quête:red sun

Having spent their formative years in São Paulo Brazil, as a teenager, Lau Ro found themself uprooted from their home. Moving with their family to Europe in search of a better quality of life, their story was like that of many immigrants in the same position. Lau Ro's parents found work in factories and cleaning jobs, for the first few years in the North of Italy and then in Brighton on England's Southern coast. "We never managed to visit back home, so my connection to Brazil became largely made up of childhood memories and my fascination with all the 60s and 70s music I could find from there."

In Brighton, the young non-binary singer and composer would immerse themself amongst the city's vanguard of free-thinking artists and musicians. Lau Ro formed Wax Machine whose prefigurative, psychedelic community provided a glimmer of countercultural hope amid a backdrop of national political decline. From 2020-23, Wax Machine birthed three cult-favourite albums in as many years; indebted in part to their British psychedelic forebears from progressive folk, rock and jazz yore. But the kernel of Lau's Brazilian sound was already beginning to blossom across Wax Machine's releases. Now, taking root deeper still, Lau Ro steps forward with their debut album: Cabana.

Named after the small wood cabin at the bottom of their garden where the album was recorded, Cabana is a deeply personal record of memory, self-discovery and imagination. Melancholy and hope combine across ten tracks of dreamy bossa, ambient folk, fuzzy tropicalia and majestic MPB. The music is swathed in masterful string arrangements and trippy electronics in equal part, while Lau Ro's delicate, yet quietly confident voice takes acerbic aim (in both English and Portuguese) at polluted city life, while dreaming of a utopia, rich with nature and wildlife.

Like the musical equivalent of semantic drift, Lau Ro's displacement led to the creation of another Brazil. A mythic place in Lau's soul, as they put it, "where the sunshine and joy of my childhood remained untapped." Lau continues: "It's music that might sound as if it came out of a parallel universe Brazil, rather than its modern day landscape. I am nowadays rediscovering Brazil, going back as often as I can and trying to stay connected to these different parts of the world and myself."

Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur's court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word "Camelot" accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of "utopia." In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson's 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python's 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armored knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys's profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy's White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle's extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle's Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one's own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. "Back in Camelot," she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, "I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry." The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping "in the unfinished basement," an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above "sirens and desert deities." If she questions her own agency_whether she is "wishing stones were standing" or just "pissing in the wind"_it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of "multi-felt dimensions" both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of "Camelot," with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to "Some Friends," an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises_"bright and beaming verses" versus hot curses_which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020's achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory "Earthsong," bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to _ a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?) Those whom "Trust" accuses of treacherous oaths spit through "gilded and golden tooth"_cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry_sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in "Louis": "What's that dance / and can it be done? What's that song / and can it be sung?" Answering affirmatively are "Lucky #8," an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the "tidal pools of pain" and the "theory of collapse," and "Full Moon in Leo," which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and "big hair." But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle's confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on "Lucky #8," special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle's beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia's FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad "Blowing Kisses"_Pallett's crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX's The Bear_Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer_and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: "No words to fumble with / I'm not a beggar to language any longer." Such rare moments of speechlessness_"I'm so fucking honoured," she bluntly proclaims_suggest a state "only a god could come up with." (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world_including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth_but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the "charts and diagrams" of "Lucky #8," a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in "Full Moon in Leo," the bloody invocations of the organ-stained "Mary Miracle," and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with "Fractal Canyon"'s repeated, exalted insistence that she's "not alone here." But where is here? The word "utopia" itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek "eutopia," or "good-place"_the facet most remembered today_and "outopia," or "no-place," a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary. Or as fellow Canadian songwriter Neil Young once sang, "Everyone knows this is nowhere." "Can you see how I'd be tempted," Castle asks out of nowhere, held in the mystery, "to pretend I'm not alone and let the memory bend?"

On How It Ends (?), slinky melodies snake through nocturnal atmospherics, drawing you into a world built on poetic, painterly lyricism. Night Crickets, a long-distance groove affair that materialized during the drawn-out days of lockdown, has emerged once again to soundtrack our waking dreams.

David J (Bauhaus, Love & Rockets), Victor DeLorenzo (Violent Femmes) and multi-instrumentalist Darwin Meiners spearhead a loose collective of like-minded creative souls whom, through sheer tenacity and a burning desire to collaborate and create, transcend the restrictions of space and time. Audio files shared from Los Angeles to Milwaukee, from London to the San Francisco Bay, and the ghosts of Candlestick Park shimmer through the fog, coalescing in a glorious ‘gesamtkunstwerk’ that draws from the past, the present and the imagined future.

Declaring Bauhaus, Love And Rockets, and Violent Femmes iconic, foundational bands in the history of alternative music would receive little pushback from those in the know. San Francisco born artist Darwin Meiners is a fan of all three. A chance meeting with David J grew into a friendship, and Darwin not only became a bandmate, but his manager. After reaching out to Victor DeLorenzo through e-mail, Darwin met the Violent Femmes drummer after their set at Coachella. Soon, after the three collaborated on Darwin’s 2014 release Souvenir.

As the pandemic took hold, Darwin was looking for a new project to occupy the lock down time and approached Victor, who was keen to proceed and suggested that David join as well. The musical trust established between these three was immediate and Night Crickets were born. Within weeks a global process was initiated between them, the recordings eventually forming the album, A Free Society.

Following that release, inspired by how well – and quickly – they all worked together, the trio kept up their collaboration. “We are each free to discover musical connections that could only exist in an ideal creative setting” explains Victor. “We are very lucky to have three musicians who write, sing and play various instruments in one trio… our egos seem to melt into one when we face musical decisions, so our expeditions are always filled with pure discovery, humor and drive!”

How It Ends (?) was crafted with the same collaborative spirit as A Free Society. Each member contributed contributed unique elements to spur their collective creativity—whether a drum pattern, a lyrical concept, or a musical idea—and together, they expanded these initial sparks into the finished work. True to their approach, much of what you hear was captured in the first take, reflecting a genuine, unfiltered moment.

The music on the How It Ends (?) is a true evolution of the debut album. It is deeper and darker. Having said that, the dark tone is alleviated by a healthy measure of the buoyant, bouncy and melodic. “Much of the new material is very psychedelic and the contrast between this heavy, dark psychedelia and the more uplifting pop elements puts me in mind of The Beatles’ ‘Revolver’ album to some degree,” tells David J. “The recording process for the new album was exactly the same as the first in that we all recorded remotely, taking turns to share files and reacting spontaneously to the previous track, overdubbing then passing on once again until we all felt that the track was done.”

“While we didn’t start with a specific theme, the album emerged as a contemplative exploration of endings” says Darwin. “It touches on the loss of individuals, the shifting of ideas, and the fragility of systems. Beneath this sense of darkness and finality, however, there are threads of beauty and glimpses of hope. We invite you to immerse yourself in the album and experience the journey we’ve embarked upon.”

Das neue Album 3 von Saagara ist der dritte Teil der gefeierten Zusammenarbeit zwischen dem polnischen Produzenten und Multiinstrumentalisten Waclaw Zimpel und vier virtuosen Musikern aus der karnatischen Musiktradition Südindiens: den Perkussionisten Giridhar Udupa (Ghatam), Aggu Baba (Khanjira) und K Raja (Thavil) sowie der Geiger Mysore N. Karthik. Es ist eine schwirrende Gegenüberstellung von dichten indischen Rhythmen und pulsierenden elektronischen Mustern. Ein Album mit zutiefst transformativen Kompositionen, die sich zwischen Tradition und Experiment auf dem Weg zum Universellen bewegen.

. For Fans Of: The Weather Station, Weyes Blood, Adrianne Lenker, Phoebe Bridgers, Joan Shelley, Lana Del Rey, Cass McCombs, Angel Olsen & Neil Young. Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur’s court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word “Camelot” accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of “utopia.” In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson’s 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python’s 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armoured knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys’s profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy’s White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle’s extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle’s Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one’s own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. “Back in Camelot,” she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, “I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry.” The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping “in the unfinished basement,” an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above “sirens and desert deities.” If she questions her own agency whether she is “wishing stones were standing” or just “pissing in the wind” it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of “multi-felt dimensions” both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of “Camelot,” with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to “Some Friends,” an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises—“bright and beaming verses” versus hot curses which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020’s achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory “Earthsong,” bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to … a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?). Those whom “Trust” accuses of treacherous oaths spit through “gilded and golden tooth” cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in “Louis”: “What’s that dance / and can it be done? What’s that song / and can it be sung?” Answering affirmatively are “Lucky #8,” an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the “tidal pools of pain” and the “theory of collapse,” and “Full Moon in Leo,” which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and “big hair.” But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle’s confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on “Lucky #8,” special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle’s beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia’s FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad “Blowing Kisses” Pallett’s crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX’s The Bear Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: “No words to fumble with / I’m not a beggar to language any longer.” Such rare moments of speechlessness “I’m so fucking honoured,” she bluntly proclaims suggest a state “only a god could come up with.” (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the “charts and diagrams” of “Lucky #8,” a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in “Full Moon in Leo,” the bloody invocations of the organ-stained “Mary Miracle,” and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with “Fractal Canyon”s repeated, exalted insistence that she’s “not alone here.” But where is here? The word “utopia” itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek “eutopia,” or “good-place” the facet most remembered today and “outopia,” or “no-place,” a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary

Pink Vinyl

The diminutive Peter Barclay was guy in early '90s Oakland, the eccentric with the most style, the most talent, the local magician. This self-taught musical wizard recorded at home and produced two barely-released albums, 1990's dreamlike Acceptance and 1992's synth pop What Kind Of World, winning over the few who heard them. But fame outside his small circle was not to be, and Barclay was lost in the late-'90s crest of the AIDS epidemic. Rediscovered for a new generation, this is queer music at its finest... Welcome to the world of Peter Barclay.

Tommy Musto digs even deeper to uncover his next batch from the DAT's. Another 4 mid 90’s NYC delights to bring that Red Zone, Club Zanzibar, Twilo, and Sound Factory vibe that the likes of Knuckles, Humphries, Sanchez, Simonelli, MAW, and Morales would have all been spinning.

REISSUE of Sun And Sail Club sophomore album. The name might be the Sun and Sail club, but you'll find no yacht rock here. Instead of Michael McDonald, we have Bad Brains. Kenny Loggins? Hall and Oats? More like Matt Pike and Lemmy Fucking Kilmister. "The Great White Dope" is featuring members of Kyuss, Fu Manchu, and the Adolescents, containing 10 riff-filled tracks of high energy, bullshit-free punk and sleaze. The song writing on 'The Great White Dope' steers away from the experimental direction of their previous release, and it's laser focused on one thing: unapologetically rocking your face off. The vocoder is gone and they've recruited singer Tony Adolescent, who delivers balls to the wall vocals with no added effects or frills. The production, like the music itself, is loud, heavy, and beautifully simple. "This record is a direct result of my wife telling me she was pregnant with our son. As a first time father, panic set in and I wrote the album in two hours. I wasn't sure if I'd have a lot of time once he was born so I crammed as many frantic riffs into one album as possible. Looking back it's funny to listen to now, but at the time I was on a mission. Everyone killed it on this record and we recruited Tony Adolescent on vocals which is unreal to me." - Bob Balch

REISSUE of Sun And Sail Club sophomore album. The name might be the Sun and Sail club, but you'll find no yacht rock here. Instead of Michael McDonald, we have Bad Brains. Kenny Loggins? Hall and Oats? More like Matt Pike and Lemmy Fucking Kilmister. "The Great White Dope" is featuring members of Kyuss, Fu Manchu, and the Adolescents, containing 10 riff-filled tracks of high energy, bullshit-free punk and sleaze. The song writing on 'The Great White Dope' steers away from the experimental direction of their previous release, and it's laser focused on one thing: unapologetically rocking your face off. The vocoder is gone and they've recruited singer Tony Adolescent, who delivers balls to the wall vocals with no added effects or frills. The production, like the music itself, is loud, heavy, and beautifully simple. "This record is a direct result of my wife telling me she was pregnant with our son. As a first time father, panic set in and I wrote the album in two hours. I wasn't sure if I'd have a lot of time once he was born so I crammed as many frantic riffs into one album as possible. Looking back it's funny to listen to now, but at the time I was on a mission. Everyone killed it on this record and we recruited Tony Adolescent on vocals which is unreal to me." - Bob Balch

Steve Leach's Balearic beach-funk beast Ocean Potion, recorded with the Crystal Grass Orchestra is an absolutely ace, Ned Doheny-adjacent funky AOR / blue-eyed soul BBQ classic from 1976.

Who is Steve Leach, you ask? None other than Seasick Steve in a previous life! A French-only release on Philips, it's a hugely immediate, pop-funk firecracker. It features a wonderfully lush, full orchestral sound throughout, underpinning Steve's gorgeous voice and an army of brilliant backing vocalists.

The supporting cast is phenomenal and is arguably the salient reason this is such a fantastic record. We're talking legendary players from the French scene (think Arpadys, Voyage, Kongas, CCPP, Giant, Swing Family) such as Don Ray with his arranger-conductor hat on as well as synths, Marc Chantereau on percussion, Slim Pezin on guitar, André Ceccarelli on drums, Christian Padovan on bass and Pierre Halation on flute.

With these snakes behind the scenes, it remains a mystery how Ocean Potion is so relatively unknown. Hopefully, this long overdue reissue rectifies this and puts a stop to people dropping $200 on it.

Triumphant, horn-forward opener "The Light Of The Mind" has that uniquely Ned Doheny fidgety funk feel with a fantastically irresistible chorus and great harmonies. Just magic. The insouciant, swaggering "Hey! Hey! What You Doin To Me" is straight up white-hot feel-good funk with by turns sweeping and stabbing strings and a neck-snapping break. Crucial. Coming off like something off The Beach Boy's Surf's Up or Holland (including a sneaky "reason to live" reference that surely nods to "The Trader") is the brilliantly ominous, driving wall of sound of "Take Strength". Cavernous drums, urgent strings and a staggeringly good vocal performance make this a real highlight amongst an album of highlights. The blissful folk-funk of "The Lady Of The Sea" is a real naked heartbreaker, melancholic vibes and a beautiful flute line complementing each other perfectly. Side A closes out with "All My Life", a groovy island-funk white-reggae-tinged lilter which just about lands the right side of acceptable.

Side B opens with the gorgeous "You're The Only One Girl" before the propulsive Philly soul of "At Least We Got Love" elegantly glides into focus. Pulsing beats and piano working with that irresistible orchestra of grass. Glacial ballad "All Love's Children" has a deep New Orleans soul feel that truly soars whilst the breezy "Get Out In The Sun" owes a debt to "Crocodile Rock". It's pure pop for now people and wouldn't have been out of place on a late 70s Nick Lowe effort. Deep late-period Beach Boys gem "Golden Hues" is another heavy melancholic down lifter that really beguiles before the real reason you're all here. Pastoral closer "I Meditate Each Day" is just beautiful, and likely the reason this reissue is giving you that special feeling. Another gorgeous flute-led, folk-funk groover, it featured in a memorable mix from the Creme2laCreme crew (Raphael Top-Secret, Jerome Qpchan and Antoine Kogut) live on Red Light Radio over a decade ago and has been top of many heads' wants list never since. Just mellow out.

As ever, the audio for Ocean Potion has been carefully remastered by Be With regular Simon Francis, ensuring it sounds better than ever. Cicely Balston's expert skills have made sure nothing is lost in the cut whilst the records have been pressed to the highest possible standard at Record Industry in Holland. The original, iconic sleeve featuring a topless Steve reclining next to his piano on a flatbed truck on the beach (of course?!) has been restored here at Be With HQ as the finishing touch to this long overdue re-issue.

Red vinyl, limited to 300 copies. After a nine year hiatus SUN AND SAIL CLUB are back and they've come back swinging! This album is more aggressive than the previous album, as if that was even possible. Same line-up as before featuring Scott Reeder (FU MANCHU/SMILE) on drums, Scott Reeder (KYUSS/THE OBSESSED/FIREBALL MINISTRY) on bass, Bob Balch (FU MANCHU/SLOWER/BIG SCENIC NOWHERE/YAWNING BALCH) on guitar and Tony Adolescent (THE ADOLESCENTS) on vocals. The album starts with a mellow jazz guitar piece and then proceeds to rip your face off until the end of the album, which closes with another solo jazz guitar piece. "Shipwrecked" is their strongest album yet. Fully realized and to the point. Fast and dissonant. "This album is a compilation of riffs collected over a nine year period. Most of the songs were written last year but some of them have been floating around for a while. There is a general sense of unease throughout. I wanted to make an album that went one step further than "The Great White Dope." The songs are faster and more intense at times. It's basically the soundtrack of me beating the shit out of my guitar. Then you factor in Scott Reeder on drums, Scott Reeder on bass and Tony Adolescent on vocals and you've got something more than I could have imagined by myself. This album is raw and pummeling. If you're a glutton for punishment this might be your desert Island record." - Bob Balch Recorded at Jim Monroe's The Racket Room, Casa De Balch, and Scott Reeder's The Sanctuary

Red Vinyl. Listening to Fashion Club's self-produced second album A Love You Cannot Shake feels like being caught in the crossfire of a profound beam of light. You can't help but feel both enlivened and exposed as its aberrant synth lines, artful strings and disfigured guitars swell into larger-than-life crescendos, which evoke a divine yet probing spotlight. Pascal Stevenson, the Los Angeles-based musician behind Fashion Club, likens the experience of hearing A Love You Cannot Shake to staring into the sun, and though the record wasn't written with religion in mind, its heavenly sonics and emotional sagacity also make it feel like a prophetic encounter. The album was shaped by Stevenson's gender transition and sobriety journey and parses her fluid emotions surrounding these events and other personal trials and tribulations. But as much as it's a dialogue between Stevenson's current and former selves, it's also an invitation for listeners to join her in the work of discarding bitterness and re-centering hope, especially when such efforts feel futile. Musically, A Love You Cannot Shake is an unshackling of expectations, as Stevenson's previous stint as bassist in the L.A. post-punk outfit Moaning and her first record as Fashion Club, 2022's Scrutiny, didn't necessarily reflect the full range of her taste, which includes ambient, pop, classical and dance music, or embody her sensitive tenderness and femininity. A Love You Cannot Shake also thrives on a fluid sonic palette. The album's magnetic immersiveness hinges on its strange dynamic shifts, jagged production and ambitious song structures with parts that don't repeat_choices influenced by her love of left-field electro-pop and her classical music background. While Stevenson handled most of the instrumentals on Scrutiny, this LP is much more collaborative, featuring an array of contributors who lent strings, piano, pedal steel and more. Plus, this album boasts country harmonies from Perfume Genius ("Forget"), high-pitched coos from Jay Som ("Ghost") and gauzy whispers from Julie Byrne ("Rotten Mind"). Stevenson's vocal evolution is also on display with this record, embracing a softer delivery that's more reflective of her personality and identity.

Fat Freddy’s Drop hit the ground running with new studio album SLO MO, a bass-heavy blast of redemption and resolution. Described by Fitchie as 'afro rhythmic soul music, an exploration of Black music from Polynesia’, this heady mix creates the undefinable Freddy’s sound. Renowned worldwide for euphoric live shows, the Aotearoa band stepped inside their BAYS studio in Wellington, sunup to sundown, to craft a sixth studio album. SLO MO is the strongest studio representation yet of a Freddy’s live show’, says Chopper Reeds. 'Usually we take the stage to the studio and this time, we're excited about taking our studio creation on to the stage.'
Emerging with nine tunes, SLO MO will drop first on double vinyl, opening the door for the full length album to be experienced as a body of work curated as Freddys intended.
Chopper Reeds continues, 'Towards the latter part of the record, Joe Dukie’s vocal presence becomes quite spectral allowing listeners to inject themselves into the music.
The evocative cover art is by Dan Tippett, Aotearoa New Zealand Artist, who describes the image as ‘an ancient ngahere forest in a Jurassic Aotearoa dreamtime.’

Fat Freddy’s Drop hit the ground running with new studio album SLO MO, a bass-heavy blast of redemption and resolution. Described by Fitchie as 'afro rhythmic soul music, an exploration of Black music from Polynesia’, this heady mix creates the undefinable Freddy’s sound. Renowned worldwide for euphoric live shows, the Aotearoa band stepped inside their BAYS studio in Wellington, sunup to sundown, to craft a sixth studio album. SLO MO is the strongest studio representation yet of a Freddy’s live show’, says Chopper Reeds. 'Usually we take the stage to the studio and this time, we're excited about taking our studio creation on to the stage.'
Emerging with nine tunes, SLO MO will drop first on double vinyl, opening the door for the full length album to be experienced as a body of work curated as Freddys intended.
Chopper Reeds continues, 'Towards the latter part of the record, Joe Dukie’s vocal presence becomes quite spectral allowing listeners to inject themselves into the music.
The evocative cover art is by Dan Tippett, Aotearoa New Zealand Artist, who describes the image as ‘an ancient ngahere forest in a Jurassic Aotearoa dreamtime.’

The Amsterdam-based group NAUSYQA consists of six musicians from Portugal, Spain, Italy, and the Netherlands. They are influenced by movie soundtracks (such as Hayao Miyazaki's _'Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind_'), electronic music, post-rock, drum&bass, flamenco and contemporary jazz. Engaging grooves, evocative melodies and visceral improvisation, this young band brings you to visual places with their music.

"The Nothing That Is, Fit For An Autopsy’s seventh and latest album (and third for Nuclear Blast), bears no sign whatsoever of commercial concession or rehashed past glories. Instead, the ten-song album finds the band exploring moodier textures and deeper emotions that add new power and dynamics to their already brutal and complex music, while also completely tuning out the ambient noise of passing musical trends and the expectations of the outside world.
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“Friends, they are my ticket out of this place I am in… feels like nothing more than a dirt bike vacation stop between Phoenix and San Diego.” Dirt Bike Vacation—for Worried Songs Records—explores the sonic world of the late amateur guitar player, Charles ‘Poppy Bob’ Walker, through a captivating set of instrumental songs made in the mid-1980s. Recorded on a single-track, Marantz field recorder, the project is a transportive document of Walker’s days spent as a meatpacking employee in Yuma, Arizona and the dailiness of that existence: driving to work, sitting in his backyard, walking around drunkenly, unwinding on the couch with a friend. These sketches, showing an experimental tendency, are surprisingly ahead of their time; some exhibit ad hoc tape delay (“Granite Bluffs,” “Goodbye YMCA”), while others make use of primitive overdubbing (“Continuation to Moon Doctor”). Not dissimilar to works such as Bruce Langhorne’s The Hired Hand soundtrack, Walker’s guitar playing is melodic, texturally rich and beautifully sober. On a musical tour from Nashville to Los Angeles, musician-archivist, Cameron Knowler, uncovered these songs from a series of dusty cassette tapes housed at a branch of the Yuma County Library. Originally tipped off by cryptic metadata entries found through an online finding aid, Knowler requested a sound sample and was immediately drawn in by their eerie, yet hopeful nature: “I didn’t care what they sounded like at first, but once I heard just a few seconds, I had to find out everything I could about Charles, who he was, and if he was still alive.” As it turns out, the two had miraculously crossed paths over 20 years prior when Cameron was a young boy accompanying his mother, a gem trader, on a biyearly sojourn to Quartzsite, a town 80 miles north of Yuma: “Charles, sitting down and smoking in a recliner, withdrawn, held what I now understand to be a mid-1990s Martin D-28 guitar. Unlike other old-timers, his instrument was sharply tuned and had a nice sound, even to my young and uncalibrated ears. Though his left hand showed signs of highly developed arthritis, his musical ideas were animated by a palpably deep understanding of fretboard anatomy, arrangement and harmony.” Sorting through the index cards associated with these tapes, Knowler was able to gain a detailed sense of most recording’s provenance, whereabouts and time: Walker’s Datsun pickup truck chugging along boiling hot Interstate 80, the Marine Corps Air Station parking lot, the Eastern Wetlands on the banks of the Colorado River, a fishing trip to Martinez Lake. Trying to reduce the amount of his own subjectivities coloring the work, Cameron constructed titles and track sequences by borrowing information gleaned from Charles’ handwritten notes: “I tried to organize everything by time of day, giving the listener the sense of how a Yuma day might sound and feel like, and each song title—even the record itself—is borrowed from his own words.” This proved no small task, as many notecards had to be deciphered and then coupled with their native tapes which needed extensive restoration treatments. The result is a project very much out of the blue, and one that is intensely personal to Knowler, having grown up in the same town under similar circumstances. “It feels like a part of my own journey as a guitarist reckoning with the defining marks of a gothic border town,” he remarks. “At the time I would’ve met Walker, I didn’t have much outside influence, but he has been in there all the while.” In their current form, the tracks combine to create a sonic journey that boldly contributes to the traditions of acoustic guitar soli, archival digs and field recordings all the same; most importantly, it is a creative document which shows a day-in-the-life of a man grappling with the human experience under a ubiquitous Yuma sun.

Fat Freddy"s Drop hit the ground running with new studio album SLO MO, a bass-heavy blast of redemption and resolution. Described by Fitchie as "afro rhythmic soul music, an exploration of Black music from Polynesia", this heady mix creates the undefinable Freddy"s sound. Renowned worldwide for euphoric live shows, the Aotearoa band stepped inside their BAYS studio in Wellington, sunup to sundown, to craft a sixth studio album. SLO MO is the strongest studio representation yet of a Freddy"s live show", says Chopper Reeds. "Usually we take the stage to the studio and this time, we"re excited about taking our studio creation on to the stage."

Fat Freddy"s Drop hit the ground running with new studio album SLO MO, a bass-heavy blast of redemption and resolution. Described by Fitchie as "afro rhythmic soul music, an exploration of Black music from Polynesia", this heady mix creates the undefinable Freddy"s sound. Renowned worldwide for euphoric live shows, the Aotearoa band stepped inside their BAYS studio in Wellington, sunup to sundown, to craft a sixth studio album. SLO MO is the strongest studio representation yet of a Freddy"s live show", says Chopper Reeds. "Usually we take the stage to the studio and this time, we"re excited about taking our studio creation on to the stage."

Marcus Haefs darf man wohl zurecht als Düsseldorfer Punkrock-Ikone und Szene-Urgestein bezeichnen. Von den wilden Anfängen Anfang der Achtziger im Ratinger Hof, als langjähriger Fortuna-Stadion-DJ mit Musikbeschallung fernab vom Mainstream, oder im engen Freundeskreis der Toten Hosen/ JKP-Family_der liebevoll auch "Opa" genannte Punkrocker ist bekannt wie ein bunter Hund und war auch musikalisch als Sänger in zahlreichen Bands aktiv. Irgendwie hat er bisher jedoch nie etwas außer DIY-Releases veröffentlicht (u.a. Cashbar Club). Es gibt halt wichtigeres im Punkrock! Mit seinen Freunden gründete er vor 2 Jahren die "DEAD DATES" und mit keinem passenderen Titel als "Lang genug gewartet" gibt es jetzt endlich offiziell ihr Debut auf Sunny Bastards Records! Aufgenommen in den bekannten Wild Wood-Studios in Düsseldorf (Produzent Karsten Wegener) lässt Haefs mit den Dead Dates alle Jahrzehnte seiner Szene-Leidenschaft in die Musik einfließen. Sei es das stark an alte Opel-Gang-Zeiten erinnernde "(Zusammen) die beste Zeit", 77er UK-Punkrock-Zeiten mit "Red Carpet" oder die zu jeder Zeit geltenden 3 Akkorde. Immer verbunden mit zündenden Texten, die einfach einen guten Song ausmachen wie beim ballernden Opener "Heute ist die Nacht". Dazu ist mit "Alles geht einmal auch vorbei" auch eine echte Hymne vertreten, die sofort im Kopf bleibt. Die Dead Dates haben ein perfektes Gespür, was Punkrock schon immer ausmachte und wollen auch gar nicht nach den großen Sternen greifen. Gerade das macht "Lang genug gewartet" so sympathisch!