Orchestra. What remains is a recording rooted in a specific place and moment: a fiercely independent scene sustained by small rooms, close listening, and collective commitment.

Anton Toorell’s second solo album, Solos II, deepens and intensifies the six-string language introduced on his 2022 debut, Solos. Rather than widening his scope, the Swedish guitarist, composer and producer sharpens his focus, homing in on the physical and sonic relationship between player, instrument and tuning. The result is three extended pieces of cascading tonality that feel disciplined yet light, their conceptual frameworks always secondary to the luminous sounds Toorell draws from two guitars.
Throughout Solos II, Toorell explores both the guitar’s potential for silvery, sometimes clashing textures and his own physical engagement with the instrument. Across ‘Volta’, ‘Cripta’ and ‘Scala’, he plays two guitars simultaneously: one fretted with the left hand using hammer-ons and pull-offs, while the right hand activates mostly open strings on a guitar resting in his lap. Despite the inherent complexity of this approach, the music never feels busy or demonstrative. Technique remains a quiet servant to Toorell’s compositional instincts and improvisational sensitivity.

The album leaves space for unplanned resonances and happy accidents, yet its structures are clear, resilient and finely balanced. The seventeen-minute ‘Volta’ unfolds as a shimmering continuum, its repeated figures gently reshaped through minute inflections, creating a sensation of constant motion. ‘Cripta’ spirals inward, cycling hypnotically in a way that recalls both Terry Riley’s iterative minimalism and the hallucinatory guitar loops of early Seefeel.
With the closing ‘Scala’, the recording environment comes fully into view. Captured in a 16th-century wine cellar at Palazzo Stabile in Piemonte, Italy, the room functions as a guiding presence and an implicit third instrument. Toorell tuned the guitars in response to the cellar’s reverberant character, seeking configurations that would open up the space itself.

Second LP of duets by these longtime VHF family staples, here delivering 2 side-long epics of “minimalist” bliss. Both sides feature Daniel on piano and Richard on zither, with rippling waves of sound recalling classics like Charlemagne Palestine’s “Strumming Music” (Dan is a frequent collaborator with C.P.) and Richard’s “Advent.” “Persian Carpets I” is a real-humans performance full of tiny variants in rhythm and attack, rising and falling in intensity – sometimes a rush of sound, sometimes a cloud of soft overtones and phantom notes. “Persian Carpets II” is more spare, with quiet and careful piano alongside Richard’s subdued accompaniment – a gorgeous bath of pointillist sound that rewards close listening.

On “Cold Sweat,” James Brown famously called to “give the drummer some.” In 1974, Philadelphia vibraphonist Khan Jamal called to Give the Vibes Some, with superb results. Pianist and composer Jef Gilson’s PALM label gave Jamal the platform he needed to deliver a thorough exploration of contemporary vibraphone. After launching PALM in 1973, Gilson quickly demonstrated that he would only produce records not found anywhere else. Give the Vibes Some, PALM number 10, was another confirmation of this guiding principle.



Raised and based in Philadelphia, Khan Jamal took up the vibes in 1968, after two years in the army during which he was stationed in France and Germany. Decisively drawn to the instrument by the work of the Modern Jazz Quartet’s Milt Jackson, Jamal studied under Philadelphia vibraphone legend Bill Lewis and soon made his debuts in the local underground.



Early in 1972, Jamal made his first recording, with the Sounds of Liberation. The band attempted an original fusion of conga-heavy grooves with avant-garde jazz soloing. Saxophonist Byard Lancaster, an important figure in Jamal’s development, contributed much of the solo work. Later in 1972, Jamal made his leader debut with Drum Dance to the Motherland, a reverb-drenched, never-to-be-replicated experiment with live sound processing. Both albums appeared on the tiny musician-run Dogtown label.



“We couldn’t get no play from nowhere. No gigs or recording sessions or anything. So I took off for Paris,” Jamal recalled in a Cadence interview with Ken Weiss. “Within a few weeks, I had a few articles and I did a record date. It didn’t make me feel good about America.” That was in 1974, while Byard Lancaster was recording the music gathered on Souffle Continu’s recent The Complete PALM Recordings, 1973-1974.



Jamal’s record date delivered Give the Vibes Some. At its core, it was an exploratory solo vibraphone album, even if two tracks added (through technological resourcefulness?) a très célèbre French drummer very much into Elvin Jones appearing under pseudonym for contractual reasons. Another track, for which Jamal switched to the vibes’s wooden ancestor, the marimba, added young Texan trumpeter Clint Jackson III. The most notable article published on Jamal during this stay in France was a Jazz Magazine interview. Jamal’s last word there were “The Creator has a master plan/drum dance to the motherland.” “Give the vibes some” could be added to this programmatic statement.

Among the true Keiji Haino devotees, Nijiumu’s Era of Sad Wings (released on P.S.F. in 1993) has always held a special place in the pantheon. Operating for only a few years in the early 90s and apparently only performing a handful of shows, Nijiumu operated at the opposite end of the dynamic spectrum to Haino’s famed power trio Fushitsusha, dwelling in a hushed, meditative realm of mysterious droning sonorities and free-floating melodies that occasionally erupts into violence. Black Truffle is pleased to announce a new double-LP edition of a lesser-known 1994 Nijiumu recording, When I sing, I slip into the microphone. Into that void, I bring comrade “prayers”, then, turning to face the outside, together we explode. Here, Nijiumu is the trio of Haino, Tetuzi Akiyama and the obscure Takashi Matsuoka, the three performing on a wide variety of string, wind and percussion instruments, as well as electric guitar and bass, and Haino’s unmistakeable voice.

Like on the early solo Haino album that shares the group’s name (released on P.S.F. in 1993), the instrumentation swims in reverb (the use of which Akiyama recalls as ‘a kind of point of the band’), often obscuring the instrumental sources. On the short opening piece, a distant reed instrument arcs long buzzing melodies over a bed of cymbals and gongs, like a psychedelic take on Tibetan music. The epic second part, occupying almost 50 minutes, begins as a splayed, near-formless cloud of electric guitar and bass, shadowed by bowed and plucked strings, the three elements working through twisting atonal shapes. At various points in the recording, we hear what seems to be the sounds of musicians moving between instruments, their shuffling and bumps fitting seamlessly into this radically open music. Eventually, what sounds like electric guitar moves closer to the foreground, fixing on a repeated melodic cell around which hover mysterious clouds of long tones and a sporadic shaker. At the half-hour mark, the music begins to build to a violently emotive climax, Haino’s impassioned vocal cries punctuating a lumbering, bass-heavy murk, contrasted at points by what sounds like a tin whistle. Suddenly, the volume drops to a near-whisper, opening the way for the stunning final moments, which touch on the slow-motion balladry of Haino’s classic Affection, here given an eccentric twist by an occasional woodblock hit. The third piece opens with a hazy trio of rumbling bass, bowed strings and abstracted slide guitar, the latter calling to mind some of Akiyama’s later solo work. Eventually joined by Haino’s voice, its fragile, haunted tone might remind the listener of the man in black’s documented love of the madrigals of the murderous Count Gesualdo, before the recording abruptly breaks off mid-note. In this new edition, the Nijiumu trio recording is supplemented by a piece recorded solo by Haino in 1973, a bracing electronic blowout stretching almost half an hour. Using a homemade electronics setup to unleash a barrage of crunching distortion and shuddering harmonic fuzz, it takes its place in the canon of extreme live electronics next to Robert Ashley’s Wolfman and Walter Marchetti’s Osmanthus fragrans, looking forward to extreme noise years before Merzbow. Taken as a whole, these four sides of music are a stunning document of some of the lesser-known waystations of Haino’s singular creative path.

Black Truffle is pleased to announce Melopea, presenting two new pieces highlighting the incredible voice of Amelia Cuni (1958-2024), the great Italian singer, based in Berlin in later life, whose mastery of the classical Indian dhrupad developed in parallel with a commitment to contemporary experimental approaches. After two stunning archival releases documenting traditional dhrupad performances in India in the 1990s (BT079 and BT092), the two side-long pieces here embody the freedom with which Cuni explored new contexts and settings for her singing.

Both make use of a long recording of Cuni singing the pentatonic Raag Bhoop (or Bhopali) made in 2012 by her partner Werner Durand in Berlin. ‘Melopea’ began from Cuni and Durand’s superimposition of this recording with violinist Silvia Tarozzi and cellist Deborah Walker’s performance of Éliane Radigue’s ‘Occam River II’. Inspired by the beauty of this chance encounter (and other experiments with non-synchronous collaboration during the pandemic years), Tarozzi and Walker recorded independently, without hearing Cuni’s voice but ‘having her present in memory’. Tarozzi and Walker’s bowed strings places Cuni’s magisterial performance in a new context, emphasising, as Radigue commented upon hearing the initial layering of her piece with Cuni’s voice, a shared ‘searching toward the partials, overtones, these natural constituents of acoustical sounds in their richness’. Beginning with whispered bowed harmonics, the violin and cello swap the stability of dhrupad’s traditional tanpura drone for a slowly evolving, uneasy web of harmonic interactions recalling some of Harley Gaber’s work, sometimes sitting on dissonances for long periods or allowing changing interference patterns to come to the fore. Primarily focusing on her lower register, Cuni’s performance demonstrates her mastery of microtonal pitch subtleties, elegant sweeping glissandi and meditatively unhurried pacing.

The continuation of the same recording by Cuni forms the foundation of ‘Bhoop-Murchana’, with Anthea Caddy on cello and Werner Durand on soprano saxophone. In contrast to the randomised layering of the first piece, here Durand and Caddy have carefully selected pitches based on the raag Cuni sings, using the ‘Murchana’ form, which uses the constituent notes of the raag as tonics of new raags, retaining the same interval structure. Both players who have developed tones of striking depth and harmonic purity on their instruments, Caddy and Durand’s patient long tones are simultaneously rigorously grounded in the physical properties of sound and possessed of an immaterial, floating quality. Combined with Cuni’s voice and, near the piece’s end, her contributions on hammered and plucked tanpura, the effect borders on miraculous. To surrender to this music is like slipping into an onsen pool, feeling the instantaneous release of every tension. Accompanied by liner notes from Durand, Tarozzi and Walker, Melopea is both a moving tribute to the profound art of Amelia Cuni and, for the uninitiated, a perfect introduction to it.

DESCRIPTION
Escape Music has the pleasure to announce the re-release of much-loved vocalist Bob Catley (Magnum/Avantasia) “Middle Earth” album. After the great success of ‘The Tower’, Bob and Gary got together again for the follow-up – ‘Legends’. It was during this period that Bob and Gary first discussed their mutual love for the work of JRR Tolkein, which planted a seed in Gary’s mind, which finally led to this full-blown concept album based around Tolkein’s work on ‘The Hobbit’ and ‘Lord of the Rings’.‘Middle Earth’ is, of course, the mythical world where all these events take place, and once again Gary’s wonderfully evocative lyrics fully immerse us into this wonderful and colourful universe. As with the previous album ‘Legends’, the band again mostly consisting of members of Ten, such as Vinny Burns and Steve McKenna, with the drum stool being occupied by Dante Fox’s Jon Cookesy. Artwork has once again been provided my world-renowned artist Rodney Matthews, whose career is inextricably linked with Magnum/Bob Catley. This ‘fellowship’ was once more prepared to take Gary’s evocative work and Bob Catley’s mercurial vocals out into the world once more.