Search:second life

Today, the Toronto-born-and-raised singer, songwriter, producer, and multi-instrumentalist Charlotte Day Wilson announces her highly-anticipated sophomore album Cyan Blue out May 3rd via Stone Woman Music / XL Recordings Along with the announcement of her new album comes the release of first single, "I Don"t Love You", a stark and devastatingly beautiful confessional, highlighting Wilson"s immaculate production skills and chill inducing vocals laid atop smooth groove piano chords and soft drums. The track also arrives with a visual directed by Dani Aphrodite featuring layered low fi footage of the artist and producer performing at home, living every day life and having moments of solitude in her car, a theme that comes up throughout the album. Cyan Blue finds Wilson crafting a smoothly woven cyan tapestry of her eternal influences; thumping gospel piano, warm soul basslines, atmospheric electronics, and penetrating R&B melodies. Yet, it possesses a sense of vastness that rings in a new era for Wilson, one in which she"s embracing collaboration and newfound creative openness tinged with wistfulness and yearning and a reflection on youthful innocence. "I want to look through the unjaded eyes of my younger self again," Wilson explains of making Cyan Blue. "Before there wasn"t as much baggage, before so much life was lived. But I also wish that my younger self could see where I am now. It would be nice to be able to impart some of the wisdom and clarity that I have now onto her." Working with producers like Leon Thomas (SZA, Ariana Grande, Post Malone), and Jack Rochon (HE.R, Daniel Caesar), Cyan Blue demonstrates Wilson"s sonic expertise while also showcasing the next evolution of her time-bending songwriting. Through 13 hypnotizing tracks, she continues to use music as a vessel for unpacking relationships, which in turn allows her to meet and understand herself in life-spanning, panoramic focus. But, on Cyan Blue, she challenged herself to kick her perfectionist tendencies. "Before, I was extremely intentional about creating music with a strong foundation, a bed of artistic integrity," Wilson reflects. "But that was a bit stifling, like, "Let me just make a great piece of art that will stand the test of time, no pressure." Now, I think I"m getting out of this frozen state of needing everything to be perfect. I"m more interested in capturing feelings in the moment as they happen and leaving them in that moment." While this is only her second album, Wilson"s influence in music has made a major mainstream impact. Wilson broke out in 2016 with her critically acclaimed EP, CDW, followed by 2018"s Stone Woman and made her debut studio album an official coming out moment in 2021 with the critically acclaimed, self-released Alpha. Over the past decade, she"s been sampled by Drake, John Mayer, and James Blake, while Patti Smith has recently praised and covered Wilson"s 2016 breakout single "Work." Additionally, she"s collaborated with artists like Kaytranada, BADBADNOTGOOD, and SG Lewis, demonstrating that there"s no sound Wilson can"t adapt to and sprinkle her cyan-colored magic over.

To celebrate Gene Clark"s landmark 1974 record, No Other, turning 50, 4AD are proud to be releasing the album"s session tracks for the first time on vinyl. Mixed from their original multi-track tapes and spread over two discs, these 18 alternative versions taken from No Other"s recording sessions at LA"s infamous Village Recorder studio offer a fascinating insight into the making of this timeless album. Housed in a mirror board, gatefold sleeve and containing photos from the 1974 recording sessions as well as comprehensive song notes, this special edition is being pressed on double black vinyl with the first disc containing the best / most interesting take of each track and the second disc being every first full take.

It's been a decade since John Carpenter recorded the material that would become Lost Themes, his debut album of non-film music and the opening salvo in one of Hollywood's great second acts. Those vibrant, synth-driven songs, made in collaboration with his son Cody Carpenter and godson Daniel Davies, kickstarted a musical renaissance for the pioneering composer and director. In the years since, Carpenter, Carpenter, and Davies have released close to a dozen musical projects, including a growing library of studio albums and the scores for David Gordon Green's trilogy of Halloween reboots. With Lost Themes IV: Noir, they've struck gold again, this time mining the rich history of the film noir genre for inspiration. Since the first Lost Themes, John has referred to these compositions as "soundtracks for the movies in your mind." On the fourth installment in the series, those movies are noirs. Like the film genre they were influenced by, what makes these songs "noirish" is sometimes slippery and hard to define, and not merely reducible to a collection of tropes. The scores for the great American noir pictures were largely orchestral, while the Carpenters and Davies work off a sturdy synth-and-guitar backbone. The noir quality, then, is something you understand instinctively when you hear it, as in connected in an emotional way. The trio's free-flowing chemistry means Lost Themes IV: Noir runs like a well-oiled machine_the 1951 Jaguar XK120 Roadster from Kiss Me Deadly, perhaps, or the 1958 Plymouth Fury from John's own Christine. It's a chemistry that's helped power one of the most productive stretches of John's creative life, and Noir proves that it's nowhere near done yielding brilliant results.

It's been a decade since John Carpenter recorded the material that would become Lost Themes, his debut album of non-film music and the opening salvo in one of Hollywood's great second acts. Those vibrant, synth-driven songs, made in collaboration with his son Cody Carpenter and godson Daniel Davies, kickstarted a musical renaissance for the pioneering composer and director. In the years since, Carpenter, Carpenter, and Davies have released close to a dozen musical projects, including a growing library of studio albums and the scores for David Gordon Green's trilogy of Halloween reboots. With Lost Themes IV: Noir, they've struck gold again, this time mining the rich history of the film noir genre for inspiration. Since the first Lost Themes, John has referred to these compositions as "soundtracks for the movies in your mind." On the fourth installment in the series, those movies are noirs. Like the film genre they were influenced by, what makes these songs "noirish" is sometimes slippery and hard to define, and not merely reducible to a collection of tropes. The scores for the great American noir pictures were largely orchestral, while the Carpenters and Davies work off a sturdy synth-and-guitar backbone. The noir quality, then, is something you understand instinctively when you hear it, as in connected in an emotional way. The trio's free-flowing chemistry means Lost Themes IV: Noir runs like a well-oiled machine_the 1951 Jaguar XK120 Roadster from Kiss Me Deadly, perhaps, or the 1958 Plymouth Fury from John's own Christine. It's a chemistry that's helped power one of the most productive stretches of John's creative life, and Noir proves that it's nowhere near done yielding brilliant results.

It's been a decade since John Carpenter recorded the material that would become Lost Themes, his debut album of non-film music and the opening salvo in one of Hollywood's great second acts. Those vibrant, synth-driven songs, made in collaboration with his son Cody Carpenter and godson Daniel Davies, kickstarted a musical renaissance for the pioneering composer and director. In the years since, Carpenter, Carpenter, and Davies have released close to a dozen musical projects, including a growing library of studio albums and the scores for David Gordon Green's trilogy of Halloween reboots. With Lost Themes IV: Noir, they've struck gold again, this time mining the rich history of the film noir genre for inspiration. Since the first Lost Themes, John has referred to these compositions as "soundtracks for the movies in your mind." On the fourth installment in the series, those movies are noirs. Like the film genre they were influenced by, what makes these songs "noirish" is sometimes slippery and hard to define, and not merely reducible to a collection of tropes. The scores for the great American noir pictures were largely orchestral, while the Carpenters and Davies work off a sturdy synth-and-guitar backbone. The noir quality, then, is something you understand instinctively when you hear it, as in connected in an emotional way. The trio's free-flowing chemistry means Lost Themes IV: Noir runs like a well-oiled machine_the 1951 Jaguar XK120 Roadster from Kiss Me Deadly, perhaps, or the 1958 Plymouth Fury from John's own Christine. It's a chemistry that's helped power one of the most productive stretches of John's creative life, and Noir proves that it's nowhere near done yielding brilliant results.

It's been a decade since John Carpenter recorded the material that would become Lost Themes, his debut album of non-film music and the opening salvo in one of Hollywood's great second acts. Those vibrant, synth-driven songs, made in collaboration with his son Cody Carpenter and godson Daniel Davies, kickstarted a musical renaissance for the pioneering composer and director. In the years since, Carpenter, Carpenter, and Davies have released close to a dozen musical projects, including a growing library of studio albums and the scores for David Gordon Green's trilogy of Halloween reboots. With Lost Themes IV: Noir, they've struck gold again, this time mining the rich history of the film noir genre for inspiration. Since the first Lost Themes, John has referred to these compositions as "soundtracks for the movies in your mind." On the fourth installment in the series, those movies are noirs. Like the film genre they were influenced by, what makes these songs "noirish" is sometimes slippery and hard to define, and not merely reducible to a collection of tropes. The scores for the great American noir pictures were largely orchestral, while the Carpenters and Davies work off a sturdy synth-and-guitar backbone. The noir quality, then, is something you understand instinctively when you hear it, as in connected in an emotional way. The trio's free-flowing chemistry means Lost Themes IV: Noir runs like a well-oiled machine_the 1951 Jaguar XK120 Roadster from Kiss Me Deadly, perhaps, or the 1958 Plymouth Fury from John's own Christine. It's a chemistry that's helped power one of the most productive stretches of John's creative life, and Noir proves that it's nowhere near done yielding brilliant results.

"boy" ist die mit Spannung erwartete Solo-EP von Luke Hemmings, dem preisgekrönten Leadsänger von 5 Seconds of Summer. Die EP enthält u.s. die wunderbar melancholische erste Single "Shakes"

Brainwave Research Center returns with their 3rd Electronic music LP. Their DIY approach to creating music has forged a unique sound that is not experimental music, but music born out of experimentations with analog synthesizers. Feel Free is the third installment of their first four part series and captures the feelings and emotions of a summer season.

The A-side begins with a soundtrack to a daydream; imagining the life of a earthworm. Followed by a teeth-grinding drive through the grime of Brooklyn streets in Interceptor iii. Side A finishes out with that summer euphoria that comes from laying in the grass under the sun through dusk and watching the moon rise.

The B-side begins in a startling manner; an attempt to capture the feeling of falling in your dreams. The music continues down a darker path that reminds us of their second LP, Mosaic, with electronic experiments mixed with acoustic elements. The side concludes with two songs that capture the nostalgic feelings of summer.

Feel Free offers you a glimpse into the musings of everyday life for brainwave research center. Recommended if you like analog / digital synthesizers, sequencers, hand-played melodies, simplistic clock-like rhythms

If the Chateau Marmont could sing. This would be it. Loren Kramar's voice vibrates with the shameless hum of a room after a celebrity exits Ecstatic aspiration. Doubt. Proximity. Desire. The album "Glovemaker" is about the skins we craft to be seen by the world, and Loren reminds us that we are all in drag. All exposed. No matter what gloves we slip on. "I'm a slut for all my dreams", Loren Kramar sings with Patti Smith brashness, "I'm a whore for them, I've got more of them". Loren's lyrics move like tinsel, shimmering bravely, then just as quickly, curling, fragile under the spotlight. Loren has always been obsessed with fame. Not with famous people, but with the electricity that perverts attention - the crushing desire to be truly seen. And all of Loren, and this obsession, is in this album. He grew up in the Valley, forced to hide his Barbies from his father, so the closet was a gorgeous Spanish ranch house on a gilded cul-de-sac crawling with celebrities. Naturally this gay boy wanted to be a child star so his mother secretly shuttled him to tap and jazz and figure skating lessons. "I've got hands and feet to put in the concrete", Loren croons, in "Hollywood Blvd", a song which clangs with brawny bravado. But "Gay Angels" reminds us that Loren's infatuation with stardom is inextricably linked with his queerness and his own desire to live outside of fear. To be famous is to be out. To be known. To be himself. "Glovemaker has become a kind of code for art making itself. A glove as a covering or mask that follows the contours of the life beneath it. As a song and a symbol, this is an album about studying and tracing a life - and then sharing what's there," Loren says. And his desire to share truth feels urgent. To listen to Loren is to understand there is no choice; the songs must tear through the air right now. This very second. "I see myself tearing and splitting and becoming a trampoline", he belts in "No Man," breaking our hearts right alongside his. Part poet, part theatrical diva, Loren loops together the tragedy of breathing on this planet, because like Eartha Kitt or Cat Stevens, Loren is at his core - an incredible story teller. This whole album is a shrine, a mantle atop a blazing fire of life, spread with the memorabilia of Loren; all of the pain and lust dazzling on unabashed view. This is a songwriter's album. Loren's lyrics are all his, and you feel it with every bright, Maraschino-cherry-like word that falls from his lips. "Like a lover, You scream and I shatter, I hit like a hammer" Loren sings. And we get to feel what Loren feels We live in his brain, riding his genre bending emotions, on a wave of modern pop. And the songs lift, they are anthems of belief, "Hollywood Blvd", "I'm a Slut", "Euphemism", "Gay Angels", are all odes to triumphing over the corroding powers of fear and doubt. And on this ride, Loren's voice is the guard rail, ever eager to stretch and transform, belting, talk-singing, multiplying, keeping us safe. "Glovemaker" slaps and soars. The album is an ecstatic overture to love and loneliness, to dreams and promises, to everything Los Angeles dangles. Buckle up. Loren knows how to craft space, how to move us through darkened bars, strobing arenas, beige carpeted bungalows and yellow lit highways. "How do you like LA?" Loren asks. I hope you love it.

Red Vinyl

If the Chateau Marmont could sing. This would be it. Loren Kramar's voice vibrates with the shameless hum of a room after a celebrity exits Ecstatic aspiration. Doubt. Proximity. Desire. The album "Glovemaker" is about the skins we craft to be seen by the world, and Loren reminds us that we are all in drag. All exposed. No matter what gloves we slip on. "I'm a slut for all my dreams", Loren Kramar sings with Patti Smith brashness, "I'm a whore for them, I've got more of them". Loren's lyrics move like tinsel, shimmering bravely, then just as quickly, curling, fragile under the spotlight. Loren has always been obsessed with fame. Not with famous people, but with the electricity that perverts attention - the crushing desire to be truly seen. And all of Loren, and this obsession, is in this album. He grew up in the Valley, forced to hide his Barbies from his father, so the closet was a gorgeous Spanish ranch house on a gilded cul-de-sac crawling with celebrities. Naturally this gay boy wanted to be a child star so his mother secretly shuttled him to tap and jazz and figure skating lessons. "I've got hands and feet to put in the concrete", Loren croons, in "Hollywood Blvd", a song which clangs with brawny bravado. But "Gay Angels" reminds us that Loren's infatuation with stardom is inextricably linked with his queerness and his own desire to live outside of fear. To be famous is to be out. To be known. To be himself. "Glovemaker has become a kind of code for art making itself. A glove as a covering or mask that follows the contours of the life beneath it. As a song and a symbol, this is an album about studying and tracing a life - and then sharing what's there," Loren says. And his desire to share truth feels urgent. To listen to Loren is to understand there is no choice; the songs must tear through the air right now. This very second. "I see myself tearing and splitting and becoming a trampoline", he belts in "No Man," breaking our hearts right alongside his. Part poet, part theatrical diva, Loren loops together the tragedy of breathing on this planet, because like Eartha Kitt or Cat Stevens, Loren is at his core - an incredible story teller. This whole album is a shrine, a mantle atop a blazing fire of life, spread with the memorabilia of Loren; all of the pain and lust dazzling on unabashed view. This is a songwriter's album. Loren's lyrics are all his, and you feel it with every bright, Maraschino-cherry-like word that falls from his lips. "Like a lover, You scream and I shatter, I hit like a hammer" Loren sings. And we get to feel what Loren feels We live in his brain, riding his genre bending emotions, on a wave of modern pop. And the songs lift, they are anthems of belief, "Hollywood Blvd", "I'm a Slut", "Euphemism", "Gay Angels", are all odes to triumphing over the corroding powers of fear and doubt. And on this ride, Loren's voice is the guard rail, ever eager to stretch and transform, belting, talk-singing, multiplying, keeping us safe. "Glovemaker" slaps and soars. The album is an ecstatic overture to love and loneliness, to dreams and promises, to everything Los Angeles dangles. Buckle up. Loren knows how to craft space, how to move us through darkened bars, strobing arenas, beige carpeted bungalows and yellow lit highways. "How do you like LA?" Loren asks. I hope you love it.

2x7"
Not so long ago Marlena Shaw was a forgotten figure. The talented vocalist had made several LPs for respected labels such as Cadet and Blue Note, and she'd performed regularly throughout the '60s and '70s. But she hardly had what you might call diva status. Falling into the unfortunate category that slips uneasily between soul and jazz, she was accepted - but not especially admired - by aficionados of either genre. Then came the '90s, and an open-minded enthusiasm for soul and jazz - and more importantly - everything in between - soon changed that. Marlena Shaw became an icon, and the diva status soon blossomed amongst her new-found soul-jazz fans.

Respect is a word that means much to any singer. The artist who stands up in the bright lights before an audience that has handed over their hard-earned cash has only their physical presence and naked voice to rely on. There is no hiding when you're on stage, you're the focus of attention and everybody is gawping at you. The singer yearns to communicate and entertain, and in return not only asks for appreciation and acceptance, but respect. To this end Marlena Shaw has endured decades of singing in the shadows, and she has only recently finally found her niche.

On Disc One we have 'California Soul', probably the most enduring and well-known of her many songs, but just a few seconds listening will tell you that it is much more than that. It's already a classic amongst those who have already seen the light and have danced and swayed to its timeless swing. Upon hearing it all lovers of soul, jazz – or any other kind of good music - will feel an aural glow as warm as the Californian sun. The song 'Liberation Conversation' on the flip was only ever available on her highly revered 1969 LP 'The Spice of Life'. This is where the 'Blues ain't nothing but a good woman gone bad' launches into an irresistible, relentless uptempo funk groove.

Disc Two showcases 'Wade in the Water', an ancient song rumoured to have been developed and popularised by slaves in the American south. The message is to pass on the notion that by fleeing in a bid for freedom through streams and rivers, the scent that bloodhounds use to follow their victims will be obscured. Marlena's version has long been a favourite dancefloor filler since its 45-only release back in 1966.

'Woman of the Ghetto' is one of her best-known songs and ends the set on the other side. The opening number from 'The Spice of Life', it's since been recognised for the classic it is, and as such has been afforded anthemic status. We release the original 45 version here, as used to promote the LP back in the day.

This special 2x7" product from Jazzman is dedicated to the memory of Marlena Shaw, b. 22 September 1939, d. 19 January 2024.

Pigeons Playing Ping Pong, a veritable tour de force known for turning heads coast-to-coast with their high-octane live concerts, not only grabs life by the horns, but they harness its energy within their hypnotic hybrid of funk, rock and psychedelic groove.With a devout fanbase and trail of sold-out tours behind them, the Maryland quartet takes a major step forward on their seventh full-length offering, Day In Time.Guitarist Jeremy Schon says, "This album is the most cohesive group of songs we've ever had in the studio"."This record is a snapshot of our band as a group and as individuals at this exact moment." says Greg Ormont (vocals, guitar). "The title serves as a reminder that life moves fast, so we better make the most of each day, make each second count."

Black Truffle is pleased to announce The Mountains Pass, a major new work from Olivia Block. A key player in Chicago’s vibrant experimental music scene since the late 1990s, Block has developed an extensive body of work grounded in a personalised, at times emotive approach to the studio-based practices of the musique concrète tradition, while also encompassing improvisation, orchestral pieces, sound installations, and a sustained engagement with the piano. On The Mountains Pass, recorded by Greg Norman at Steve Albini’s Electrical Audio and meticulously edited and constructed over the course of three years, Block pushes into new terrain, introducing her singing voice and drums played by Jon Mueller into flowing assemblages that move seamlessly from ruminative organ tones and fragmented piano airs to explosions of sizzling synths and thundering percussion. Like many of Block’s past works, which include, for example, a sculptural installation using the sound of oyster beds, The Mountains Pass draws inspiration from nature and the animal world. Time spent in a particular mountain range in Northern New Mexico informs this suite of pieces, whose lyrics and titles refer particularly to animal life in the area. Beginning with bursts of white noise and delicate synthetic pops and squeaks, opener ‘Northward’ very soon reveals the special direction the album will take, as lyrical piano lines are joined by Block’s fragile voice, singing words written from the perspective of f2754, an endangered Mexican gray wolf who wandered more than five hundred miles from Arizona to New Mexico in 2022. The fragment of song quickly breaks off, leaving us with a ghostly electronic hum. ‘The Hermit’s Peak’ follows, one of two epic pieces at the album’s core. Beginning with chiming, almost harpsichord-like tones, it moves through episodes of spacious, ruminative piano, Jon Mueller’s sparkling cymbals, stuttering cut-up piano sounds, and a climax of keening organ and trumpet tones (performed by Thomas Madeja). Continuing the exploration of vintage keyboard and synth tones heard on Block’s Innocent Passage in the Territorial Sea (Room 40, 2021), the music sometimes suggests the great outer-limits works of 70s Italian prog figures like Franco Battiato or Arturo Stalteri in the languorous drift of synthesizer, organ, and piano tones and the meticulous yet organic flow of its construction. ‘Violet-Green’ opens the second side with another epic journey, its lyrical content concerning ‘a mysterious bird die-off and a forest fire’. Block’s crystalline voice and rich piano chords at times call up the restrained chamber songs of Janet Sherbourne, but fragmented and threaded through passages of woozy pitch-bent keyboards, hypnotic distant thuds, tinkling bells, and searing distorted synth tones. On ‘f2754’, the freedom of the roaming wolf surges through dense layers of rapid keyboard attacks and long organ tones over a propulsive drum performance straight out of Animal Magnetism-era Arnold Dreyblatt. This distinctive sound world is then reencountered in a darkened mirror image in the uneasy, metallic shimmer of the closing ‘Ungulates’, named in reference to a heard of elk roaming through the mountains. Like Battiato’s Clic or Gastr del Sol’s Upgrade & Afterlife, The Mountains Pass inhabits the underexplored terrain where the beauty of song coexists with a radical formal openness, illuminating the deep musicality and warmth that have been present in Block’s work all along.

Mother Twilight is the second Faun Fables album. It has since been noted by Scottish author R.J. Stewart as a work containing true artifacts of the oral underworld tradition. Dawn and Nils made a hand-assembled first pressing and peddled it to nearly every bar and rural hall across North America from 2001-2003. Drag City reissued the CD in 2004. Things are glowing outside, enough to bring any sun worshiper in for the night. But you must remain outside and begin walking. It"ll prepare you for the night, which otherwise comes as a chilling surprise. If you pay attention this time, maybe you"ll understand why you"re becoming invisible. When your memory began, it wasn"t startling, wasn"t a mistake. It came out of an old, dark and familiar thing, like a storyteller, like Twilight... so save us from fear, mother, and tell your story. Dawn McCarthy"s creative background was forged in oral tradition amidst a large musical family in Spokane, Washington; studying piano, music theater, rock bands, guitar, folklore and ethnomusicology. Dawn cut her teeth as a singer and performer with various bands and cabarets in Madison, Wisconsin and New York City, most notably as yodeler with the Bindlestiff Family Cirkus, who inspired her to want a gypsy life with a kindred spirit someday. Her focus took a pivotal turn in that direction in 1997 with a solo quest through the UK and Ireland and their bardic traditions; singing songs in clubs and homes, all the while undergoing a pastoral, psychological experience with the land. Upon her return to the States, a fateful meeting with Oakland, CA born-and-raised Nils Frykdahl (Sleepytime Gorilla Museum) moved McCarthy back to the West to begin a new creative collaboration in the thriving hills and art community of the San Francisco Bay Area. Since 1999, Faun Fables have released six albums and performed their animist, otherworldly folk music across North America and Europe, with shows in Australia, New Zealand and Israel, as well. Dawn"s writing and voice (described by The New Yorker as "one of the more compelling instruments in contemporary music") opens hearts and minds with a whisper to a rallying battle cry, further animated by Frykdahl"s adventurous musicality and vocals. Dawn has written musical theater performed by the Idyllwild Arts Academy, among others, and has lent her vocals to Bonnie "Prince" Billy on The Letting Go and What the Brothers Sang. In 2022, Faun Fables debuted their family band, joined onstage by their daughters with vocals, percussion, keyboard and dance.

Bite Down, the Merge Records debut of Rosali, finds acclaimed songwriter and guitarist Rosali Middleman in the midst of transition. Written after moving to North Carolina from her longtime home of Philadelphia, Bite Down is a searching, hungry record by an artist who is resolved to bite down on life, in all its horror and joy. She is joined here by Mowed Sound_David Nance (bass, guitar), James Schroeder (guitar, synth), Kevin Donahue (drums, percussion)_and in studio by Destroyer collaborator Ted Bois (keys). Bite Down is Rosali's second album working with Mowed Sound, and there is urgency and ambition in their collaboration_a band pushing each other not just to expand on what they've already done together, but to break through into altogether new territory. Among those joining Rosali and her band there is Dan Bejar of Destroyer, who waxes poetically on where she's been, where she's going, and how thrilling Bite Down is to experience: It's hard to talk about Rosali's music. Songs that reach outward like this, but then constantly disarm with their intimacy. What do you call such inner searching that is hellbent on rollicking? Songs that long for a sense of peace and songs that want romance, all on equal footing in the same plot of earth? Performed wild, but always centered around the incredible lyrical calm that is Rosali's voice. Bite Down makes me think about singers and bands that throw themselves hard into the storm, the way the Rosali quartet does. (Jim captures the tone of this perfectly, again!) The calm of her voice over top of the band's raging_it is the emblem of songs that live to put themselves in harm's way. But it's not harm. It's just that you have to play hard to get at these goods. The calm of Rosali's voice, the straight talk of her inner search vs. the wildness of the band, the sonic storm she rides in on. That's their sound. The Mowed Sound. It's hard to talk about these last couple Rosali albums without talking about them. They play free and wild and relentlessly melodious. They rip and create space and fill it up with what seems like reckless abandon, but listen carefully or listen for a while and you'll find them paying real close attention to each other and exactly what the song demands. Maybe Fairport did this, maybe VU. It's a strange telepathic brew. Breezier songs like "On Tonight" and "Rewind" sound like they've fought their way to get to that sense of ease. Maybe that's the Mowed Sound "sound"_hard-won ease. Then add to that Ted Bois' patented Rhodes sleaze (see sinuous title track "Bite Down") steering the record into late-night corners; the incredible "Hills on Fire" (maybe the centerpiece of the album), the guitar-ripping and the singing taking turns in reaching new levels of intimacy. It feels listened-in on, exposed and invented on the spot. It is also simply a staggeringly beautiful song. There are a few of those on the album. In contrast, "My Kind" is a raucous, hand-delivered classic; the band throws tables over. For the most part, this is a moodier record than No Medium. It has the same sound of "I've traveled through fire to deliver you these songs," but it is also quieter, more nocturnal. The quiet dread of staring down an open road, and the excitement of that. By the final track, "May It Be on Offer," it is the prayer uttered as you hand yourself over to the world.

The Morning Papers Have Given Us the Vapours was made with the black watch bandmates and producers/engineers Rob Campanella (Brian Jonestown Massacre, The Tyde, The Warlocks) and Andy Creighton (The World Record, Parson Red Heads). Ben Eshbach, formerly of The Sugarplastic, arranged the strings. Kesha Rose guests on lead vocals on the second single, Oh Do Shut Up. And the great Lindsay Murray once again lends her beautiful backing vox to a number of tracks.

the black watch songwriter/frontman John Andrew Fredrick wrote the ten songs on this, his Los Angeles-based band's latest album, entirely unselfconsciously, with no set goal in mind other than to revel in the joy of songwriting, and, eventually, the luxury of recording his music with his more-than-accomplished band. The Morning Papers Have Given Us the Vapours, produced separately and together by Rob Campanella and Andy Creighton evinces the black watch's often stunning ability to, as Andy Gill once observed in The Independent, "find chaos in the calm, melody in the miasma."

Fredrick, who has also published four comedic novels and a book on the early films of Wes Anderson, jovially describes himself as "a recovering Anglophile--one who'll never, one hopes, fully recover." From his home studio in the Angeleno Heights district of L.A., he waxes eloquent about how being branded, as it were, as a too-ardent lover of British music, film, and literature has left him as bemused as has the tag "prolific" that is often affixed to reviews of his work.

"I just don't think it's all that interesting to note that we've made so many records. Looked at one way, it's a sort of deflection from talking about the timbre if not the quality of the individual songs. Though I know it can be intimidating for fans who've just discovered us--a sort of 'My goodness, where do I start with this band that has put out LPs since 1988?' I get it. I do. I picture someone standing at our slot at a bin at a record store becoming overwhelmed at the prospect of picking the 'wrong' title. And then walking away and not picking up anything from us!" Fredrick laughs. "What can you do indeed?"

He started his career as a songwriter as a result of an American Football injury that left him bedridden in the home he grew up in in Santa Barbara, California. The year The Beatles immortal double-album came out at Christmastime he broke his leg so badly that he had to be home-schooled for an entire year. His parents, ex-teachers themselves, refused to let him watch telly for more than an hour a day. He propped a Silvertone acoustic on top of the massive cast that screamed all the way up to his thigh from his toes, and began to write little melodies and lyrics that, doubtless, did not in the least mask his love for the Fabs, The White Album in especial.

And he read and read and read--histories of the American Revolution and Civil War, mostly, and as many Dickens novels as his mum and dad could bring him. "That year," Fredrick observes, "surely made me who I am today. Proof that intensely unfortunate-seeming events can prove most fortunate. As a sport-mad kid, it made me absolutely mental that I was exiled from the activities I loved most and the school teams I played on. What a blessing undisguised that injury was! Not that I'd like to experience anything like it ever again, mind you."

Fredrick can even recall a few of the melodies he wrote as boy ("Utterly trite, of course, completely jejune"); and in a way, The Morning Papers Have Given Us the Vapours showcases a kind of get-back-to-where-you-once-belonged sensibility. "I didn't intend, this time, to make an album per se. I write both songs and fiction in order to find out what happens, to find out what I might want to say," he notes. "Rob often asks me what a particular song is about; and I often reply that I either don't know, or would prefer that others say. Same thing goes for when people ask me where they should start with our discography. I never know what to say. Our LP from 2011, Led Zeppelin Five (remastered in 2021 for its tenth anniversary), has been our best seller, I think--but that may be because some stoned Zepheads thought their gods had perhaps put out a record they'd missed!"

Despite being deadly serious about music-making, TBW's been known to either whimsically or perversely title their albums. Examples: Jiggery-Pokery (an allusion to John Lennon assessing George Martin's productions), After the Gold Room (a pun on the Neil Young classic plus a local eastside L.A. watering hole), Sugarplum Fairy, Sugarplum Fairy (echoing Lennon's famous count-off to A Day in the Life), Fromthing Somethat (a garbled spoonerism/lyric while doing a vocal), Brilliant Failures (the 2020 release that, along with Fromthing Somethat, was named Album of the Year by venerable indie rock magazine The Big Takeover), and the aforementioned LZ5.

For the new LP, the band recruited longtime friends and allies Ben Eshbach (the Emmy-Award-winning frontman of The Sugarplastic) and Lindsay Murray (Gretchens Wheel) to compose and arrange strings and sing heaps of lovely backing vocals, respectively.

And the result? A collection of songs that Fredrick, in his quite-but-not-quite self-deprecatory way, might call another set of brilliant failures. "Every song, every LP we do, is a failure of sorts--no matter how powerful or beautiful or pleasing-to-us it turns out," John concludes. "I have often said that my aim is to write songs as good as anything on The Beatles... and I will never achieve my goal. And thus I'll have to keep at it, keep trying. And chin-chin to that!"

And now your attention's been brought to a band (or you've heard of them or heard a track or two down the years) that has been pegged by The L.A. Weekly as "a national treasure" as well as "the most criminally-neglected indie pop group imaginable."

So here's to the prospect of that ostensible neglect becoming as much of a thing of the past as John Andrew Fredrick's year-long stint in bed.

Advitam Aeternamour, Cléa Vincent's third album, will be released on 29 March 2024 by Midnight Special.

If the 90s gave us “French touch,” then the 2010s ushered in “French pop,” and it was in the midst of this revival that Cléa began her artistic journey. As early as the music video for

“Achète-le-moi” from her debut LP Retiens mon désir (2016), we witness the singer striking selfie-like poses with her French pop comrades (La Femme, Bertrand Burgalat), appearing pell-mell on screen in the form of their vinyl records. Since then, whether singing with Philippe Katerine or co-producing (and composing) Jeanne Balibar's D'ici là tout l'été (2023), Cléa Vincent has effortlessly carved out a niche for herself in the French pop scene. The advantage of being a “jack-of-all-trades” — Cléa is a writer, composer, and producer — is that her music casts a wide net. Both highly acclaimed in the indie circuit and “as seen on TV” (on Quotidien, among others), she has also enjoyed a stint as the host for web-TV show Sooo Pop, for which she regularly interviewed a plethora of French artists. Beyond France, the singer tours extensively. After a run of concerts in Europe, Asia, North and South America, it was her visit to Latin and Central America that inspired Tropi-cléa (2017-2020-2022). The three EPs bathed in a tropicalist glow do more than just dip their toes in the water; they mark a deep desire to escape in a post-lockdown world.

In between these projects emerged Cléa’s LP Nuits sans sommeil (2019). The album quickly became an instant classic and lives up to its name, since Clea never seems to stop — writing, composing, singing, or dancing. Mixed by Stephane ALF Briat, who has lent his magic touch to records by Phoenix, Bonnie Banane, Air, and Flavien Berger, Cléa Vincent's third LP Advitam Aeternamour proves once again that her music is in perpetual renewal. The artist takes risks both in her pursuit for innovative sounds and in the themes she tackles: coming out, incest, grief...and of course, she will always be a true romantic at heart; there’s no need to be ashamed of loving love. Cléa’s songs are full of “explicit lyrics,” but not in the typical sense: rather than ringing harsh and raw, her words are tinged with sweetness and melancholy, at the risk of shocking less sentimental listeners.

Written hand-in-hand with Raphaël Léger, her creative soulmate for the last ten years who also recorded and produced the album, Advitam Aeternamour features lyrics charged with Epinal and equinox imagery. On the poignantly sober title track, sudden flashes of light are padded by tinkling synthesizers swathed in the voices of an angelic choir, as also heard on “Nuit de Yalda.” Cléa offers a modern take on 90s house music (“C'est Ok”) and 2-step garage (“Free Demain”). Particularly influenced by The Beloved, she is not above dipping pop songs into the electronic melting pot to get them through the club door (“État Second,” where we “turn up the BPM”). And whether on “Shut down ma tête,” or “Douce Chavirée,” Cléa pushes the champagne cork down even further so that the party never stops. The bass gets louder, the rhythm intensifies — the melodies of these eternal hits are an invitation onto the dance floor, lit up by her smile.

As depicted in the soothing embrace that appears on the album artwork, the bright psychedelic hues are the perfect complement to her therapeutically inclined synthetic pop. Even if they tackle themes such as breakups, Cléa's songs, which are vitamin-packed and deep on the surface, are intended to heal and repair. “Se laisser partir,” with its light vocoder echoes, emulating the vocal shadow of a loved one, is an optimistic breakup song. Advitam Æternamour gives us life, from birth to grief — and in the middle, wild, beating passion. If her songs resonate with us, it's because Cléa speaks to us in her songs, as heard on the girl power anthem “Free demain,” where she addresses the listener as a friend (“put the pedal to the metal and you’ll take off for the stars”). When she shares the microphone with Jacques on “État Second,” enveloped by the sounds of unidentified musical objects, the complementary nature of the two artists is evident. The album is as much a tribute to the healing virtues of music as it is a self-portrait of Cléa inhabited by her art. Ad vitam æternam and with love.

Swedish synth-pop phenomenon Kite's second 7 inch since signing with Dais in 2023 finds the duo of Nicklas Stenemo and Christian Hutchinson Berg swinging for new heights of romantic desolation and baroque grandeur. They describe the A Side, "Losing," as a "six-minute empty call for emotional response." Stately piano and anguished voice reverberate in a vaulted hall, before gradually building into a widescreen anthem of synths, drums, and soaring vocals decrying the steady deadening of life and love: "It's deadly quiet in your old heart / Are you there? / I see dark skies on the rise / And daylight shows no remorse / And I realize it is my life / But It's losing all meaning." Swedish dark music icons Anna von Hausswolff and Henric de la Cour join the chorus as the song cascades towards an ominous horizon. The B Side, "Glassy Eyes," showcases Kite's mastery of somber, sweeping balladry. Hushed church organ elevates and anchors Stenemo's devastated confessional, swaying between resilience and defeat. The band describes the song as a reckoning with "the privileged and existential anxiety of drifting through life dispassionately," contrasted with "the yearning to connect profoundly with others and a desire for experiences that stir the soul before facing one's final moments." Like a hymn, the emotion thickens as it deepens, approaching both darkness and divinity: "Deep as I go, nothing to find / Oh catatonia, I won't cry / Nothing can grow, everything dies / Behind my glassy eyes."

Swedish synth-pop phenomenon Kite's second 7 inch since signing with Dais in 2023 finds the duo of Nicklas Stenemo and Christian Hutchinson Berg swinging for new heights of romantic desolation and baroque grandeur. They describe the A Side, "Losing," as a "six-minute empty call for emotional response." Stately piano and anguished voice reverberate in a vaulted hall, before gradually building into a widescreen anthem of synths, drums, and soaring vocals decrying the steady deadening of life and love: "It's deadly quiet in your old heart / Are you there? / I see dark skies on the rise / And daylight shows no remorse / And I realize it is my life / But It's losing all meaning." Swedish dark music icons Anna von Hausswolff and Henric de la Cour join the chorus as the song cascades towards an ominous horizon. The B Side, "Glassy Eyes," showcases Kite's mastery of somber, sweeping balladry. Hushed church organ elevates and anchors Stenemo's devastated confessional, swaying between resilience and defeat. The band describes the song as a reckoning with "the privileged and existential anxiety of drifting through life dispassionately," contrasted with "the yearning to connect profoundly with others and a desire for experiences that stir the soul before facing one's final moments." Like a hymn, the emotion thickens as it deepens, approaching both darkness and divinity: "Deep as I go, nothing to find / Oh catatonia, I won't cry / Nothing can grow, everything dies / Behind my glassy eyes."

Bruno Berle, the young songwriter and poet originally hailing from Maceió, the capital of Brazil’s Alagoas state, crafts songs that are simple, direct, and full of tender nuance. With his first album No Reino Dos Afetos (which translates to "In the Realm of Affections” and was released in 2022), Berle firmly established himself as a unique and important voice in the burgeoning scene of new Brazilian artists making a global impact, including peers like Ana Frango Elétrico, Tim Bernardes, Bala Desejo, Sessa and more. Now back with his second album, No Reino Dos Afetos 2, he stretches that further.

Bruno Berle’s music lives between two worlds – a traditional Brazilian folk talent steeped in history, and a contemporary, dreamy electronic pop; the result is songwriting that’s genre-bending, intentional, iconoclastic and consuming, spacious and sinewy and singular, a striking reflection of its composer while leaving space for the listener to settle in. The album follows Bruno’s relocation to São Paulo, and the songs are a reflection of his past and present. A rebuke of former categorizations of his work in Brazilian music scenes, and an idea of where his music can move, unfettered.

Berle’s music is purposeful in being a true portrait of himself, and a reflection of the music, art, and fashion scenes he personally moves through. Berle aims to provide an entrypoint for Black queer joy in his music, in his storytelling, in his presence and vision as a creative. For him, it feels subversive to be playing MPB laced with dubstep and lo-fi, a sort of intentional sacrilege, capturing a dialogue of modernity in traditional music.

Berle wrote most of the arrangements and co-produced his new album, Reino Dos Afetos 2 with longtime friend and musical partner Batata Boy, who is also from Maceió; the album was recorded in Rio de Janeiro, Maceió, and São Paulo, his new home, and picks up the conversation begun in 2022 on Berle’s debut album No Reino dos Afetos. Both records are the result of a nonlinear but coherent seven-year music creation process culminating in these albums, holding hands across space and time.

“Tirolirole,” the first single from the record, was released at the end of 2023; sun-soaked rhythms and soft voice coat the song, the lilting refrain of “Tirolirole” throughout – hushed, gentle, but somehow almost tactile, a golden-hour moment unlocked in the mind. “Tirolirole” is a triumphant future classic about the temporality of a blossoming love, with Bruno’s stunning vocal soaring over melodies which ebb and flow like the waters on the Atlantic shore. Of the track, Berle explains: “Despite ‘Tirolirole’ being an expression that evokes my childhood, just like the light words about nature, the harmony, and the poetry are epic, carrying a great hope for love.”

In fact, the guiding theme of No Reino dos Afetos 2 is a relationship, unfolding in the arc of a weekend. It traverses the innocence of an early young love, how that can be formative, can stretch on to take new shapes, or shape you. The album happens at the genesis of meeting someone and falling for them, before the relationship is thrown into overdrive – set in a big city, against a backdrop of major life changes, rising energy, the sound of São Paulo.

Something transcendental emerges in “Dizer Adeus,” with an arrangement that echoes a gospel atmosphere (evangelical and Catholic environments were pivotal to Berle’s upbringing). On “É Só Você Chegar,” piano and flute gracefully intertwine, a dance, while “Quando Penso” skews sparser, the voice-and-guitar minimalism somehow cultivating an entirely different shape – somehow both cozy and melancholy, with the background sound of a rainy day. Coupled with the lo-fi aspects that shape much of the album’s personality in the vocals and the production, No Reino Dos Afetos 2 is meticulously elaborated by Berle’s sonic alchemy, like on the mid-album instrumental “Sonho,” which feels like floating. “It’s the apex. It’s when lovers are sleeping together,” Berle explains of the feeling he wanted to encapsulate in the song.

On “Love Comes Back” Berle interprets Arthur Russell, the late Iowa musician who only reached greater visibility after he died in 1992. “His way of making music is similar to mine,” Berle explains. “He sings in a more fragile way, has more of an experimental way of recording, letting ‘chance’ appear in the final work.”

Even so, Berle doesn’t want his music to be buried in sentimentality – and the purposefulness of his craft serves as a sort of north star. The production, the arrangements, his restraint and intentionality in crafting his songs feel just as vital as their emotional cores. His songwriting is amorphous, fluid, an encompassing genre-bending movement in-and-of-itself, quietly daring. The songs are often in conversation with other works – drinking in fountains as diverse as the filmmaking of Ingmar Bergman, the poetry of Walt Whitman, the rhythm of Djavan, and the painting of Maxwell Alexandre. Musically he weaves together a rich tapestry of Brazilian folk, UK 2-step garage/dub, trip hop and sun soaked west coast songwriters; something akin to the worlds of Milton Nascimento, Arthur Russell, James Blake, Feist, and Sade colliding into one. But even then No Reino Dos Afetos 2 floats separately, a romanticism driven by a simplicity and intimacy, an open-ended possibility, Berle’s singularity as an artist at the helm of the ship.