Search:second life

Z Records returns with a Hustle-tastic 12" to light up both your life and DJ sets. It's the boss himself Dave Lee who kicks off with his extended rework of a bonafide Brit Funk classic in the shape of Hi Tension's 'British Hustle'. Featuring David Josephs's signature vocals over the chugging Caribbean rhythm track, its a song that's never received an extended club mix from the tapes since its first release in 1978. His second cut is a Re-Wriggle of a Funky Worm volume pumping classic that becomes a fat-bottomed house jam with stomping brass, ear-worm vocal hooks and Latin inspired keys. "On the flip' (as they say) is Foreal People's 'Tango Hustle' - a driving clav heavy, jazz funk workout complete with chanting dance instructions over various solos. Add in an Acapella and some 'Hustle Beats' and you have a very muscular package.

Invitation to the Dance is the second album by nu metal band 40 Below Summer. The album was released on October 16, 2001. The album combines the downtuned riffs of nu metal/alternative metal with elements of New Jersey hardcore, hip hop, jazz and hard rock. Invitation to the Dance was made with the help of with well-known rock and metal producer GGGarth (Rage Against the Machine, Mudvayne) Allmusic wrote about the album "Invitation to the Dance at first glance may seem to be just another hard rock album, but along with further observation it is apparent that 40 Below Summer is striving to spice up what modern hard rock became in the 21st century." Invitation to the Dance is now available for the first time ever on vinyl, it's a numbered limited edition of 750 copies on translucent green coloured vinyl and includes an insert.

A sprawling patchwork of the artist’s dreams and fears, Parannoul’s third album After the Magic explores the enigmatic solo artist’s life in the wake of his second album’s overnight success.

Expanding on the shoegaze-shaded emo that made Parannoul’s To See the Next Part of the Dream so beloved by lo-fi and indie rock fans alike, After the Magic sees the anonymous auteur striving to write a follow-up as worthy of acclaim as the last.

Across the album’s ten songs, Parannoul plunges yet deeper into his diverse pool of influences, coming back to the surface with a record that captures and extends the magic of its predecessor. Unexpected flashes of orchestral ambient and glitched-out electronica meld seamlessly with Parannoul’s signature passages of noisy, distortion-laden shoegaze, offering a real time glimpse into the maturation of one of indie rock’s most exciting artists.

In the artist’s own words, “This album is not what you expected, but what I always wanted.”

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.

Unwonted is a recently founded Electro project by the Techno veterans Alexander Johansson & Mattias Fridell, providing us with another massive 5 track EP called Analog Astronaut. This record marks the second part of the two-EP series.

This is my second solo vinyl EP, inspired by my life in Berlin and playing in Europe. It was an unforgettable time, which I tried to reflect in the music you hear. The record is very different, but I think it was meant to be.

This release is on one of my favorite labels and club which is located in the most beautiful city of Verona, Italy. This place means a lot to me and it’s an honor to be a part of this history.

Ramu Records presents their third release – ‘S Gytis - Aš Čia’ (translated as ‘I Am Here’). It’s a full-length double vinyl album, which is S Gytis’ second release. The sound of Gytis’ creation evolves alongside his life. Having swapped city noise for a rural setting, he began exploring new directions and this time settled on acoustic instruments. The deep experimental sound is infused with freshness and vitality. The entire album spans diverse spaces and emotions. Each track tells a unique story – a story about feelings or the spaces that Gytis wants to introduce us to.

The Irish producer t-woc makes his return to Rudimentary Records with Scenes, Journeys & Colors, his second LP for the label. The bones of the album was made during the 'quiet time' starting with a track that didn’t make the cut on this release but had provided the blueprint to that project titled ‘Street Soul Osaka’. It was a recent chance encounter with a lone boombox playing actual street soul on a pavement in Osaka that it became clear the project needed to be released and the album was completed in Dublin in 2024.

This album is crafted through a blend of samples, live instrumentation, field recordings and studio experimentation. The tracks are a mix of the slow and low, interspersed with minimal ambient pieces with a pronounced dub undercurrent, and a tip of the hat to the cosmos. There are also some vocoders and a fair dose of weirdness.

Since his 2016 LP for Rudimentary - ‘Sentinelas’, t-woc has released with Strangelove Records, Emotional Response, Macadam Mambo amongst others and is a regular contributor to DJ Sofa’s Elsewhere compilation series.

'Through Today' is the sophomore album for rising Australian band Chimers. A husband / wife duo comprising life partners Padraic Skehan (vocals / guitar) and Binx (drums / vocals). Recorded by Jono Boulet (Party Dozen) over two days at Stranded Studios, Wollongong and mixed at Boulet’s Sydney home studio, produced by the band and veteran manager / promoter / producer Tim Pittman (Feel Presents), 'Through Today' features ten tracks of tightly-coiled intensity that barely lets up for all of its 34 mins. In enlisting Boulet, the band were confident that due to his own experience of being one half of Party Dozen, they had someone who understood the confines of working within the structure of a two-piece but also the possibilities that creates. Boulet, in turn, rewarding that trust by capturing a powerful bedrock of sound that allowed the band's taught rhythms to circle and permeate and yet give full breathing space for the melody within. For Pittman’s part, having a third ear on hand to devote serious listening time and critical commentary was an added bonus. It’s a major step forward from the band’s 2021 self-titled debut. A twelve track effort that snuck out during covid and only hinted at the power within. "Our debut felt more like just trying to capture the songs we had at the time, we weren’t sure if we’d even release it or if it would be our only album" "This time around we were intent on capturing the energy and intensity of our live show on the recording but with a more produced sound than self-titled. We worked more on song structure previous to the sessions. We rehearsed a lot playing quietly so we could actually talk to each other whilst playing the song and iron out any kinks.” “Jono turned the whole live room into a drum room, mics everywhere. The guitar amps were situated outside to prevent too much spill but still recorded live along with about half of the vocals. Second guitar and the rest of the vocals were recorded the next day. Jono was super quick and had the same work ethic and mindset, get in, get it done. If the first take was good enough, move on.” - Padraic Lyrically Chimers maintain the intensity as they tackle the themes of love, life, death and relationships, distance from home (Padraic is Irish, moving to Australia in 2001) and the current political climate providing enough drama to fuel a forest fire. Guest musicians on the album include saxophonist Kirsty Tickle - also of Party Dozen - and violinist Jordan Ireland of The Middle East. Both of whom were invited in on short notice adding their respective parts in just 1-2 takes each without any prior knowledge of the material. Binx too showing added versatility contributing lead vocals to An Echo and sharing lead across 3AM, Generator and others. “Singing is not something that comes naturally to me, and it was at the last minute before we went into the studio that Padraic suggested I sing the lead in An Echo. Having very minimal musical instruments within the band I think having the two different vocals adds a nice dynamic to the record.” - Binx 'Through Today' is a great album. Solid and confident from the get go. No waste. No unnecessary fat. Should it be Chimers last it would remain a defining statement of originality and intent. But it’s not the last, it’s just the beginning. And there’s plenty more where that came from. BIO Like many good bands Chimers are a band born of isolation, not geographically though, via the pandemic. Irish born Padraic Skehan and his life partner Binx, formed the band in their Wollongong backyard during the initial lockdown of 2020. Veterans and drummers both of the ‘Gong’s vibrant garage-scene – The Pink Fits, The Drop Offs, Evol and more – Chimers is an altogether different beast, Padraic taking a giant leap forward by removing himself from the back-seat and assuming the role of driver; singing, playing guitar and writing the songs that would eventually become their 2021 self-titled debut album. It’s a sound and album that draws heavily on Skehan’s time as a youth in Ireland and the post-hardcore sounds of Dischord Records, Husker Du, The Wipers and which has seen the band find friends and favour in like-minds The Mark Of Cain, Henry Rollins, Guy Picciotto and Mudhoney. This is no mere nostalgia though, the band instead landing at the vanguard of a new generation of Sydney and surrounds bands – Body Type, Second Idol, Dust, Private Wives, R.M.F.C – borrowing from the past in order to create a future.

Fresh from the triumphant return of a successful domestic and international tour, Smif-N-Wessun's new album is a cumulative reflection of their life experiences. Executive produced by college professor and world-renowned producer 9th Wonder and the Soul Council, 9th explains the thought process with the album. “I wanted to make sure that it didn't sound dated. It sounds like them (Smif-N-Wessun), but it's also new. They are our generation's version of Thelonious Monk, Charlie Parker, Donald Byrd.”

Illustrious MCs featured on the album include Buckshot, Pharoahe Monch, Conway the Machine, legendary artists Sean Price and Prodigy, multi-platinum RnB legend Ralph Tresvant, along with rising stars Sweta and Jalisa. Scheduled for release January 10th, 2025, Infinity cements Smif-N-Wessun's status as creators of nothing but classics. This is their eighth album and the second collaboration with 9th Wonder and the Soul Council. Showcasing buttery beats from Council members, 9th Wonder himself, Khrysis, SND*TRK, Kash, Mu'aath, and Nottz, the album delivers a sonic smash that will satisfy everyone from the rap purist to new school connoisseurs.

The second Jamming Is Life release comes from Amsterdam’s hidden gem RDS. After a close friendship of almost a decade, I feel proud to showcase his work on my imprint.
His signature style flows from the use of dusty machines dating back further than himself. Including many limitations in his process, inspiration is bound to erupt, and you clearly hear it on this record.

The balance in the selection sways from modern acid on the first track Creek, mysterious tech on A2: Chronicles, a proggy and tribal tool on the B1, Slappy Whappy Dub. Rounding it out with the last track Syngery-Lo, with a subtly trancy techno cut. Let it speak to you

Obliteration is imminent: As The World Dies return with their triumphant second offering. “Nebula” is a colossal lesson in crushing death metal and cosmic mysticism. “‘Nebula’ is the quintessence of what As The World Dies is all about,” band leader and scene veteran Scott Fairfax says. “We pushed our musical boundaries and wanted to create an album that was both brutal and thought-provoking. It’s heavier, darker and more profound than anything we’ve done before.”

While we go about our petty business, leading our small and insignificant live under the sun, death is hurtling towards us at breakneck speed: An asteroid names Apophis will come in very close contact with planet Earth in 2029. Aptly named after the Egyptian god of dissolution, darkness and chaos, it has the power to obliterate life as we know it. Seriously: it doesn’t get any more death metal than this.

Scott Fairfax is well aware of that. The death metal veteran of Memoriam fame is back with his other vehicle of death and destruction, As The World Dies. Three years after their earthshattering and star-studded debut “Agonist”, he’s taking things into space with “Nebula”, a cosmic death metal requiem of colossal proportions. Brought to life and recorded mostly by Scott Fairfax alone in his home studio, this isn’t so much of a band effort and rather the work of a dedicated individual pissed off by pretty much everything going on around him.

Angry, haunting and miserable songs are, though. “Nebula” is full of them. An album like an uncompromising alien threat to our planet, as unrelenting and indifferent as an asteroid. The end is coming, folks. Let’s all enjoy it while we can

Obliteration is imminent: As The World Dies return with their triumphant second offering. “Nebula” is a colossal lesson in crushing death metal and cosmic mysticism. “‘Nebula’ is the quintessence of what As The World Dies is all about,” band leader and scene veteran Scott Fairfax says. “We pushed our musical boundaries and wanted to create an album that was both brutal and thought-provoking. It’s heavier, darker and more profound than anything we’ve done before.”

While we go about our petty business, leading our small and insignificant live under the sun, death is hurtling towards us at breakneck speed: An asteroid names Apophis will come in very close contact with planet Earth in 2029. Aptly named after the Egyptian god of dissolution, darkness and chaos, it has the power to obliterate life as we know it. Seriously: it doesn’t get any more death metal than this.

Scott Fairfax is well aware of that. The death metal veteran of Memoriam fame is back with his other vehicle of death and destruction, As The World Dies. Three years after their earthshattering and star-studded debut “Agonist”, he’s taking things into space with “Nebula”, a cosmic death metal requiem of colossal proportions. Brought to life and recorded mostly by Scott Fairfax alone in his home studio, this isn’t so much of a band effort and rather the work of a dedicated individual pissed off by pretty much everything going on around him.

Angry, haunting and miserable songs are, though. “Nebula” is full of them. An album like an uncompromising alien threat to our planet, as unrelenting and indifferent as an asteroid. The end is coming, folks. Let’s all enjoy it while we can

Cross Record's new album, Crush Me, is steeped in the pressures and wonders of existence—a profound statement, especially coming from artist and death doula Emily Cross. A two-and-a-half-year gestation period offered challenges, disappointments, and joys reflected in the cramped space of the album, which explores how we handle the weights we carry. Emily Cross had held hundreds of Living Funerals and was as many episodes deep into her podcast, What I’m Looking At. She was five years into serving clients as a death doula and fresh off a tour with Loma, her band with Jonathan Meiburg (Shearwater) and Dan Duszynski, when she began work on her fourth album. After moving from Austin, TX to Dorset, UK, she established the Steady Waves Center for Contemplation (named after a track from her second record, Wabi-Sabi ), where she hosted Living Funerals, met clients, scheduled mindful tea sessions, and showcased experimental music nights. All the while, she was scribbling down song ideas. Cross’s Tascam four-track demos finally reached readiness, and she sent them to an interested major independent label. She was encouraged to push her imagination to the limits of what a record could be. So, unlike her usual process of recording as inexpensively as possible, she prepared a two-week recording session in Germany with a group of skilled musicians from around the world. True to her previous work, Cross left plenty of room in her demos for experimentation, collaboration, chance, improvisation, and complete obliteration, then resurrection when necessary. Comfort and traditional structure were eschewed in favor of unaccountable magic, prayers whispered into The Void. Cross is comfortable with the chaotic and unpredictable, a perspective demanded by her work and writing style. The Berlin Airbnb was packed with people, instruments and luggage. During a ride down in a tiny elevator to the studio, Cross realized how central the sense of being crushed was to the album. “I thought of it later and it dawned on me that ‘Crush Me’ perfectly embodied the record,” says Cross. Yes, the weight of a body laying limply atop yours, or the tight squeeze of a hug, can be pleasant. Go too far, and you’re in the hands of a cruel, adolescent god. Upon leaving Germany, the record was unfinished, and without a roadmap. As passages were recorded as isolated parts, Cross and musician Marcin Sulewski collaborated, facing a haphazard brick pile, waiting to be assembled. Work dipped in and out of view like a buoy bobbing in a violent sea over many months. During that time, the aforementioned interested label went radio silent, suddenly not seeming so sure of a thing. Collaborators disappeared, continuing the themes of abandonment, surrender, and disarray that followed the project. Cross physically felt her entire body go numb: In a twist of fate, the record was rescued by long-time friend and supporter Ben Goldberg at Ba Da Bing Records who was eager to help realize the project. Cross worked for months on the album, all the while nursing a pregnancy and continuing her full-time funeral work. The last minute participation of Seth Manchester of Machines with Magnets, who mixed and mastered, was an essential liferaft. He gave true final form to the abstracted songs. Crush Me has the effect of a spell being cast, with songs balancing heaviness and levity. Vocals, guitars, and keyboards float above, as drums and upright bass (often bowed) lurch beneath. On “Rolling Backwards” percussion wanders about while feedback squeals and persists in the distance. “Dorset Area Of Natural Beauty” starts with a thick, unhinged church organ progression punctuated by the disquieting sounds of laughter reaching the point of hysteria. “God Fax” is a slow-moving panic attack, with shallow breaths in and out framing a guttural cacophony like a wooden freighter encountering increasingly turbulent waters and vocals struck emotionless by autotune. The album ends with “Twisted Up Fence,” a reflection on life from outside the wall--wistful, warm, and comforting. Cross, likely with a smile on her face, sings: “You say it’s an endless abyss” “And I say the abyss is the best”

It's hard to imagine El León Pardo, a loyal advocate of some of the most advanced projects in which folklore is the road map and the destination itself, without his kuisi. It's hard to see him with his hands free. Always holding on to that ancestral instrument, that pre-Colombian flute that survived the conquest and has become a symbol of resistance, overcoming the ravages of time, the imposition of ideologies, dogmas and religions. Despite all that, the kuisi continues with its liberating sound, the power of its cry, its invitation to dance, its sound a cure and a blessing. That's why it leads the way in this Viaje Sideral ("Space Voyage"), an astral journey in which the kuisi is the vehicle and the life force of the rhythm. Viaje Sideral feels like floating eternally in the infinite cosmos. This second long player from El León Pardo is inspired by humanity's relationship with the stars, escaping to mythical planes and led into a trance by Caribbean percussions, analog synths, deep bass, electric guitars and the hypnotic vibrations of the kuisis and trumpets that complete the soundtrack of this voyage. Through these nine songs, El León Pardo continues to create a sound of his own, evolving in his intention to pay tribute to the psychedelia of the tropical world of the Caribbean in the 1970s and 80s, but this time also taking as reference artists like Terry Riley, Kraftwerk and Mad Professor, including the roots of ambient and electronic music with the characteristic sound of the kuisi, an encounter of dreamlike and astral sounds, with the music of the bandas pelayeras of the tropics and figures like Pedro Laza and Juan Lara. In this new universe the Cartagena trumpeter dialogs with the past, processing the ideas that have emerged over the years and morphed into his personal search that gives an identity to his ideas, nurtured by figures like producer Diego Gómez (Llorona Records, Discos Pacífico, Cerrero) who awoke his interest in electronic instruments, Edson Velandia and kuisi maestros like Juan Carlos Medrano and Fredy Arrieta. In his sound there is a particular feature, one that contains histories of personal experiences, accompanied by the kuisi, including ancient Zenú flutes dating from between 600 and 800 AD and which helped create the atmosphere of "Invocación." "Viaje Sideral," the song that gives the album its name, was born from a dream in which two stars speed towards the earth and an imminent collision. As the record continues, the stellar connection becomes clear with songs like "Urmah" with Edson Velandia, inspired by an article about extra-terrestrial races and how the Urmah were a race of hominid felines, the greatest geneticists of the universe; and "Cumbia espacial," featuring rapping from N. Hardem, seeking to create that aura of immensity and consciousness of the infinity of the universe.

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 many years of artistic collaboration, the long-awaited album, KILLING TIME, bringing together London-based MC Killa P and Italian Bass music collective Numa Crew, has finally arrived.

Killa P, a name synonymous with potent lyricism and raw energy in the Grime scene, delivers a vocal masterclass throughout his debut long-player, soundtracked by the stellar production of the Numa Crew. Together they expertly navigate genres including dubstep, grime, dub, and jungle, while maintaining a distinct and cohesive musical identity.

Not simply a collection of individual tracks, Killing Time is a meticulously crafted journey through sound system music. There are no stylistic boundaries, as the long-player encompasses the entire musical spectrum that unites the Italian crew with the London-based MC, with Killa P free to showcase his evolution as an artist. Alongside them, the album also brings together a diverse cast of friends and collaborators, vocalists, and producers, each adding their own unique flavor.

From the pulsating dubstep-infused Boys in Blue, a searing commentary on social inequality, to the reggae-tinged steppa tune Love Inna We Heart featuring Charlie P and Long Range, a plea for unity and love, Killa P's lyrical dexterity shines.

Tracks such as Champion Sound, Badman City Pt.2 featuring the French Ragga legend Big Red, and No Laugh featuring Big Chain and Bristol’s Buggsy are a nod to Killa P's roots, beautifully showcasing his mastery of grime's signature sound, while the sped-up tempos of the Fleck collaboration Jungle Leng, and Can't Get Me Down featuring Ras Demo, inject a jolt of Junglist attitude. Different Life is a vibrant ‘carnival’ jam, that infuses grime and dancehall moods and sees the great Lady Lykez on the second verse.

The album wraps on a contemplative note with Dreaming, a collaboration with Abstract Sonance, and Heartless, featuring Killa’s son GK on production, revealing an introspective note that adds yet more depth to Killa P's artistry.

As the album’s second track, Family, proclaims: ‘man a deal with family, not friends’ - a fitting line to define the album as a whole… An ode to the unity and strength of family.

44th Move is the combined creative force of pianist & composer Alfa Mist, alongside drummer & producer Richard Spaven. As individuals, the duo have solidified their unrivalled reputations as world class Jazz talents, as exemplified by Alfa’s hugely influential albums such as ‘Antiphon’ & ‘Variables’ and Richard's legendary drum work with the likes of Flying Lotus and Goldie. Initially causing a stir back in 2020 when their joint project first emerged with their genre busting forays into Dance and Hip Hop.

Moving into 2025, they now prepare to elevate the levels, and unleash their debut collaborative album ‘Anthem’ via trailblazing Bristolian label Black Acre. Presenting their debut LP, the pair strive to continue the tradition of adopting a mindstate centred around research and development - pushing themselves to continually learn and grow, raising the bar and uplifting the art form.

Launching with first single ‘The Move’, cascading chords elegantly pave the way for Detroit-based rapper Quelle Chris to take centre-stage and deliver purpose-driven lyrics, calling for grit and consistency through life’s challenges. Second single ‘Free Hit’ deploys a scattered junglist break, punctuated by mysterious chord progressions and an enticing, gradually unfurling brass section. Also featuring guest appearances from Bristol turntablist royalty Awkward, ‘Anthem’ moves seamlessly through diverse sonic terrains, the LP traverses Hip-Hop, Techno & DnB, whilst remaining firmly its Jazz-centric sensibilities. On the album’s creation, Richard Spaven says - "The essence of 44th Move is to take the traditional disciplines of live musicianship into electronic forms and compositions. Alfa and I have an aligned appetite to break new ground with every project we do and this is the core ethos of the album".A refined, shifting and accomplished album, it highlights the moment of magic waiting to happen when great minds meet

My Boy, the third solo record from New Zealand singer/ songwriter Marlon Williams, announces an artist emerging anew. Gone is the solemn, country-indebted crooner with the velvet voice - in his place comes a playful, shapeshifting creature. Following the release of his second album, 2018's Make Way For Love, Williams' toured the world, playing major festivals and collaborating with Lorde, Yo-Yo Ma and Florence Welch. He also forged a fledgling acting career with roles in films The True History of the Kelly Gang and Netflix series Sweet Tooth, as well as a cameo in Oscar winning film A Star Is Born. My Boy parlays this flush of worldly experience into a vivid record as spirited and kinetic as the unfolding life of its performer. "I've always explored different character elements in my music," says Williams. "And the more I get into acting, the more tricks I'm learning about representation and presentation. To get braver and bolder with exploring shifting contexts and new ways of doing things." As the pandemic paused global travel, Williams found himself at home in New Zealand, reconnecting with family and friends. Soon new demos and lyrical themes emerged: of self-identity and escapism; tribalism and a gnarled family tree; and ruminations on the role of masculinity and mateship. Co-produced with Tom Healy and recorded at Roundhead Studios in New Zealand, My Boy finds Williams' leading a new band through a set of genre-hopping tunes: from the cheery sway of `My Boy' and chugging `80s noir sheen of `Thinking Of Nina', to the charging synth of `River Rival', and the sultry pop jam `Don't Go Back.' All this sonic and emotional whiplash is intentional, and ultimately My Boy sees Williams having fun, even while interrogating the behaviors of himself and those around him.