Buscar:revelations

Rilo Kiley was born from hunger, from the insatiable desire to write one’s own story. The band’s origins can be traced back to Los Angeles in the late 1990s, when Jenny Lewis and Blake Sennett discovered a shared songwriting obsession and began performing together. After some starts and stops, a band was formed with Pierre “Duke” de Reeder playing bass. They called themselves Rilo Kiley, borrowing a name that came to Sennett in a dream.

For their second record, Rilo Kiley headed to Nebraska to record with Bright Eyes’ Mike Mogis alongside new drummer Jason Boesel. Here, Lewis truly becomes a generational songwriter, spinning interior mysteries regarding romance, depression, trauma, hope, and isolation into cathartic revelations. The Execution of All Things was a triumphant arrival.

Originally released in 2002, the celebrated and beloved album The Execution of All Things is a hallmark of indie rock. Hailed by fans and critics alike as an essential component to any record collection.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

After a 30-year interstellar silence, the enigmatic producer Alien Signal—pioneering alias of Italian electronic composer Alex Silvi—reemerges with Whispers from Distant Suns, a transcendent odyssey that bridges retro-futurism and modern electronica. Hailed as a magnum opus, this album transcends genre boundaries, captivating ambient purists, downtempo aficionados, and even experimental listeners with its hypnotic fusion of analog warmth and digital precision.

Cosmic Tapestry of Sound
Drawing comparisons to Vangelis’ Antarctica and Alpha—but reimagined through a 21stcentury lens—Whispers from Distant Suns marries nostalgic synth textures with cuttingedge production. Silvi’s mastery of melody shines through in tracks like “Stardust
Memories” and “Fragile Eden” where shimmering arpeggios and celestial pads drift over robotic, glitch-infused drum patterns and sparse, meditative percussion. The result is a paradox: a retro-futuristic soundscape that feels simultaneously ancient and alien, familiar yet unexplored.

Listener Testimonials
Fans and critics have flooded forums with praise:

“An auditory revelation! It’s like Vangelis met Jon Hopkins in a nebula—vintage soul with a futuristic heartbeat.”
“The textures are gorgeously cinematic. Closing your eyes, you’re adrift in a Tarkovsky film scored for the Andromeda galaxy.”

The Vinyl Experience
Pressed on heavyweight vinyl, the album’s physical release amplifies its immersive qualities. The gatefold sleeve, adorned with surrealist astrophotography and metallic
foiling, mirrors the music’s cosmic ethos. Side A leans into Balearic serenity, with sundappled grooves and aquatic synth ripples, while Side B delves into darker, more
experimental terrain—think Aphex Twin’s Selected Ambient Works colliding with the organic rhythms of Jon Hopkins.

Maturity in Motion
This album is a testament to Silvi’s evolution. Tracks like “Seeds Of Light” and “Message from Andromeda Galaxy” showcase his refined ear for dynamics, balancing silence and sound with surgical precision. Vintage drum machines spar with glitches, while field recordings of crashing waves and interstellar static blur the line between Earth and cosmos. The closing track, “The Star Charts We Shared” crescendos into a 6-minute ambient requiem, leaving listeners suspended in a state of weightless awe.

Final Transmission
Whispers from Distant Suns is more than an album—it’s a transcendent odyssey. Spanning time, space, and the artist’s own creative evolution, this immersive work invites listeners to lose themselves in its ebb and flow. Designed for moments both intimate and expansive, its balearic-tinged atmospheres resonate equally through dawnlit Mediterranean terraces or the solitary glow of headphones in darkness. These are compositions that pulse, morph, and haunt the air long after the final note fades. A living soundscape meant to accompany life’s quiet revelations and clandestine joys—a soundtrack to your most personal moments, crafted as what the artist calls ‘private dance music.’

Tailored for the Discerning Listener
Whispers from Distant Suns is designed with the true connoisseur in mind. This album is a must-have for:

Vinyl Collectors & Audiophiles: Those who value the warmth and tactile experience of heavyweight, limited edition pressings
Electronic Ambient and Downtempo Fans: Listeners who appreciate immersive soundscapes that merge retro analog charm with modern digital innovation.
Retro-Futurism Enthusiasts: Fans of pioneering artists like Vangelis, Boards of Canada, and early Warp Records who seek music that bridges nostalgic synth textures with futuristic experimentation.
Experimental Music Explorers: Individuals drawn to sonic narratives that invite deep, contemplative listening—perfect for both introspective moments and immersive listening sessions.
This release is not just an album; it’s a curated experience for those who desire music as a multidimensional art form, merging the vintage allure of analog sound with a contemporary, cosmic vision.

For fans of: Vangelis, Biosphere, Jon Hopkins, early Warp Records.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Lucien Kimono fully composed the original soundtrack for Season 2 of Amours Solitaires, which aired on Arte and France TV in November.

Initially a popular Instagram account before becoming a French Euphoria-style drama, the series follows the romantic wanderings of its young protagonists. From ultra-modern synthetic arpeggios to warm, nostalgic Rhodes melodies, 18 tracks map out their joys, sorrows, and orgasms.

The Durutti Column, Linda Perhacs, Penguin Cafe Orchestra, Judee Sill. Hello and welcome to Decide Which Way The Eyes Are Looking, the new record by Lina Tullgren. It is a deeply gorgeous intervention, a carefully ornamented dilemma, the most inviting crisis. Made with a host of Los Angeles musicians, Decide exposes Tullgren's daring and trust. Each song is a ring of curious sound: the skip of harp strings, the flutter of woodwinds, the ratchet of percussion, the euphonium's sigh. And at the center of each wreath, Tullgren sings, finding this space between Judee Sill and Sam Jayne. It's a tone that signals weariness, but a weariness hand-in-hand with tenacity. There's a clarity, a kind of immovability. Lina Tullgren's first record came in 2016, a homemade, under-the-skin set of laments. Subsequent LPs and constant touring cemented Tullgren's reputation as a composer of "wide-eyed wonder paired with a resonant despair." 2019's Free Cell showed Tullgren lingering in the margins of their songs, finding places both aloof and spare. Floodgates opened; Tullgren spent the subsequent years exploring deep listening, improvised music, and extended technique. They developed a patience and faith in cooperation that ranged at the far edge of song. Collaborations with Mayo Thompson and Claire Rousay furthered this development. This was not a break with the past for Tullgren, rather it was an opportunity to see how far a song could go. And from that distance, deep in a landscape of drone and tension, Tullgren returned to the bright vulnerability of a lyric and a hook. Weaving together the affective and the radical, Tullgren took the quiet isolation of a shoreline cabin to write the songs that would become Decide Which Way The Eyes Are Looking. For Tullgren, Decide is a culmination of all the work they've done throughout their life: the melodic, the dense, the confessional, the unknowable. It's also a tribute to collaboration. Describing the sessions as having "a lot of space and a lot of ease,"" Tullgren invited musicians from a vast field of songmaking to play on the recording: Leng Bian, Zach Burba, Luke Csehak, Corey Fogel, Jenny Hirons, Tara Milch, Tim Ramsey, Michael Sachs, Jude Tedaldi, Marta Tiesenga and Ben Varian. Jonny Kosmo's backhouse was offered as a cozy, easygoing space for the players to create their parts together, and the record was completed by Tullgren and Luke Csehak together at their Los Angeles home. In Tullgren's words: "I feel really strongly that this album is a portrait of the community I found in Los Angeles." Decide Which Way The Eyes Are Looking is a quiet masterpiece: a generous, memorable journey. It is the result of five years of labor, the product of abandoning the pop song entirely and starting over. Whatever wanderings or doubt fueled it, Decide is also entirely at ease: a record on which Tullgren sings "and I know/what to do now" and "I know exactly what to do" in subsequent songs, clear in the revelations this path has given the

This Is DJs Choice Vol. 4 brings you a great selection of Funk, Soul, Latin and Hip Hop.

Five years after the last installment of the series, Volume 4 is compiled by Gu, a long-time friend and DJ partner of Unique label founder Henry Storch, and the tracks represent the two decades they have known each other and played records together, as well as the music they enjoyed.

All choices are originally 7 Inch records from Gu's crates put together like a DJ-Set for you to enjoy: The Soul of The Sweet Vandals and Carlton Jumel Smith, the Deep Funk of Naomi Davis & The Knights Of Forty First Street, The Supersonics and Sharon Jackson & The Soul Destroyers, the Latin sounds of Diesler and Eli Goulart E Banda Do Mato and the Hip Hop grooves of Jay Are (aka J.Rawls and John Robinson), The Bamboos featuring Ohmega Watts and Daddy-O of Stetsasonic.

This compilation is a celebration of music from beginning to end.

About This Is DJs Choice:

The series started as a friendship project by Henry Storch, who wanted to immortalise friends and allies from the DJ scene, who picked vinyl as their format of choice. The genre didn't matter, as long as the vibe was right. In 2008 Vol. 1 featured a selection of organic Club Sounds and Break Beats put together by Soulinus & Pun, followed by Keb Darge & Lucinda Slim and their favorite Rhythm & Blues, Rockabilly and 60s Soul tunes on Vol. 2 in 2009. In 2019 Les Intouchables aka Marc Hype and DJ Suspect presented a variety of funky and soulful music with an addition of the occasional Boogie, Reggae and Hip Hop track.

About Gu:

Gu is a DJ, musician, label owner, producer, writer and producer from Northern Germany. His dedication to music started in his pre-teens in the late eighties and he is playing vinyl ever since. Over the years he has worked with a number of his favorite DJs and artists like Keb Darge, Andy Smith, Snowboy, The New Mastersounds, Osaka Monaurail, The Sweet Vandals, The Allergies, Andy Cooper of Ugly Duckling, Daddy-O of Stetsasonic and Chuck D of Public Enemy to name a few. His DJ career took him all over Europe again and again.

In 2005 he started Our Label Records with his brother Tom to release new Funk music on 7 Inch vinyl and added the Hip Hop 45 imprint Origu in 2015. Since 2009 and he is on air every week with his radioshow Home Diggin', which was also picked up by Chuck D's Rapstation in 2019. Additionally he is lead singer/rapper for the Songcore duo Sorry We're Closed and the Hip Hop outfit Alder Ego. He also does readings of his book of one-liners and competing on Slam Poetry stages.

2024 Re-Edition

Strangelove's personal Inventory of NZ 1980's odd pop; 'Kiwi Animals' recasts the local charts in a parallel universe of misfit melodics, gonzo-tronics & strange waves. Channelling South Pacific voodoo and edge of world melancholia, the album highlights electronic tangents from iconic NZ groups Blam Blam Blam & Headless Chickens. It dredges the cassette revelations of art avante-gardists' Drone & Kim Blackburn, alongside bittersweet moments from Rupert & Norma O'Malley. There's the infectious minimal wave of Ballare and a reprised electro-boogie dance suite (?!) from Tom Ludvigson & Graeme Gash. The furthest depths of Flying Nun's catalog are also plundered- a brilliant earworm from Stiff Herbert and a mysterious "Roger" Knox birthday promo. Mining disparate seams of a local indie label awakening, the various tangents of 'Kiwi Animals' congeal with a future/primitive sensibility and an underlying Antipodean mischievousness…

"Mountain Music is Nina Nesbitt as fans have never heard her before. Having risen to fame at a young age with her disarming, candid pop – the Scottish musician is now found in an entirely new realm. It is inspired in part by the two years she spent touring the States in support of her second studio album: the critically acclaimed Top 40, The Sun Will Come Up, The Seasons Will Change, which has now accrued over a billion streams. These songs are permeated with gorgeous nods to US folk and Americana. It’s made all the more extraordinary by the face that, not long ago, Nesbitt was considering quitting music altogether. Produced by Peter Miles and Nesbitt, mixed and mastered by Miles at his stunning studio MiddleFarm in south Devon, and released via her own label, Apple Tree Records. A playful nod to her 2012 debut EP, TheApple Tree, this marks the start of an exciting new era for Nina Nesbitt. While it might sound strange that Nesbitt was drawn to the music of Appalachia, heard echoing through the vast, verdant mountain ranges of the eastern United States, it makes more sense when you consider how traditional Scottish ballads and hymns are threads in that rich tapestry.

Empathy is one of Nesbitt’s greatest strengths. We hear it on “Painkiller”, a Joni Mitchell-indebted ballad on which her heart breaks for the men who believe they have to suppress their own feelings. One of the album’s standout qualities is, perhaps, the dynamic that Nesbitt creates from one song to the next. Where many folk artists might lean into quiet introspection, she craves the full spectrum of emotion – so ensconced around “Painkiller” you have the tender “On the Run’, with its distant shivers of percussion and crystalline piano, but also “Anger”. She’s in a nostalgic mood on the rousing “Coming Home”, a Springsteen-inspired, driving-with-the-top-down journey back to the places and people she loves. We all lose ourselves sometimes. The trick is learning how to find our way back, pushing those clouds away to see the blue skies beyond. For artist Nina Nesbitt, hard-hitting truths and revelations take precedent on her remarkable, career-best album, Mountain Music. Nesbitt knows exactly who she is, and now, she’s ready to tell the world."

Italian-Austrian sound poet & vocalist NicoNote (Music From Memory, Mille Plateaux,Rizosfera, Rough Trade) presents new album ‘REGOLA’ A suite in nine movements inspired by the mythic medieval composer Hildegard von Bingen (1098-1179) (RIYL Björk, Anohni, Meredith Monk, Elizabeth Fraser, Lena Platonos, Anna Caragnano & Donato Dozzy) An ambitious, conceptual work of hypnotic, immersive electronics & transcendent, experimental vocals, exploring the enduring influence of the polymathic German saint & philosopher.

Nine visionary and ritualistic soundscapes harnessing the voice as an instrument of transcendent expressive power; a visceral, timeless exploration of human nature. ‘REGOLA’ (Italian for ‘RULE’) is a record that calls for a contemplative form of deep listening, a time-dilating experience in which the polyphonic voices of NicoNote ascend, opening up a portal into an archaic, eternal past, where lost sounds coalesce with future revelations.

Cryptic Hatred was formed in 2019 by four friends bound together by their mutual passion for music and death metal. In summer 2020 they quickly released their first demo Free from the Grave to positive international feedback. The demo then received a CD release from the US-based Desert Wastelands label, as well as a release in Europe via Finland-based The Other Records. Soon after, the debut album Nocturnal Sickness dropped in early 2022 (again via The Other and Desert Wastelands), elevating the band to even greater standing in the global death metal underground. The feedback was overwhelmingly positive from both the fans and the metal media, highlighting the leaps the band made in terms of both musicianship and songwriting. Nocturnal Sickness sold over 1000 physical copies and streamed over 100 000, with high praise coming from metal press (such as the esteemed US metal magazine Decibel). The songs on Nocturnal Sickness were notably in the vein of classic Florida death metal - but it also had moments of unhinged melody and savagery which highlighted the band's movement towards their own, identifiable sound. "Internal Torment" is a testament to Cryptic Hatred's ability to craft music that speaks to the soul. It is an invitation to explore the shadows within, to confront the demons that lurk in the recesses of the mind. With each listen, new revelations await, making this album a haunting journey of self-discovery. Prepare to be spellbound by the subtle intricacies of "Internal Torment," as Cryptic Hatred invites you to lose yourself in the haunting beauty of their mesmerizing cryptic metal sound.

"Even God Has A Sense Of Humor" is the long-awaited follow up album to Maxo's critically acclaimed 2019 release Lil Big Man. Across the 14-tracks, Even God Has A Sense Of Humor pays tribute to the mercurial nature of life and includes features from Liv.e, keiyaA, LastNameDavid, and Melanie Charles along with the previously released singles "Free!," produced by Dev Morrison and "48," produced by Madlib and featuring Pink Siifu. The FADER recently sat down with Maxo to discuss the album, which they described as having "a defiant glow, like a bronze statue still standing after an intense tornado."

Born Maxamillian Allen, Even God Has A Sense Of Humor finds Maxo earnest, full-hearted, and lyrically agile. His delivery punches as he poetically unpacks the trials and blessings that have marked the last three years since Lil Big Man, his stirring and meditative debut album. “Life is always gonna be life-ing,” Maxo says, speaking to the spiritual lessons that inspired this new project and an album process that has revealed to him the many ways in which he’s divinely protected.

The album’s striking cover features three casted sculptures of Maxo by legendary NYC-based artist artist John Ahearn, photographed by the rapper’s friend Steven Traylor. The image both preceded the music and set the tone for the record’s overall aura. Experiencing the casting process—which required long periods of stillness for form, and breathwork to avoid claustrophobia—became a metaphor about ego death for Maxo. “I had to go to a space where I was just not there,” he says. As the molding was poured over his body and the voices of those in the room became distant, Maxo’s inner world came into focus. “By the time it hardened, it seemed like the sculpture had risen to be 20 feet above where it was first— almost like it grew tall,” he explains. EGHASOH, in its aural ebbs and flows, honest questioning, profound revelations, and elegant verse, is Maxo standing spiritually tall following a period of challenges with family and friends.

Maxo’s writing process has always been rooted in imagery, observation, and capturing moments. Growing up in Southern California, Maxo spent a lot of time combing through old family photo albums, some of whose contents have become the artwork for prior releases. But his fascination with visual memento is less about nostalgia or remembering, and more about exploring concepts of growth, healing, and cycles. His artistry is intentional and deeply sensitive: “If I’m not feeling it, I’m not gonna record.” While his past records openly grappled with emotional turbulence, anger and depression, EGHASOH is Maxo’s acceptance stage: “I can't really judge nothing. I can't sit up and be mad at shit because everything is, everything is kind of coexisting,” he says.

Musically, EGHASOH is an impressive evolution from Maxo’s earlier, unornamented lo-fi projects. With an emphasis on jazzy instrumentalism and soothing, intricate vocals from both the artist and featured chanteueses Liv.e, Melanie Charles, and keiyaA, EGHASOH is a welcome and beautifully complex sonic effort. Its contributors include a range of musicians: Pink Siifu, LastNameDavid, Madlib, GrayMatter, Karriem Riggins, Beat Butcha, Lance Skiiiwalker, and more. The album was executive produced by Mount Kimbie’s Dom Maker.

“Nobody talks about the fact that we’re changing as we get older... Everybody just acts like you supposed to know,” Maxo says on album standout, “Face of Stone”. It's moody bassline meets a cinematic accordion melody that paradoxically both broods and uplifts—a fitting production choice that mirrors the song’s story. “I’m seeing how this world is chipping you and withering your bones,” Maxo says. “I’m talking about myself, talking about my bro. But it’s never nothing you gonna do that’s a one stop shop in this life. You gotta keep staying diligent and consistent.” For Maxo, Even God Has a Sense of Humor is nothing more than another moment on the timeline of his offerings of self-expression as an artist—one whose sole intention is to, in his words, develop as a human being and heal.

Søren Skov Orbit's debut album, "Adrift," is at once subtle and profound. The saxophonist and his collaborators have created something quite special and consistently deep. This record may not easily be classifiable, but the most interesting music creeps between the lines

Danish tenor and soprano saxophonist Søren Skov (Debre Damo Dining Orchestra) and keyboardist Peder Vind co-founded the trippy quintet Søren Skov Orbit in 2016 to explore “more jazzy ideas,” as the saxophonist puts it. Joined by a rhythm section steeped in contemporary improvisation and psychedelia, bassist Casper Nyvang Rask, drummer Rune Lohse and percussionist Ayi Solomon of the legendary 80's Ghanaian roots/highlife band Classique Vibes, the Orbit belts out a richly focused helping of broadly African-inspired modern jazz with a hazy sheen.

On the opening “Notifications of Nothingness,” Skov digs in his heels, a steely but languid unspooling of burnished tenor lines atop condensed, quavering piano and the thick footfalls of bass and percussion. As a tenor player, Skov has done his homework and has a kinship with Albert Ayler, Archie Shepp, J.R. Monterose, and the Dutchman Hans Dulfer, but he clearly has got his own robust phraseology and expressiveness. He also cites multi-reedists John Gilmore, Yusef Lateef, and Bilal Abdurahman as, “some of the players I’ve been listening to the most for the last 10-15 years.”

A healthy dose of reverb is present throughout the album, echoing Alton Abraham’s studio wizardry with the Sun Ra Arkestra or the trance-inducing and compressed fidelity of certain Ethio-jazz and Mystic Revelations of Rastafari sessions. Skov notes that, “everything is recorded live at the same time in the same room. I wanted to do it that way in order to catch the dynamics and authenticity of the music.” There is, in fact, a complex teeter- totter between crisp and hazy execution, achieved by a delicately balanced mix that keeps the group’s sound simultaneously advancing and receding. Vind’s phrasing is terse and introspective, a vibrating echo that nudges and reflects on Skov’s brusque tenor in a dance of sonic displacement.

“Orbiting” pits a chunky backbeat and the teetering, taut hand-rhythms of Solomon against an infectious, almost microtonal piano riff, while Skov’s arpeggios are clean and florid as he patiently rises up from under a carpet of funky loops. Following the freer “Reflections of Rif,” “Naration” lilts with a wink at “Footprints” and tugs between up-tempo polyrhythmic drive, clanging keyboard accents, and the innately steadfast keenness of the bandleader. The coupling of Solomon and Lohse is a big part of the group’s detailed energy; as the leader puts it, “Ayi knows everything about regional differences in drum patterns. He is always listening and super responsive, and his and Rune’s dynamics are amazing.” The music both presents a “vibe” and keeps the door open for engaging well under the surface as repeated listens will be extremely rewarding.

Last Summer, Daniel Foggin, guitarist, writer and chief architect of Smote, uprooted himself from his usual home in Newcastle to live and work in a farmhouse in Kelso, near the Scottish border. “Through the summer when I was working up there, myself and Rob (Smote drummer) would finish work and go sit by a small river and have a couple of beers in the sun, and it was the best thing ever” he relates “So I guess the philosophy is that to some people it looks like any other stream, but to us it was supreme happiness.” Hence came the title of the fourth Smote album proper, one largely recorded in this same farmhouse – A Grand Stream. It’s an album that’s the truest incarnation thus far of his vision for this band – a full-scale psychic voyage into the ether and a drone-and-repetition-fuelled series of incantations that takes simple, primal ingredients and utilises them for the purposes of aural sorcery, summoning spectres and revelations aplenty in its wake. Whilst the folk-tinged, ceremonial ambience that Smote have made their trademark is present and correct here, utilising Swedish classic psych heaviness and Swans textures as fuel for the ominous rhythms of ‘Coming Out Of A Hedge Backwards’ and the uplifting cadences of opener ‘Sitting Stone Part 1’, Foggin and his cohorts also waste little time exploring new more eerie and ethereal textures and dimensions. The meditative ‘Chantry’ in particular sees them gravitate towards a headspace akin to the drone-based epiphanies of Kali Malone’s ‘Does Spring Hide Its Joy’ filtered through the transcendent amplifier worship of ‘Earth 2’. A Grand Steam takes this band – one who’ve always eschewed the cliches and stumbling blocks of all contemporary psych rock in favour of their own unique and wyrd vision – into a realm in which they transcend through willpower and skill alike into something preternaturally thrilling, mapping out their own crepuscular new territory Question is; dare you step over the threshold?

Sumer Is Icumen In is Quentin Thirionet's (Dhavali Giri, Pairi Daeza) debut album. Still, his musical escapades are vast and varied, based almost entirely on improvisation and live recordings, of which he occasionally distributes tapes without further information. Elusive to categorization and identification, unwilling to fix his musical activity under a stable pseudonym, his projects have ranged from gypsy jazz guitar swings, French traditional songs from Auvergne, and various experimental collaborations. Increasingly closer to electronic instrumentation, he crafted what Belgian label KRAAK presents here as Maibaum, his first ever solo output. As the title goes, this may be a maypole on which his multicolored sonic visions spring about.

Former rope access worker and currently a farmer of organic greens, Thirionet lives up to these lines of work as a musician. He assembles precisely what seems like a subtle balance between high manmade structures and soft fertilized soils; a high voltage pylon placed in a biotic landscape. It's all an even blend, spontaneous and steady, but this contraption comes from profound considerations. "I chose these tracks among many others," says Quentin, "because I heard the melodies all the time in my mind, and because I cried while playing them without really understanding why."
Armed with nothing more than a blackbox, a sequencer, a freeze pedal, and a tape player, Thirionet orchestrates a vivid rite of polished futures. At times reminiscent of Hans-Joachim Roedelius' enveloping arrangements, Maibaum's ambiances rely on mild repetitive patterns subsequently textured by prickling sprouts, mechanic dislocations and revamps that stoke and brighten the stirring motions. Jim O'Rourke's I'm Happy and I'm Singing comes to mind in terms of its detailed and prismatic nature, but Sumer Is Incumen In has its particular narrative. It's a tale of regeneration, of spring's delicate procedures and allure, a celebration of gracious and fortunate junctions between nature and machinery.

The album unfolds like a massive engine being made flesh to drift along the ether of a sultry land. The terrain turns pleasant and fertile in the title track; the colors and melodies of May start to unravel. Chromatic columns rise and define the scenery's depth of field breeding a synesthetic stream between crystal lights and warbling organisms. Grande Albero Buono Magico Uoma's brisk kaleidoscopic arpeggios sound like scanning a tree's litmus foliage. Then Ciguri takes us back to the foggy swamp of the beginning but is suddenly lit by an insect’s labyrinthine roundabout. The Jeweled Grid is a poem Quanta Qualia's lustrous metallic voice recites as a report of the album's phenomena. "Shiny revelations jump out. Pearls of thought flicker about." Images from within that distill to swirl around among us. The thicket dissolves as the album concludes calmly in Le Concept De Chien N'aboie Pas. Swaying under sieved solar light, leaves and branches tingle until the winds grow weak. All the warm creatures gathered along the way, and all those who danced around the maypole's splendid equilibrium now withdraw, folding up small to foster rebirth once again.

José Badía Berner

Philly heavy-weight OT The Real has been steadily building up his reputation in the game over the last few years, projects with Heatmakerz and DJ Green Lantern have been solidifying his name in the world of underground hip-hop, and this brand new collaboration with veteran Boston native producer Statik Selektah is yet another proof of his relentless work ethic and growth. Featuring guest appearances by Freeway, Merkules and Wallo among others, "Maxed Out" is yet another step up in OT's catalog, setting his path on the way up!

On 1977's Mind Storm, the final album made prior to his emphatic retirement, Burchette employed "pink sound," a phenomenon known in acoustical science to open the mind to thrilling psychic revelations, setting down two side-long pieces forming a reflecting crystal ball for squalls of deep br ain imagery.