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Detroit techno visionary Keith Tucker returns through his acclaimed alter ego Optic Nerve with AUGMENTATIONS EP, a forward-thinking exploration of minimalist machine funk, futuristic sound design, and deep electronic movement.

Crafted with precision and unmistakable Detroit character, AUGMENTATIONS merges hypnotic analog sequences, mechanical rhythm structures, atmospheric synth textures, and driving electronic beats into a powerful sonic statement rooted in the city’s enduring techno legacy. Sparse yet immersive, the EP balances raw underground energy with cinematic futurism — designed equally for dark warehouse floors and deep headphone listening.

Pressed as a Limited Collector’s Edition Clear Vinyl 12-inch, PBX-38 captures the sleek, transparent aesthetic of the music itself: pure signal, machine emotion, and uncompromising Detroit innovation.


A1 — Augmented 1 (Optic Nerve Original Mix)

A deep, stripped down Detroit techno workout driven by pulsing drum programming, evolving synth modulation, and hypnotic minimalist sequencing. Functional futurism engineered for late-night motion.
B1 — Augmented 2 (Infinite Worlds Mix)

Built around a rolling funky bass line and eerie flowing string textures, this expansive composition moves through layers of atmospheric electronics and mechanical groove architecture. The track creates an immersive sense of drifting through endless digital landscapes while maintaining a sharp rhythmic intensity designed for the underground dance floor.
B2 — Augmented 3 (Visual Shapes Mix)

Abstract melodic fragments, and precision electronic rhythms collide to form a futuristic minimalist soundscape filled with movement, tension, and cinematic pulsed chords.

"Broken Home"tells the story of an escape that doesn"t really lead anywhere. The song depicts leaving a dysfunctional home hoping to find something better,only to end up in a worldthat feels just as chaotic and empty. The journey takes on a surreal tone, filled with striking, symbolic images: glittering but hollow figures, cheap messiahs, plastic saints-signs of a society that builds superficial, interchangeable idols. Surrounded by a hyperconnected crowd, there"s still a deep sense of isolation running through everything. The city itself feels saturated with excess, addiction, and illusion, where even moments of "cleanliness" or redemption seem fake, as if something as simple as rain could wash everything away. At its core, the song explores alienation and disillusionment, suggesting that escaping your past doesn"t mean much if the world you run into is just as broken.

On her first Harmony Index album, multi-instrumentalist and producer Nico Leibman spotlights the feelings that are most difficult to express, bringing out the friction between her dreamy hooks and harsher sonics. Written almost like a DJ set, the album shifts intentionally between piano-led trip-hop, lounge, dream pop, 2-step and breakbeat house, not languishing in nostalgia but defining a language that's rooted in desire, surrender and forward motion.

Until now, Leibman has been best known as a touring musician, working alongside artists like Jessica Pratt and Ana Roxanne, while slowly putting together new solo material in-between frequent tours. The album was written in bursts over the course of five long years and provided Leibman with a much-needed outlet - a chance for her to lock into her personal musical preoccupations, like Janet Jackson's 'The Velvet Rope', Everything but the Girl's 'Walking Wounded' and Prefab Sprout's 'Jordan: The Comeback'.

It's this era of pop - when nascent technology collided at force with skillful, soulful songwriting - that provides the album's backbone, fleshed out by Leibman's potent meditations on a spectrum of experiences in Los Angeles. And as the record was evolving, Leibman let long night drives crack her creative world open. Embracing the city's notoriously cinematic romantic side, she used the car as a "little chamber of limerence," in her own words, enabling her fantasies and acting as a test system for each song. "If it wasn't hitting in the car," she says. "It wasn't going to be on the record, period."

This sense of motion is evident almost immediately on 'Recognize', when Leibman's breathy words are carried into the night by choppy, uptempo breaks and resonant pads. So even when she simply coos over chugging guitars and bass on the first half of 'Enough', the drop into a low-slung breakbeat is implied. "Another digression, a break in this tension," she sings. "Was I foolish to believe that this was never your intention?" Leibman's tales of disillusionment are imbued with power, buoyed by her pitch-perfect production, with additional help from co-producer Cesar Maria.

On 'Don't Pretend', she sings softly and soulfully over decelerated Timbaland-inspired beats and a dubwise bassline, aided by additional production from Purelink. And 'If' marks the point where she lets go, infusing her euphoria with melancholy as her voice soars alongside the album's most infectious piano riff. Fittingly, the album concludes with 'Trust', a song about surrendering to the possibilities of love that works as a potent metaphor for the album's evolution. Over the course of five years, Leibman learned to let people in, finally trusting the process. "It's also a fantasy of what it would feel like to finally be in love again," she laughs, accepting that it's still just a fantasy. But it's this hope in unfulfilled longing that gives the album its unique character, defining a bold, unguarded voice in LA's experimental pop landscape.

Whisper Doll's new music comes from a time in frontwoman Fiona Tagami's life when she was actively trying to cultivate whimsy, a sense of possibility. "It's about this switch of trying to be in the world as a hopeful person," she says. The songs' dream-pop sound, with their woozy guitars and ethereal vocal melodies, evokes that feeling. Some moments feel weightless and joyous, others dense with mystery. Whisper Doll began as a solo project when Fiona was in high school in Atlanta, writing in her bedroom while she fell in love with bands like The Sundays, Mazzy Star, and The Cranberries. During the process of making her debut album, 2024's Perfume Garden, she moved to New York and became quickly wrapped up in the city's indie scene. While playing in various other bands, she met her future Whisper Doll bandmates: drummer Shawn Majeed, guitarist sophomore album Lucky Clover is Whisper Doll's first full-band record, and the first one made in full in NYC, representing a newfound sense of clarity for Fiona as well as a newly collaborative process. With their meticulously crafted sound and deeply thoughtful songwriting, Whisper Doll place us in a world that's unmistakably their own.

Surprises are nice. Unexpected, delightful - Vision Fortune last released music in 2015, and so odds were off that we’d hear from them again.

But against all odds, Vision Fortune III is coming out on Gringo Records, following the release of their last album ‘Country Music’ on ATP Records.

The trio first agreed to record a new album as somewhat of a dare over a marathon pasta and wine heavy luncheon in Palermo, Sicily. Waking up with sore heads, they realised in mild panic that flight tickets had been purchased, a cottage in rural Wales was booked, and it was too late to pull out.

And so it was - the Fortunes arrived in Machynlleth Wales in Spring of the following year. The rules were simple - takes were live, songs minimal and the fireplace kept roaring.

Drummer Andres Ayerbe’s strict roast lamb dinner cooking schedule resulted in an album less frenetic and agitated than previous work - instead, III explores a softer, more subdued and subtle side of Vision Fortune. Additional overdubs were recorded in New York City and Birmingham, by AC Williams and Alex Townend. III was completed - a new, leaner Vision Fortune. Like a good lamb dinner - more meat, less fat.

Press Quotes for Country Music:
"An impressively brutal record" NME 8/10

"Immersive and introspective musique concréte rippling rippling with dub rhythms, orchestral strings, tolling bells and discordant drones coming close to the alien beauty of Mica Levi's sonically extreme soundtrack work." Uncut 7/10

"Unsettling, strangely cathartic and hook-free (in a good way)." Dazed ("Twenty albums to look out for in 2015")

"Assembling whole scrapyards of sound and turning them into something better than what went before" The Guardian

"Swaddling the senses in soundwaves, Minimal ambient sketches and harsh electronics abound on this fascinating 12-song affair" The FADER

"Basically just one long, connected droney throb. But it's an awesome long droney throb." Brooklyn Vegan

Tsuyushi Hamada, a.k.a. Dayzero, has been producing and DJing for well over a decade, dropping deep heaters on labels including Livity Sound, ZamZam, and many more. We’re very happy to welcome him to the Tectonic family with this epic six-tracker, which sees Dayzero explore the deeper outer reaches of dubstep, techno - and the spaces he gravitates to in between.

‘Ego’ opens the EP at 134 BPM with a primal calling, conjuring spirits from the fire around a delicate but deliberate pitter-patter of interlocking drums and finely tuned delays. Moving up to 140 BPM for the rest of the EP, we’re skirting through the city lights with the techno-compatible energy of ‘Midnight Train’ and taking in old-school grime echoes with ‘Furious Dogs’.

Flip the vinyl here (if you have one!), and ‘Blur’ generates a light disorientation with its polyrhythmic melody. ‘Kingdom’ soundtracks a brooding sense of dread on a late-night drive, before we close with the title track, ‘Soaring’—a conga workout with a thousand-mile stare on it!

Japanese acid pop outfit Cho Co Pa Co Cho Co Quin Quin channel the globe-trotting spirit of Haruomi Hosono’s 1970s tropical boogie on their debut album, Tradition.

Named after one of the basic rhythms of Cuban folk music and drawing on influences from across the globe, Cho Co Pa Co Cho Co Quin Quin are quite simply a world unto itself.

Comprised of three childhood friends, Daido, Yuta and So, who reconnected during the coronavirus pandemic, Cho Co Pa initially emerged as a playful way for the three 23-year-olds to pass the time. Tapping into their youthful connection, they created a sound that exudes confidence and curiosity, a homage to the masterful world of YMO’s and Happy End’s Haruomi Hosono, rooted in the trio’s own idiosyncratic experience of the present.

Recorded at home and promoted on hugely popular DIY TikTok videos, their debut album Tradition is a technicolour exercise in armchair travelling – a kind of lockdown exotica for the housebound whose nostalgic flights of fancy are laced with a sense of whimsical melancholy for the lost freedoms of youth.

Referencing everything from Afro-Cuban percussion to lo-fi beats, Buddhist spirituality to trap, each member of the band brings different musical inspirations to the table. Latin American and Middle Eastern styles sit adjacent to a fascination for the electronic music of Aphex Twin, Dorian Concept, Underworld and Daft Punk. At times, the music verges on acid pop bliss, at others, it grooves with the instrumental funk sensibility of BADBADNOTGOOD.

“In the first place, when I create a song, my goal is to transport the listener to a mysterious place,” vocalist Daido explained in a recent magazine interview. Using lyrics as another sonic texture in the composition of ideas, Cho Co Pa paint beguiling sonic postcards of far-flung moods across 12 highly original tracks.

Marrying the organic and the electronic on rhythmically sophisticated compositions like ‘Chichibu’ and ‘Watatsumi’, it is on the album’s standout track ‘Gandhara’ that the experimental sound of Cho Co Pa comes to the fore. Referencing the ancient city of Gandhara through which Buddhism made its way from India to China, the track is a vocoder-trap-inspired, Udu drum-driven pop jam that lilts with unmistakable Balearic flair. If that’s difficult to imagine, then know simply that ‘Gandhara’ sounds like nothing else on this side of Saturn. Even Daido seemed surprised by the outcome: “I feel like we were able to create something that exceeded our abilities. That was huge!”

Hugely popular in Japan, with festival appearances lined up alongside BADBADNOTGOOD at Asagiri Jam in October, it's safe to say the success of Tradition has taken Cho Co Pa by surprise. You won’t have heard anything like it."

Clear Vinyl


Her sound remains vast and yearning, with gut-punch drums pushing through explosions of colored powder; her voice is a chrome-plated sigh, and her agile melodies soar effortlessly. - Pitchfork *BEST NEW MUSIC*
she achieves some serious cinematic grandeur. - Stereogum
Simply too sublimely crafted to ignore. - Consequence of Sound
A catchy ethereal piece of pop - Brooklyn Vegan
Rose's layered, reverb-laden vocals hit like waves of sunlight, warming her lines almost to the point of wordlessness. - Paste Magazine


"Hila. A record about loss. What persists beyond the range of ordinary perception? The place mourning keeps returning to - not quite transcendence, not quite doubt. The edge of what we can see."
Frankie Rose has spent fifteen years building one of the most quietly distinctive bodies of work in American independent music. Bursting out of the shackles of her legacy on 2024's Love As Projection, 2026's Hila builds on the muscular, dance-ready songwriting and transcendent melodies to result on Rose's most exploratory and affecting record of her career. Imbued with yearning melodies and brooding post-punk dynamics, Hila is Frankie Rose at her most impressionistic and expansive.

Self-produced at her home studio featuring collaborations with drummer Justin Welch (Elastica/Lush), Hila was recorded following extensive touring with The Jesus & Mary Chain and Swervedriver. The result is the most confident, searching music Rose has produced; muscular in its production yet emotionally vulnerable in its diffracted neon glow. A record informed by loss and the way grief mutates our senses, it's fitting that Rose channels the nuanced darkness of later Coil, at times the pounding EBM-production of Skinny Puppy and the near-spiritual alien-ness of Cocteau Twins. On Hila, the doors of perception are constantly melting, revealing the porous nature of the seen and unseen. The result is a synesthesia that flips the senses.

If Love As Projection was an outward-looking record looking to embrace the world, Hila brings the dark cosmos into inner space. Rose's love for 80s production and soaring melodies remain, they're cornerstones to her craft after all, but there's something more assured and gothic underneath the massive waves of sound. Opener Olo shimmers into a pulsating, cinematic brooder, Rose's vocal transcending and swan diving between registers in the chorus breakdowns. First single Cant Be Wrong serves as a transition from the optimistic pop of Rose's previous album, introducing a thumping 80s funk rhythm track under the soaring vocal performance. The ebullient Shadow Twin is that song's sibling, recalling major label-era Strawberry Switchblade melancholy mixed with Robin Guthrie's twinkling guitar work.

Hila blossoms darkly from here on in, blowing out into a glacial wide-screen sonic dynamic. On Rainman and the title track the listener is transported to a rain-soaked, nocturnal cityscape ridden with desire, moonlight cutting through blinds, intoxicating chasms without bounds. Rose's use of saxophone and digital synthesis recalls the nightmusic of Hats-era Blue Nile or the more ambient end of Emeralds' catalog. Indeed, in the towering synthetic cello sounds that climb into the mind on Hila, there's a distinct flavour of the instrumentals on Bowie's Low. This is musick to play in the dark, to light the way a little, just enough to trick the senses.
Leading into the strobe-filled haze, single Manifest pounds forward with a massive Industrial 4/4 beat and post-punk/goth musicality, an exercise in unlit ecstasy. For Best Of Times, the liberal saxophone passages feel like a suppressed, 80s Michael Mann soundtrack with Frankie Rose's effortless, melodic vocal performance probing, searching for connection. Navigating through the dry, iced landscape into a rising sun, closer Velvet Refrain flips the melancholy of the preceding passages. With a massive sound dripping with harmony, the clanging guitar and vocal duet feels they're sound-tracking an unexpected happy ending after bouts of darkness."

At the heart of twilightSPIRALS is a growing sense of social estrangement that exists precisely within constant connectivity. We are more connected than ever, in frequency, communication, visibility, and permanent interaction, yet genuine closeness often feels increasingly difficult to reach.
These songs were written from within that contradiction. They explore the longing for trust, friendship, openness, and vulnerability in a world where emotional life is increasingly mediated, accelerated, and experienced at the surface. There is an extraordinary amount of openness in
appearance today, yet very little real intimacy in depth. The frequency is high; the emotional grounding often remains absent.
That tension became the emotional center of the album. While the songs unfold, the emotional condition behind them feels universal: a person surrounded by constant communication and social exposure, yet unable to fully reach another person.


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In a world increasingly shaped by disposable content, Chat Pile answer with something defiantly real and organic, a mentality that permeates Who Loves The Sun, their third full-length record. Since the band’s formation just over six years ago, the Oklahoma City-based quartet Chat Pile has grown from a scrappy passion project into one of the defining heavy acts to emerge from the 2020s underground. Ray B. (vocals), L. Manhole (guitar), Stin (bass), and Cap’n Ron (drums) create a crushing, crass, and cathartic take on noise rock that captures a raw, undeniably human essence in an age marked by technological overreach and the cold state of society. Nothing about Who Loves The Sun feels synthetic.

Whereas their debut album God’s Country depicted a particularly American flavor of dread, and the follow up Cool World showed a cruel planet defined by global systemic violence, Who Loves The Sun peels the skin back on how collective indifference defines this new century. Spanning imagery of coastlines devouring cities, dead-end jobs, and submission to data-driven inauthenticity, the album dissects the apathy-bloated state of 21st-century existence as a slow-motion apocalypse. As with much of Chat Pile’s work, Oklahoma City itself looms over the album like a character, its sprawling isolation, economic contradictions, and underlying sense of decay embedded in the fabric of the record. The perfect allegory for the thematic essence of Who Loves The Sun is the photo embossed on the record’s cover, where Devon Tower, a glassy, largely vacant monolith, looms high above the Oklahoma City skyline while a burnt-out home or storefront envelops the foreground. The album remains lyrically and sonically confrontational, but Chat Pile approached the songwriting with hooks in mind, drawing on melodic tones of pre-2000s indie rock, alt-rock, and new wave. From the blood-soaked vocal passages of “Christabel ’26” to the eerie trip-hop pulse of “Same Rules,” Who Loves The Sun is deeply human despite its allusions to a dying, divided .

In a world increasingly shaped by disposable content, Chat Pile answer with something defiantly real and organic, a mentality that permeates Who Loves The Sun, their third full-length record. Since the band’s formation just over six years ago, the Oklahoma City-based quartet Chat Pile has grown from a scrappy passion project into one of the defining heavy acts to emerge from the 2020s underground. Ray B. (vocals), L. Manhole (guitar), Stin (bass), and Cap’n Ron (drums) create a crushing, crass, and cathartic take on noise rock that captures a raw, undeniably human essence in an age marked by technological overreach and the cold state of society. Nothing about Who Loves The Sun feels synthetic.

Whereas their debut album God’s Country depicted a particularly American flavor of dread, and the follow up Cool World showed a cruel planet defined by global systemic violence, Who Loves The Sun peels the skin back on how collective indifference defines this new century. Spanning imagery of coastlines devouring cities, dead-end jobs, and submission to data-driven inauthenticity, the album dissects the apathy-bloated state of 21st-century existence as a slow-motion apocalypse. As with much of Chat Pile’s work, Oklahoma City itself looms over the album like a character, its sprawling isolation, economic contradictions, and underlying sense of decay embedded in the fabric of the record. The perfect allegory for the thematic essence of Who Loves The Sun is the photo embossed on the record’s cover, where Devon Tower, a glassy, largely vacant monolith, looms high above the Oklahoma City skyline while a burnt-out home or storefront envelops the foreground. The album remains lyrically and sonically confrontational, but Chat Pile approached the songwriting with hooks in mind, drawing on melodic tones of pre-2000s indie rock, alt-rock, and new wave. From the blood-soaked vocal passages of “Christabel ’26” to the eerie trip-hop pulse of “Same Rules,” Who Loves The Sun is deeply human despite its allusions to a dying, divided .

In a world increasingly shaped by disposable content, Chat Pile answer with something defiantly real and organic, a mentality that permeates Who Loves The Sun, their third full-length record. Since the band’s formation just over six years ago, the Oklahoma City-based quartet Chat Pile has grown from a scrappy passion project into one of the defining heavy acts to emerge from the 2020s underground. Ray B. (vocals), L. Manhole (guitar), Stin (bass), and Cap’n Ron (drums) create a crushing, crass, and cathartic take on noise rock that captures a raw, undeniably human essence in an age marked by technological overreach and the cold state of society. Nothing about Who Loves The Sun feels synthetic.

Whereas their debut album God’s Country depicted a particularly American flavor of dread, and the follow up Cool World showed a cruel planet defined by global systemic violence, Who Loves The Sun peels the skin back on how collective indifference defines this new century. Spanning imagery of coastlines devouring cities, dead-end jobs, and submission to data-driven inauthenticity, the album dissects the apathy-bloated state of 21st-century existence as a slow-motion apocalypse. As with much of Chat Pile’s work, Oklahoma City itself looms over the album like a character, its sprawling isolation, economic contradictions, and underlying sense of decay embedded in the fabric of the record. The perfect allegory for the thematic essence of Who Loves The Sun is the photo embossed on the record’s cover, where Devon Tower, a glassy, largely vacant monolith, looms high above the Oklahoma City skyline while a burnt-out home or storefront envelops the foreground. The album remains lyrically and sonically confrontational, but Chat Pile approached the songwriting with hooks in mind, drawing on melodic tones of pre-2000s indie rock, alt-rock, and new wave. From the blood-soaked vocal passages of “Christabel ’26” to the eerie trip-hop pulse of “Same Rules,” Who Loves The Sun is deeply human despite its allusions to a dying, divided .

In a world increasingly shaped by disposable content, Chat Pile answer with something defiantly real and organic, a mentality that permeates Who Loves The Sun, their third full-length record. Since the band’s formation just over six years ago, the Oklahoma City-based quartet Chat Pile has grown from a scrappy passion project into one of the defining heavy acts to emerge from the 2020s underground. Ray B. (vocals), L. Manhole (guitar), Stin (bass), and Cap’n Ron (drums) create a crushing, crass, and cathartic take on noise rock that captures a raw, undeniably human essence in an age marked by technological overreach and the cold state of society. Nothing about Who Loves The Sun feels synthetic.

Whereas their debut album God’s Country depicted a particularly American flavor of dread, and the follow up Cool World showed a cruel planet defined by global systemic violence, Who Loves The Sun peels the skin back on how collective indifference defines this new century. Spanning imagery of coastlines devouring cities, dead-end jobs, and submission to data-driven inauthenticity, the album dissects the apathy-bloated state of 21st-century existence as a slow-motion apocalypse. As with much of Chat Pile’s work, Oklahoma City itself looms over the album like a character, its sprawling isolation, economic contradictions, and underlying sense of decay embedded in the fabric of the record. The perfect allegory for the thematic essence of Who Loves The Sun is the photo embossed on the record’s cover, where Devon Tower, a glassy, largely vacant monolith, looms high above the Oklahoma City skyline while a burnt-out home or storefront envelops the foreground. The album remains lyrically and sonically confrontational, but Chat Pile approached the songwriting with hooks in mind, drawing on melodic tones of pre-2000s indie rock, alt-rock, and new wave. From the blood-soaked vocal passages of “Christabel ’26” to the eerie trip-hop pulse of “Same Rules,” Who Loves The Sun is deeply human despite its allusions to a dying, divided .

“Ruins are the style of our future cities, future cities are themselves ruins.” - Izosaki Arata

A note from Lawrence English: Nostalgia is not an ideology, though in this moment, we could be mistaken for thinking it might be just that. Over the past years, the idea of nostalgia has been filtered through various political and technological lenses and has become a tool used for forgetting, rather than remembering. Instead of embracing histories’ complexities and inconsistencies, this version of nostalgia seeks only singular recollection. This contemporary phenomenon of nostalgia has become a methodology at best, and a weapon at worst, used to erode the past and project forward a collapsed and unimaginably sanitised version of things, places, and ways of being from former times. It’s this projection that sees it playing a mounting role in a social pathology associated with reducing the imagined possibilities of future.

The Rest Is My Ghost is a record that interrogates the manifestations of this reductive futuring and celebrates those that have tried (and failed), and those who continue to push back against decayed and revisionist positions. It’s a record that considers the weaponisation of nostalgia for the purposes of cloaking possible futures.

In recent times, I’ve proposed a term for this weaponised use of nostalgia, something I have called Acid Nostalgia. I offer it as a shorthand to describe the de-contouring of the future through a corrosive fixation on a flatten rendering of the preceding times. It is, in part, a certain type of lazy cultural scripting where tropes of the past are presented in the absolute, as empty pictorials; photocopies without any original from which to draw actual meaning, or useful detail.

Acid Nostalgia describes an increasingly common political projection of nostalgia that exists without any subjective connection to the memory surrounding and contained within it. Like acid poured onto a surface, this use of nostalgia seeks to erodes and smooth out the complexity and texture of lived connection and longing, which has until recently guided contemplations of nostalgia. Acid Nostalgia instead erases the texture of histories and de-contours the past, and in doing so dematerialises the horizon of possibility, which by its very nature marks the beginning point for any (and all) imaginable futures. Acid Nostalgia is a dreamless screen, where uncertainty, restlessness and aspiration are subjected to corrosion, breaking down and neutralising the wellspring of futures which are birthed from within the ambiguously charged, complex and at times chaotic atmospheres of the present.

The Rest Is My Ghost is not however some universal reading of these things and happenings. Rather it draws its breath from a very personal pathway carved through my own fraught experiences of nostalgia and framed through a disparate collage of chance encounters, situations, places and provocations. It takes oblique notes from civic and architectural references such as Japan’s Metabolist movement, Hong Kong’s ‘one line sky’ and Los Angeles’s vanished Sodium Vapour lights. It interpolates texts – factual and fictional – by authors such as Franco Berardi, Kate Crawford, JG Ballard, Katsuhiro Otomo, Mark Fisher and Alexei Yurchak who have each so wonderfully sought to rupture the familiarity of now, and push us towards other ways of imaging ourselves, our surroundings and our very ways of being in this world.

I also owe a debt of thanks to Adam Curtis in helping launch what has become this edition. It was his provocation, in a conversation we shared about an overwhelming and profound sense of uncertainty around being able to predict the immediate future and how to respond to that, which sparked the earliest inklings of this edition.

The Rest Is My Ghost is ultimately a record about the promise of constructions and connections to come, material, social and political. It's a record that accepts the fragility of failure as a source of ultimate potential, and a position from which the deepest freedom of imagination might be sought and summoned forth to conjure even the most unimaginable, (but) possible futures.

This Mirror Weighs a Ton, Interpol’s first album in four years and debut for Partisan Records, finds the band turning inward while continuing to move forward. Across the record, reflection, distortion and perception become a lens through which familiar shapes are refracted into something slightly alien, as if seen through a different kind of light.

Produced with Grammy- and Oscar-winning Andrew Wyatt (ROSALÍA, Charli xcx) and mixed by Dave Fridmann, the album introduces vibrant new textures into Interpol’s world. Synthesizers, strings, acoustic guitars and percussion are integrated into the fabric of the songs, expanding the palette while revealing colors already latent within it. Nothing feels imposed. Instead, the additions deepen the band’s language of restraint, atmosphere and tension. At its center remains the creative relationship between Paul Banks, Daniel Kessler and Sam Fogarino, a partnership now approaching three decades and defined by intuitive alignment and momentum that continues to generate new possibilities. The result is an album that feels expansive, uncanny and alive with forward motion, not a reinvention but an evolution that allows Interpol to continue transforming without losing their identity.

“This Mirror Weighs A Ton” / “See Out Loud” is a study in duality, with Interpol moving fluidly between familiarity and departure. The title track unfolds from a skeletal progression into something vast and textural, built from warped bass, a wordless female voice and a sense of motion that feels tidal, bending the band’s familiar language into somewhere more expansive and unfamiliar. By contrast, “See Out Loud” carries the DNA of Interpol’s earliest work, sharp, propulsive and direct, while complicating it through layered vocals, shifting perspectives and a rare lead vocal turn from Kessler. Both tracks reflect the interplay between structure and spontaneity that defines This Mirror Weighs a Ton, expanding Interpol’s world through fresh textures while keeping the instinctive chemistry between Banks, Kessler and Fogarino at the center.

The double single is accompanied by two visualizers directed by Nick Steinhardt.

This Mirror Weighs a Ton, Interpol’s first album in four years and debut for Partisan Records, finds the band turning inward while continuing to move forward. Across the record, reflection, distortion and perception become a lens through which familiar shapes are refracted into something slightly alien, as if seen through a different kind of light.

Produced with Grammy- and Oscar-winning Andrew Wyatt (ROSALÍA, Charli xcx) and mixed by Dave Fridmann, the album introduces vibrant new textures into Interpol’s world. Synthesizers, strings, acoustic guitars and percussion are integrated into the fabric of the songs, expanding the palette while revealing colors already latent within it. Nothing feels imposed. Instead, the additions deepen the band’s language of restraint, atmosphere and tension. At its center remains the creative relationship between Paul Banks, Daniel Kessler and Sam Fogarino, a partnership now approaching three decades and defined by intuitive alignment and momentum that continues to generate new possibilities. The result is an album that feels expansive, uncanny and alive with forward motion, not a reinvention but an evolution that allows Interpol to continue transforming without losing their identity.

“This Mirror Weighs A Ton” / “See Out Loud” is a study in duality, with Interpol moving fluidly between familiarity and departure. The title track unfolds from a skeletal progression into something vast and textural, built from warped bass, a wordless female voice and a sense of motion that feels tidal, bending the band’s familiar language into somewhere more expansive and unfamiliar. By contrast, “See Out Loud” carries the DNA of Interpol’s earliest work, sharp, propulsive and direct, while complicating it through layered vocals, shifting perspectives and a rare lead vocal turn from Kessler. Both tracks reflect the interplay between structure and spontaneity that defines This Mirror Weighs a Ton, expanding Interpol’s world through fresh textures while keeping the instinctive chemistry between Banks, Kessler and Fogarino at the center.

The double single is accompanied by two visualizers directed by Nick Steinhardt.

Studio Barnhus presents Fold, the first full-length release on the label from Stockholm-born, Berlin-based DJ and producer MOLØ: a patiently unfolding album of club-adjacent lullabies, soft-focus breakbeats and open-window electronics. Following 2024’s Aqua Lull and 2025’s Don’t Change EP with Slackin Beats, MOLØ returns to Barnhusgatan with her most fully realised work yet – an album built like a night slowly finding its shape, starting somewhere quiet and letting the music grow and shift. The result is Fold: eight tracks moving freely between rooms and tempos, held together by MOLØ’s sense of atmosphere, melody and pace. There are pads with endless skies in them, field recordings whispering from the corners, melodies suddenly appearing, having been waiting patiently for the right light.
As often with Studio Barnhus, friends old and new are invited in. Swedish jazz pianist Albin Söderbäck leaves his mark on Cloud and Sväva, bringing a warm, searching musicality that nods gently towards MOLØ’s favourite jazz-fusion records. On Le, Diane Emerita’s fragile voice slips in between the breaks, making the track feel at once human and unreal. Off The Meds frontman Kamohelo keeps it cool as ever on the dynamic stepper Bump.
Then there is Malmö, featuring Norwegian songwriter and vocalist Ane Brun. MOLØ sent Brun the instrumental because she could already hear her voice inside the music – what came back felt so natural, it was as if the whole track had been written around it from the start.
Elsewhere, DJ favourite Fluff captures a different kind of magic: made in MOLØ’s Berlin apartment one spring evening, barely changed since its first draft, then road-tested immediately on a late-night walk through the city with the demo on repeat, strangers moving through the frame.
Fold is a record about trusting the long way round. In a time of shrinking attention spans and growing impatience, MOLØ chooses the scenic route, with curiosity, generosity and enough confidence to let the listener get a little lost

Great Television unfolds as a loose, emotionally driven narrative about navigating love, identity, and self-destruction against a backdrop of memory, movement, and Southern imagery. It begins with “Sunset Promenade,” where a deep, possibly lifelong bond offers comfort amid internal turmoil, establishing a desire for connection strong enough to withstand a restless mind. This sense of identity expands in “Girls of Atomic City,” where independence and womanhood are celebrated, though tinged with performance and uncertainty.

As the story progresses, songs like “Okeechobee Mud” introduce instability and intensity, portraying relationships that are passionate but corrosive, where love becomes inseparable from pain. “Thiokol Tripwire” honors the lives lost in the 1971 Thiokol Chemical Explosion and those affected in the south Georgia community of Woodbine. “Razorwire Wall” reinforces this devotion to chaotic love, suggesting loyalty even in destructive circumstances. A turning point arrives with “The Easy Kind,” where Cook reflects on attempts at self-repair, acknowledging her contradictions and rejecting simplicity in favor of a more fractured self-understanding. This awareness deepens in “Caldonia and The Love Convoy” and “In Your Veins,” where freedom blurs into recklessness and love takes on addictive qualities, revealing her complicity in cycles of harm. “19th Nervous Breakdown” provides crucial context, tracing her instability back to a turbulent upbringing marked by neglect and emotional disorder. “Feverfew,” leaves the narrative unresolved, as she recognizes her repeated attraction to destructive paths yet continues to follow them. In contrast, the closing track “Lightly” offers a rare glimpse of pure, protective sisterly love. Altogether, the album portrays a cyclical journey of longing, damage, and partial self-awareness, where clarity emerges but transformation remains uncertain.

'As I Slip Into the Sky reflects a particularly small sliver of time compared to Where the Smoke Goes, with recordings taking place in early 2025, while Johnny was bed-bound in an assisted living facility with multiple sclerosis. Alabama born, Portland based artist Joel Nelson helms the nearly entirely electronic backdrop, posing a new canvas for Johnny, with Buchla Music Easel bubbling up between Johnny’s lines. This album captures Johnny in a remarkably tender and emotive form. Love and all its permutations. The tangled, but caring nature of familial love, (“But you and me, we can talk on the phone every day. I would never leave you behind”), to the anguish and euphoria of romantic connection. Johnny has a remarkable ability to pose questions, ("What is real love like?), and provide answers that reflect the truest of realities, absent cliche ("I don't know. His curly hair, short on his head, his smile, his smile, his smile...that is what real love is like").
'Joel Nelson's nimble work across a small array of analog synthesizers creates a flowing backdrop to Johnny's stream of consciousness. At times, Broadcast's fuzzed out ballads come to mind, while at others, early Oneohtrix Point Never's gauzy, distant drones anchor beneath Johnny's slippery syntax.
'Johnny recorded his poems while confined to a hospital bed, through an iPhone laid gently on his chest. Assisted by the caring presence of friends John Albea and Lauren Jones, we can hear through these recordings Johnny immersed in his world of words, taking in the world of sounds Joel had provided for him. We hear his breath, at times we hear the harsh sibilance captured by the iPhone microphone, but more than anything, we hear the tenderness and poetic resolve of his caring soul. He was incredibly grateful for the past years of connecting with the small cohort of Birmingham-affiliated musicians and artists who upheld him as the unofficial poet laureate of "The Magic City", Birmingham, AL. Perhaps most appropriately, Johnny closes the album out in a state of gratitude:'

"My funeral was perfect
I was buried wearing a very charming jacket
A very charming jacket I just happened to have on when i died
He was always the lucky one, Mary-Ellen said
I've been looking for a nice casual jacket like that I could wear to casual little outdoor parties and to my funeral all my life
But Johnny just had one
Probably someone left it in his car
He was so lucky
It doesn't even make sense
But its true
He really was that lucky"

These days – on the new, ninth Fink album – Greenall is operating within a lineage of authentic, quietly revolutionary artists from England’s verdant southwestern toe. Artists like Michael Chapman. In 1970, the elusive acoustic guitar wizard released an album called Fully Qualified Survivor. The cult-classic served as a lodestar for Greenall – along with bandmates Tim Thornton and Guy Whittaker – as he began jigsawing together The City Is Coming to Erase it All, the follow-up to 2024’s Beauty In Your Wake. He even considered covering a song from it, but in the process, inadvertently stumbled into what became the album’s opener. ‘Wishing For Blue Sky’ circles a universal teenage ache: waiting for life to start. “No point dying of patience” goes the first lyric as crunching footsteps cue a resonant, open-tuned acoustic swaying into view. By 18, Greenall was fed up with waiting, so he left suburban Bristol and saw the world, sending postcards from the edge, waiting tables, squirreling away tips for the next flight. Thornton had similar experiences when the guitarist/drummer busked across Eur

This is nowstalgia more than nostalgia, though; there’s a parallel between these 18-year-olds and Fink’s autumn-aged family men. “You’re expected to be boring and settling down at this age,” Thornton says. “But we’ve still got this tremendous wanderlust. We want to go and discover, and also achieve things. It’s a nice life – home and family – but fuck, I can’t wait to get back out there.” City is a product of this hunger for discovery, and idolatry of the album as a form – like we had in 1974. City’s cover mirrors its interior, the first song is the greeting, the instrumental closer the conclusion. It’s a story. It’s a record for people who, like its creators, are curious. People who happily face a little cold for music, who light a crackling fire back home, who sit with these songs until they’re ready to chase after their own blue sky

Under the moniker Trace Mountains, Dave Benton writes music that asks large questions in quietly profound ways. On the project’s earliest release, the 2014 compilation Buttery Sprouts & Other Songs, these thoughts appeared as lo-fi scraps of wit andtenderness. But by the time A Partner to Lean On, Trace Mountains’ debut full-length, arrived in 2018, Benton’s perceptive indie rock had matured into more existential meditations about identity, existence, and finding sense in an increasingly chaotic world.
In the two years since A Partner to Lean On, Benton’s life has undergone several large changes, namely the dissolution of LVL UP, the indie rock quartet he co-founded in college, and a move to Kingston, a small city in New York’s Hudson Valley. Composed during—but not directly inspired by—this transition, Trace Mountains’ second record, Lost in the Country, reflects Benton’s need toreconnect with his inner world.

Prompted by an urge to access a more authentic voice, Lost in the Country finds Benton digging deeper into candid songwriting. “I wanted to open myself up and write lyrics that are a little bit more direct,” he explains. “I write a lot of songs that are about myself and a lot of songs that aren’t, but on this record, the focus is turned inward either way.” The result is Trace Mountains’ strongest and most assured record yet, 10 songs driven by a desire for introspection and self-discovery. The backdrop for this insularity is an expanse of wide blue skies, seas of trees, and winding roads, ideal locales for thoughts to blossom into greater reflections of the outer world. The slow-burning “Absurdity,” which Benton modestly says is about “hiking and standing in the country,” uses the sublimity of the wilderness to comment on technology’s inescapable presence. Similarly, the driving opener “Rock & Roll” transforms the premise of a “simple song about being a rocker” into a stream-of-consciousness, apocalyptic poem about delusions, regrets, and getting lost in your own limited perspective. This self-examination culminates with the record’s ambitious and anthemic title track. Channeling the cosmic sprawl of the War on Drugs or Kurt Vile, Benton recalls a moment of deep loneliness and depression outside a concert venue in the Netherlands, and how an unexpected moment of compassion led to a moment of awakening.
Despite its frequently bucolic setting, Lost in the Country’s underlying current is an urgent commitment to Trace Mountains and “finding a creative process that requires me to be honest with myself.” “I know I sing to forget, I sing to hold my breath, to feel the thumping in my chest,” Benton sings on “Cooper’s Dream.”This line is “rooted in the importance of music in my life, it’s definitely a reflection on that and how I can keep it in my life, because if I’m not careful and I don’t nurture it, I could lose it.” The self-imposed pressure has been empowering for Benton. “I really like having full control in making a record, deciding what songs are going to be on it, as well as shaping the vibe or narrative of the whole thing,” he says. “It brings a peace of mind knowing that I am responsible for just my voice.”

The 2015 debut album from female punk super-group back in print on new burgundy colour vinyl! NOT SORRY is the first full-length album from all female super-group BAD COP BAD COP. Aptly titled, NOT SORRY brazenly blasts out some of the most vibrant pop-punk around today. Laden with catchy hooks, three-part harmonies that'd make The Beach Boys jealous, and tons of attitude, all 13 tracks showcase BAD COP BAD COP's uncanny ability to blend aggressive instrumentation with polished vocals. A quick glance at the band's collective resume (Compton SF, The Radio Sweetheart, The D'Maggs, The City, Angry Amputees, and Cunt Sparrer) will disabuse any doubters of the notion that BCBC can't hand with the boys. From front to back, NOT SORRY brings the rock. Tracks like "Old Dogs", "Nightmare", & "Support", display the bands' hard playing style and strong sense of melody. One listen to NOT SORRY and you'll know why BAD COP BAD COP have generated so much buzz! "This badass bunch of melodic punk rock ladies have been releasing infectious 7" records for a couple years that just play too damn quickly... The album dashes by like a vacation_over sooner than you'd like." _New Noise Magazine "California's Bad Cop Bad Cop lay down the law with an incredible authority: the tunes are concise and compact melodic punk blazers, filled with equal amounts of bite and sugar-sweet harmony." _Alternative Press "These songs are full of three-part harmonies that can make Bad Religion's Greg Graffin and Brett Gurewitz retroactively jealous, and they're catchy enough that they could easily fit onto any of the early Fat Music comps." _Dying Scene Produced by Fat Mike (NOFX) & Davey Warsop (Suedehead) For Fans of: NOFX, Dance Hall Crashers, Masked Intruder Ongoing social media push via artist and label channels Social Media and Digital marketing campaign See Bad Cop Bad Cop on tour in Europe

Tum Tum Tum is the eighth album from London-based Brazilian artist Marcelo Frota aka MOMO., featuring guest appearances from Brazilian bossa nova legend Marcos Valle and Smoke City's Nina Miranda as well as UK jazz trombonist Rosie Turton and his tight-knit band, all recorded in South London This is a free-flowing, warm, expansive and fully assured album, and exudes a playfulness and a sense of someone who is truly in their element and at peace when writing and recording.

‘Richness of tone; precision of articulation; ingenuity of timbre that, when Akinmusire pursues microtonal avenues, creates the sense that particular sounds are almost hermetically sealed before being slowly squeezed and pinched into the air. In other words there is a high degree of technical mastery, but, tellingly, it underpins a profound and often engrossing sense of narrative.’ - Jazzwise

‘Halvorson has formulated a guitar style with few precedents. One inspiration might be the painter George Seurat, whose Impressionist paintings of a hundred isolated dots cohere into a picture if one steps back from the canvas. Halvorson’s pointillist approach to the guitar works much the same way.’ - JazzTimes

Slo-Mo Neon Luminate Hoverings, the new album by trumpeter/composer Ambrose Akinmusire and guitarist/composer Mary Halvorson, features four new compositions by each musician as well as one collaboration. The duo, long admirers of each other’s musicianship, met at Halvorson’s Brooklyn apartment and began playing together periodically, going back as far as 2009. They rehearsed the music on Slo-Mo Neon Luminate Hoverings in January 2025, just before performing it at the New York City club The Stone; they recorded this album the next day at Sear Sound.

Akinmusire and Halvorson made two previous attempts at recording an album but felt that they got it right with this third session. Halvorson says of their rapport, which developed over those years of friendship and collaboration, “I think it’s partly a shared aesthetic and an ease of communication. I feel comfortable to try whatever.” Akinmusire concurs, “I think it’s rare to find an improviser that all goes and nothing has to go at all. It’s rare to feel like you don’t have to do anything and you can do anything. And that’s what I love about playing with Mary.”

Though Halvorson regularly uses effects pedals on her guitar, Akinmusire’s use of one on Slo-Mo Neon Luminate Hoverings is new. Having recently gotten an updated model of the Line 6, Halvorson was passing her old ones along to friends. “Ambrose was interested in trying a Line Six. I gave him one five minutes before the rehearsal and was amazed how quickly he was able to do incredible shit on it ... in literally five minutes,” she says.

“But I’ve been watching you, I’ve been watching Bill Frisell and other people use it for a long time,” Akinmusire says. “I approached it as if it were its own musician. I played and it would process the sound and then I would choose to react to that or not. The people like Mary that I love to listen to who use delay, I like being able to hear the process of the texture that’s being built. With some people, when they use it, you don’t really hear it. But with Mary, she’ll play a line and then she’ll react to that line and then react to that,” he continues. “It’s really cool to hear how something is being built. So I kind of stole that.”

Halvorson says, “I’ve never seen someone pick up a pedal and then immediately do something with it that felt like, ‘Oh, this is a sound,’ as opposed to just tinkering, you know? It felt like he was making music on it right away, and then also doing things that surprised me, like the vocalizing really surprised me. I wasn’t expecting that, and it was awesome.”

In 1979, the Soviet label Melodiya released a record that immediately stood apart from most Soviet jazz of its time and perhaps for that very reason never became widely known. Oriental Suite by Oleg Gotskosik Quintet is a rare example of jazz, Eastern musical tradition, and compositional thinking coming together not as an exotic stylization but as a fully formed artistic statement.

This is not “Oriental colour” used as decoration, nor folklore treated as an ornament. Oriental Suite grows from within another musical tradition, with its monody, modal logic, slow unfolding of form, and focus on inner states rather than outward effect. The music is calm and concentrated. It does not try to impress, but gradually draws the listener into its own space.
Oleg Gotskozik was born in Tashkent in 1951, a city where Eastern music was part of everyday life rather than something distant or exotic. That may explain why his engagement with traditional material sounds so natural. He does not quote or stylize; he thinks in the same musical categories. By temperament, he was closer to a composer than to a jazz musician in the conventional sense. For him, jazz was not a style but a way of working with form and improvisation.There is no standard “theme and solos” logic in Oriental Suite. Improvisation is woven into the fabric of the music itself and unfolds in the same way as in oral traditions, gradually, with rising tension and a clear sense of arrival. Individual sections refer to traditional Uzbek genres such as lullabies, lyrical songs, and funeral laments, but these are not genre sketches. They are states of being. The music unfolds slowly, avoiding familiar harmonic drama and relying instead on modal scales and subtle internal movement.

A special role is played by trumpeter Yuri Parfyonov. His approach, with delayed vibrato, micro-glissandi, and melismatic phrasing, sounded unexpected at the end of the 1970s and still feels remarkably fresh today. This is not expressive jazz virtuosity but a focused, almost meditative voice, where improvisation becomes a form of inner speech.
It is also important to note that the original recording was not without technical flaws. Like many Soviet jazz releases of the time, Oriental Suite was captured under far from ideal conditions, and the master contained audible imperfections that were never part of the music itself. For this edition, the restoration was approached with great care and respect, working through the recording moment by moment to remove unwanted artifacts while preserving the character and atmosphere of the original. The aim was simple: to make sure nothing stands in the way of fully experiencing the music.

In the early 1980s, Oleg Gotskozik left the Soviet Union, and after that his name virtually disappeared from Soviet music journalism and literature. There were no official bans or public statements. He was simply no longer mentioned. Oriental Suite continued to exist on its own, without an author and without context. The record never entered the canon, received no continuation, and was never officially reissued. It seemed to fall out of time.
The original vinyl pressing was released in a run of around 32,000 copies, but most of them remained within the republic and never reached wide circulation. Today, original copies are hard to find and have long become objects of interest for collectors. There have been no official reissues, only attempts that never went beyond test pressings.
Today, Oriental Suite sounds surprisingly contemporary. It is music that can be described as deep ethno-jazz and even, in a certain sense, spiritual jazz. There is no exoticism here, no decorative borrowing, only a complete immersion in another musical way of thinking. It does not require explanations and does not need to be justified by its time.
This is not a forgotten curiosity revived for collectors’ sake. It is music that simply waited for the moment when it could be heard without ideological filters or genre expectations. Now it is returning quietly, without noise or hype, but with the clear sense that this is not an artifact of an era, but a living and genuinely rare artistic statement.

These days – on the new, ninth Fink album – Greenall is operating within a lineage of authentic, quietly revolutionary artists from England’s verdant southwestern toe. Artists like Michael Chapman. In 1970, the elusive acoustic guitar wizard released an album called Fully Qualified Survivor. The cult-classic served as a lodestar for Greenall – along with bandmates Tim Thornton and Guy Whittaker – as he began jigsawing together The City Is Coming to Erase it All, the follow-up to 2024’s Beauty In Your Wake. He even considered covering a song from it, but in the process, inadvertently stumbled into what became the album’s opener. ‘Wishing For Blue Sky’ circles a universal teenage ache: waiting for life to start. “No point dying of patience” goes the first lyric as crunching footsteps cue a resonant, open-tuned acoustic swaying into view. By 18, Greenall was fed up with waiting, so he left suburban Bristol and saw the world, sending postcards from the edge, waiting tables, squirreling away tips for the next flight. Thornton had similar experiences when the guitarist/drummer busked across Eur

This is nowstalgia more than nostalgia, though; there’s a parallel between these 18-year-olds and Fink’s autumn-aged family men. “You’re expected to be boring and settling down at this age,” Thornton says. “But we’ve still got this tremendous wanderlust. We want to go and discover, and also achieve things. It’s a nice life – home and family – but fuck, I can’t wait to get back out there.” City is a product of this hunger for discovery, and idolatry of the album as a form – like we had in 1974. City’s cover mirrors its interior, the first song is the greeting, the instrumental closer the conclusion. It’s a story. It’s a record for people who, like its creators, are curious. People who happily face a little cold for music, who light a crackling fire back home, who sit with these songs until they’re ready to chase after their own blue sky

Every so often in music, we come across voices that achieve a certain timelessness, so naturally do they encapsulate both past and present. Laure Briard is one of these voices, retro in form but contemporary at heart, spanning a career rich in aesthetic twists and turns, never without her signature magic, a special kind of eternal filter. Her first album, Révélation (2015), reveals her yé-yé influences, a testament to her love for ‘60s French pop music. Her second studio album, Sur la piste de danse (2016), follows in this vein and finds Laure accompanied as always by her long-time bandmates who share an affinity for warm, catchy arrangements that never lose their appeal. Her tour of Brazil marks a turning point in her career, introducing her to the local indie scene and thus launching her collaboration with the band Boogarins, as well as inspiring the release of multiple EPs composed and performed in Portuguese. Today, her music is embellished by touches of bossa nova and a folk sensibility, boasting increasingly intricate arrangements, as exemplified by her 2019 release, Un peu plus d'amour s'il vous plaît. Several years later, the Californian desert captures the musician’s imagination with Ne pas trop rester bleue, a poignant musical journey inspired by the rich history of Western legends and the role they play in shaping our collective consciousness.

In Voyage Mental, Laure Briard draws upon an inner energy unearthed during a new stage in her life, where the thrill of spontaneous adventure is not accessible in quite the same way. The result is a collection of sophisticated, introspective songs, narrating a young mother’s quest for balance in the face of routine. The album, nostalgic but always tethered to the present moment, is also the fruit of her collaboration with Gaëtan Nonchalant, a talented musician known for coaxing poetry out of the mundane. The two of them co-wrote and recorded five tracks at Studio Nocturne, accompanied by her long-time sidekick Pieuvre, aka Vincent Guyot, Léo Blomov, Pierre-Louis Vizioz, and Hedi Bensalem. The gentle pop opener “Rocking Chair” sways steadily to the rhythm of dynamic drums, followed by “Train,” a ballad that extends an invitation to set sail and daydream alone. The folk escapade continues with “Golden Sun,” a duet featuring the 1960s cult American musician F.J. McMahon, who Laure contacted via the internet on a whim. “Golden Sun” is an unlikely encounter between two generations and two cultures, giving new life to an old forgotten demo on the other side of the Atlantic. And while Laure sings of wide open spaces, cowboys, and sunsets sinking into the sea, we feel the city surrounding her in “Miroir,” a song composed by Hedi Bensalem that laments the suffocation of living in a crowded metropolis where the sky is a distant gray smudge. This pressing need for air, this search for rest and total disconnection, is one of the album's central themes. It may also explain the ever-present sense of nostalgia that pervades the songs, a welcome respite in our current era of doomscrolling and darkness. Along the way, Laure soothes us with melancholy guitar, delivers poetry set to scattered piano notes, and takes us by the hand during lively, uptempo passages. We climb onto her wings, never straying too far from the ground, soaring joyfully above her moods.

Wheelchair Sports Camp is certainly not your average hip-hop act. Hailing from Denver, CO, fronted by Kalyn Rose Heffernan—a wheelchair using, profanely queer and tiny rapper, with a very distinctly high-pitched sense of humor. Backed by her gimp Greggy on drums, the band combines fantastic beats with an absolutely face shredding live show. Playing shows everywhere they could, the band has expanded into performance art, museum takeovers, politics, prison tours, permanent installations, theater, film, and now the release of their newest album, “Oh Imperfecta!” on Alternative Tentacles Records. They bring together contributions from Jello Biafra (twice), Radio Pete (who happened to come up with the name Dead Kennedys when Biafra was a teen in Boulder, CO, and this is their first time ever collaborating musically), Kimya Dawson (Moldy Peaches), Oliva Jean, Junia-T, Amy Goodman, and some honorary WSC members: Qknox, Michelle Rocqet, Wes Watkins, RAREBYRD$, and many more; to create 11 absolute bangers.

Originally released in 2014 on cassette and digital only, Till Human Voices Wake Us was the first album by the Iranian artist on Umor Rex. It became a key work in our catalog, and now, 12 years later, it is available on vinyl for the first time. This is the first in a series of four special, limited reissues to be released in 2026 to mark the 20th anniversary of Umor Rex.

Till Human Voices Wake Us comprises ten tracks with a clear and carefully structured script, based on poems by T.S. Eliot, highlighting Siavash Amini’s work as a composer for theater, film, and art exhibitions. His music deliberately leans toward ambient expressions, at times recalling Morricone’s Western film scores. The interplay between synthetic and digital elements, together with multilayered, soul-healing electric guitar passages, creates an opulent sonic texture that moves between dramatic and melancholic moments with a finely constructed, fluid dynamism.

There is an emotional depth in each piece, guided by tonal variations and shifting textures that turn the music into a mental journey, with landscapes, a sense of cold resolution, and the quiet inevitability of an ending. Till Human Voices Wake Us was Amini’s first album on a non-Iranian label. Following this release, he has also published work, in addition to Umor Rex, on labels such as Room40, Hallow Ground, and Opal Tapes, among others, and is now considered one of the most prominent figures in Iran’s experimental music scene.

All music by Siavash Amini. Original master by Nicholas Szczepanik. Remastered for vinyl by Rafael Anton Irisarri. Artwork by Daniel Castrejón.

"Already established within Iran’s music scene, Siavash Amini has crafted a powerful signature sound that blends meticulously assembled ambient synthesis with languid electric guitar melodies, recalling Lanois and Eno’s classic Apollo." — THE QUIETUS (Tristan Bath)

In an age that demands hyper acceleration, kinetic flashes and byte voracity, Blak Saagan sticks out like a sore thumb with a sprawling body of work that requires attention and unlocks profound symbols and meaning with every passage. After a 5 year gap, the Venetian composer returns with his most personal and openly political statement yet, ‘Un Sequestro Lungo 10.000 Anni’, a staggering 108 minute triple album soundtracking a dystopian city through flashes of futuristic fourth world visions, warehouse 80s rave-ups, meditative trance and dark rumblings. Following his acclaimed ‘Se Ci Fosse La Luce Sarebbe Bellissimo’ was never going to be an easy feat but Samuele Gottardello (Blak Saagan) approached the fresh canvas with a renewed sense of commitment sparking a dense parallel world inhabited by paranoia, control and repression. A world that is relieved by the figure of a woman with the body of a bird emerging from the asphalt and freeing humanity from the “sequestro” (kidnapping) to which it has long been subjected. Dystopia pushed to the limits and sadly close to our current affairs.

Repress

The Collaboration - Having toured together over the years, Lattimore and Barwick now join forces to co-write and record this full-length album. Their creative synergy brings together harp, voice, and analog synths in a deeply emotional, immersive sound journey. The album was recorded at the Philharmonie de Paris with co-producer Trevor Spencer (Fleet Foxes, Beach House). This album continues a unique series of collaborations between the label and the Musée de la Musique, featuring historical instruments in contemporary composition. Since 2017, InFiné and the Philharmonie de Paris have co-developed a series of albums designed to highlight the extraordinary instrument collection of the Musée de la Musique. Following the albums InBach by Arandel (2020) and Saturn 63 by Seb Martel (2022), this third release is a meeting of two iconic contemporary ambient voices: Mary Lattimore and Julianna Barwick. The project offers the artists full access to the museum’s playable instruments for recording, sound conservation, and creative reinterpretation.



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Tragic Magic brings together Julianna Barwick and Mary Lattimore, two of contemporary ambient, experimental and electronic music’s most celebrated composers, for a unique collaboration at the Philharmonie de Paris, with extraordinary access to the Musée de la Musique’s instrument collection, in partnership with the French label InFiné. The album features seven immersive, evocative compositions guided by the human spirit – intimate, grounded in friendship, both earthly and cosmic – and part of a greater continuum, reflecting the solace and transformative power of artistry across generations.

Co-produced by Trevor Spencer (Fleet Foxes, Beach House), Tragic Magic was created in just nine days, a testament to the “musical telepathy” that has developed between Barwick and Lattimore over years of touring and friendship. Arriving in Paris from Los Angeles shortly after the 2025 wildfires, their sessions combined improvisation with the emotions and experiences they carried, in a setting both inspiring and deeply supportive. Lattimore selected harps tracing the instrument’s evolution from 1728 to 1873, while Barwick chose several iconic analog synthesizers, including the Roland JUPITER and Sequential Circuits PROPHET-5. In freeform dialogue between voice and instrument, they create a meditation on tragedy, wonder, and the restorative power of shared experience.

The duo, often joined by Spencer, also explored the city, sharing meals and visiting museums and landmarks, each encounter leaving an impression on their next session. The experience allowed them to work intimately with rare instruments, blending their personal sensibilities with centuries of history, resulting in music that honors the past while remaining a deeply authentic expression of the present.
Throughout Tragic Magic, Barwick and Lattimore find something beyond themselves: a sense that while everything may not be okay, beauty persists. Their approach – transforming life into music, observing, feeling, and creating – continues a lineage of creative expression and visionary invention, embodied in the very instruments they employed for this project.

Intimacy is manifested in every moment of Radiator, the debut album from Philadelphia's Sadurn. This feeling of closeness, of being able to lend your every sense to one's confessions of internal conflict, is due in large part to the circumstances under which this album was created. Much of the world fell apart in 2020, but Sadurn tucked themselves away in a Pocono's cabin, creating and recording what would become their first full-length. Within the confines of their close quarters, passing animals as the only auditory witness to a makeshift recording studio created by moving furniture, Sadurn created an album that will break your heart and then slowly piece it back together.Sadurn started as the solo project of Genevieve ??DeGroot. Picking up guitar in 2015, DeGroot started writing songs, eventually playing DIY shows throughout the city of Philadelphia. With time, the direction, sound, and members of Sadurn changed. The beginning of 2020 was meant to serve as their debut as a four member band (Jon Cox on guitar/tenor guitar, Tabita Ahnert on bass, and Amelia Swan on drums), but the world had other plans and the group adapted.Taking influence from artists like Gillian Welch, Alex G, and Jason Molina, Sadurn's emotive indie rock explores the struggles and eventual beauty of grappling with multiple emotional realities, particularly when it comes to relationships. That conflict, the idea of being forced to choose, even when terrified, is present on singles like "Radiator" and "Golden Arm." The latter is an unhurried ballad that shows its truest colors with time, eventually blossoming with unexpected admissions of desire and uncertainty. Indecision, heartbreak, and attempting to live out your days against the actual backdrop of a gradually worsening hellscape is a shared commonality among us all, but on Radiator Sadurn breaks down walls that others so often put up. It's a fleeting, impactful glimpse at one's whole heart, and its sweeping, special nature is evident from the moment the album opens.

Double 12" release

The Story — From the Streets of Rome to the Male Productions Label
In the early 1990s, Rome lived in a kind of suspended moment. The city was still tied to its historic clubs, yet in the outskirts—inside abandoned warehouses, quarries along the coastline, and the wooded parks north of the capital—something new was beginning to stir. A nocturnal, constantly shifting movement fuelled by a hunger for freedom and a sonic curiosity that reached far beyond the mainstream.

Moving through this ferment was Francesco “Chicco” Furlotti. First an organizer of unconventional parties and underground nights, he soon became one of the driving forces behind Rome’s itinerant rave scene. Furlotti sensed that a wave of change was about to sweep across the city. It wasn’t just about parties: it was the rise of a culture, a new way of thinking about music, community, and belonging.

It was within those nights—later held with official permits, properly built sound systems, and an ever-growing crowd—that Furlotti recognized the existence of a distinctly Roman sound, and the need to capture it, preserve it, and give it tangible form.
So, in 1991, he decided to take a bolder step: to found an independent record label—small, determined, and far removed from the commercial logic that dominated at the time.
That was the birth of Male Productions.

Male was not a label like any other: it was a workshop, a gathering point, a creative hub where DJs, producers, friends, and wanderers converged. Within that environment, an artistic core took shape—Stefano Di Carlo, Leo Young, and Mauro Tannino, along with other collaborators orbiting around Furlotti. From their synergy emerged a project whose very name declared its mission:

The True Underground Sound of Rome.

The collective did not simply aim to release music; it sought to tell a story of Rome through sounds that defied categorization: house, techno, ambient, electronic mysticism, psychedelic visions… a unique blend, instantly recognizable, emotional, and experimental. The sessions unfolded using essential yet razor-sharp gear: Roland drum machines, analogue synthesizers, Akai samplers, stripped-down mixers. Few tools, endless imagination.
The first result of this work was the 12” Secret Doctrine, released in 1991 in an extremely limited run—around 500 promotional copies, according to accounts. The record captured something that until then had floated only in the air of Roman raves: enveloping atmospheres, deep rhythms, melodies built to make the mind travel far beyond the dancefloor. A sound that did not imitate what was happening in Detroit, London, or Berlin, but absorbed those influences and re-sculpted them with a distinctly Roman sensibility.
Yet, precisely because it was independent and detached from commercial circuits, Male’s output remained sparse: few EPs, few copies, irregular distribution. Over time, those records became rare artifacts—almost mythical objects within the Italian electronic scene. The legacy of Male Productions seemed destined to survive only in the memories of those early years, in the stories told after raves, and in the private archives of a handful of collectors.
Many years later, thanks to the almost accidental rediscovery of a few original copies of the first two releases issued by Male Productions, it became possible to undertake a meticulous process of recovery and restoration of the audio etched into those grooves, with the aim of preserving as fully as possible the quality and character of that unrepeatable sound.

We are therefore able today to present — at last in a complete and faithful form — the first two mixes created for Male Productions, now released on a double vinyl that brings back into the present the exact moment when it all began: the nomadic nights of the raves, Furlotti’s vision, the creativity of Di Carlo, Young and Tannino, and the sonic identity of a Rome in the midst of transformation.

This is not merely a reissue.
It is a historical document.
A fragment of a culture that changed the city.
The authentic sound of the Roman underground, finally returned to the world.

Humanity from Japanese saxophonist and composer Kazuki Yamanaka contains both turbulence and tranquillity, freedom and discipline, an embracing of uncertainty with a deeply spiritual sense of resolution. The recordings were made in a single day in New York City with a team of extraordinary musicians. He"d already established a firm creative partnership with bass legend Cameron Brown and award-winning pianist Russ Lossing over the past year during their time as recording artists in NYC, and he renewed his fruitful association with outstanding drummer Billy Mintz (Lee Konitz, Charles Lloyd, Alan Broadbent) to complete the quartet. These three have been vital to Kazuki"s compositions that tell the story of his enforced absence from the scene during the pandemic and how he sought to centre himself in the midst of the disruption through contemplation and the development of an inward strength.

Cathartic avant-rock, literate DIY folk & experimental composition exploring displacement, love, climate change, belonging & the places we call home - RIYL Jim O’Rourke, Richard Youngs, This Heat, Richard Dawson, Flying Nun. ‘Real Home’ is the new album by the Manchester-born, London-based artist Kiran Leonard. His sixth album proper (not including innumerable tour-only CD-Rs and short-run cassettes), since his precocious debut in 2013, ‘Real Home’ finds Leonard invigorated by inspiration and experience, making passionate, literate, and mercurial music that explores displacement, love, memory, climate change, connections to home and more. Encompassing songs recorded after moving to South London, ‘Real Home’ reflects on ideas of belonging and domesticity through folkloric, stream-of-consciousness songwriting. Across nine tracks, Leonard traces lived impressions of the household and the city, expressing sentiments of dislocation, alienation and stasis, but contentment too. Infusing the avant-rock effervescence, terraced dynamics and visionary lyricism of his music with what he defines as a greater sense of openness, Leonard is as versatile, fervent and imaginative as ever on ‘Real Home’, yet his music is somehow more intimate, affecting, and acutely expressive. Shaped by dual considerations of simplicity and formalism, ‘Real Home’ is by turns beautiful, allusive, and ruminative, an album on which Leonard considers what his songs have resembled in the past and what they mean now. In recent years, Leonard has crafted eloquent chamber music inspired by the likes of James Joyce and Clarice Lispector (‘Derevaun Seraun’), responded to contemporary politics and communication breakdown in the digital age (‘Western Culture’), and compiled solo works and ensemble recordings for a longform ode to Jonas Mekas and to one of Leonard’s enduring themes; home (‘Trespass On Foot’). On ‘Real Home’, Leonard reiterates this abiding thematic focus yet ascends to new, different heights, in music of cathartic delicacy and dissonance where all the myriad dimensions of his work to date seem to crystallize. There are sinuous songs about struggle and defying the pace of city life through drift and diversion (‘Pass Between Houses’), stirring songs of intense feeling and crescendo, described as a form of speculative detective fiction (‘Theatre for Change’). There are touching solo piano ballads (the title track), symbolic contentions with carbon capture and climate change (‘Utopia of Bog’), modes of experimental minimalism (‘Void Attentive’), and other profuse feats of compositional range, embroidered with wild tendrils of narrative and lyrical depth. A record to pore over, and get lost in. Exemplifying the vast aesthetic scope of Leonard’s music, lead single ‘My Love, Let’s Take The Stage Tonight’ is inspired by country lodestar Hank Williams, Russian poetry and a late period love poem by William Carlos Williams. Yet for Leonard, the song signals a sense of accessible materiality, and is the product of a more linear approach to writing songs: “My imitation of the great Hank Williams, in spirit if not in substance…This is one of the best efforts on Real Home at a song-as-object. Looking at it now I realise I was trying to write a song that made itself known as a song to the listener, and I wonder whether that’s crucial if you want a song to transcend its context. And that this is either accomplished through a total openness – by being inviting, by laying the tricks of the song out plain to see, as Williams and his many ghostwriters did so well – or by adopting a knowing aloofness, positioning oneself against the listener but letting it be known that that’s what it’s doing. In this song I try both, but mostly the former: as in, I wanted to write a song where every line follows on from the next.” Imbuing the endlessly elaborate and inventive qualities of his music with a newfound streak of candid, clear-cut melodicism, Leonard has reached a special place in his artistry, on a record that feels familial, and expresses closeness. Assembled with affiliates including Lauren Auder, Otto Willberg, Jasper Llewellyn (caroline), Tom Hardwick-Allan (Shovel Dance Collective), Magda McLean (caroline, The Umlauts), Alex Mckenzie (caroline, Shovel Dance Collective), Isabelle Thorn (Dear Laika) & more, the recording process had a significant influence on the subject matter of ‘Real Home’, in sessions defined by close-knit camaraderie and artistic eccentricity: “The theme of the home obviously recurs throughout the record; the album was mostly recorded in domestic spaces with friends, and the name of the album is Real Home. I like the qualifier ‘real’, like you’re getting past the cloak of the word and towards the thing-itself…also nearly all the percussion in this record was recorded on items from my dad’s shed (jam jars, sandpaper, blocks of wood, etc). Real home record!” ‘Real Home’, like anything by Kiran Leonard, is a record of dazzling multiplicity. Yet it’s a companionable prospect with a central premise; a collection of songs where listeners old and new can find a home. An album led by a scene; of Leonard standing at the threshold, ready to welcome you inside. “Exceptional songs that linger” - The Guardian // “An autodidact of amazing talent & energy” – Pitchfork // “A ridiculous amount of talent…confrontational, celebratory, provocative or perverse – he manages all of these emotions & more” - The Quietus /

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bristol's Tara Clerkin Trio return to World of Echo and the EP format for a five song collection of quixotic, emotional redolence. But do not mistake their absence for inertia. If their musical output has been a little sparse during those in-between years, limited to a few solo ventures and an astonishing ten minute long piece as a trio, their time has otherwise been richly spent: continuous writing and recording, extensive live performances across Europe and Japan, a cultivation of local and more far-flung artistic connections (musical and otherwise), and a monthly NTS show that, through the voice of others, speaks most obviously to their own unorthodox interests. It's the conflux of that winding activity that leads indirectly to On The Turning Ground, 26 minutes of probing, thoughtful composition that draws from no one specific source. Their inspirations might be centreless, but the trio still possess a very obvious anchor in the form of their hometown. Bristol stands as a city of multitudes, heterogenous and vibrant in such a way as to allow it to renew and remake time and again. Tara Clerkin Trio drink from that same well, duly reflecting a rich musical heritage built on fwd-facing electronic subcultures and experimental urges.

As such, On The Turning Ground finds them subject to their own subtle internal evolution, the pervasive sense that you've caught them mid-bloom, on their way to becoming but never anything but themselves. The two instrumental pieces that bookend the EP stand as a perfect case in point, displaying an increasing mastery of compositional space. Pensive and restrained, 'Brigstow' and 'Once Around' both emanate an interstitial quality that's not so much after- as in-between-hours, miniature dub-folk symphonies held together by the kind of tacit understanding that remains the preserve of only the closest of family units. If those two tracks are shaped by a sense of shifting temporality, then the three vocal-led pieces that comprise the record's core feel like a gentle ossifying of aesthetic into something approaching their own unique form of avant-pop. 'Pop' is, of course, a broadly subjective concept, but there's no avoiding the overt sparkling melodicism of songs like 'Marble Walls' and 'The Turning Ground', undeniable re-directions of that late 90s impulse to bend pop sensibilities into off-centre terrain, to render the familiar new again. This is what Tara Clerkin Trio do, gently pulling the ground from under your feet, turning you to face something you'd not quite seen before. To view the world as they do: sideways, sometimes, all of the time.

A cocktail of rebellious queer vocal fragments, deceptive percussive granules and swaying hammered vibrations, upsammy and Valentina Magaletti's first collaboration trembles with suspense. The seeds of 'Seismo' were sown following a commission from Amsterdam's Rijksmuseum to soundtrack an exhibition of work from the Museum Boijmans van Beuningen in Rotterdam and the duo didn't want to approach their collaboration flippantly. So, wandering the museum's maze of rooms, they recorded various improvised percussive sounds with their arsenal of microphones, using the space to inform various rhythms and textures that were sculpted later into electroacoustic vignettes. This was just the starting point, though; as Magaletti and upsammy began performing together, the project evolved and 'Seismo' began to take shape. The duo had struck on a salient aesthetic concept, using mostly digital and acoustic mallet instruments to blur the boundary between their roles and create friction between the synthetic and the authentic. And the finished record is a phantasmagoric push-and-pull between its various conflicting elements: harmony and dissonance, randomness and predictability, openness and constraint. 'Seismo' isn't the first time that upsammy has studied her environment in search of revelation. On her acclaimed second album, 2024's 'Germ in a Population of Buildings', the Amsterdam-based DJ, producer and multidisciplinary artist erected her complex, unorthodox rhythms and eerie melodies around a modernist frame of field recordings collected in various cityscapes, countering heavyweight basslines with subtle, microscopic sounds. London-based Italian vanguard Magaletti, meanwhile, has applied her unique logic to innumerable projects at this point, working with everyone from batida icon Nídia and hardcore-dub outfit Moin to French writer Fanny Chiarello and British bass scientist Shackleton. For years she's approached the drums with criticism, attempting to challenge any preconceptions, something that's most visible on 2020's 'A Queer Anthology of Drums'. And both artists' thoughtful perspectives are welded together seamlessly on 'Seismo', a dizzying suite of eight eccentric statements that's fragile but never insecure, gauzy but not indistinct. An unnerving sense of space characterizes 'It Comes to an End' as Magaletti's in situ improvisations herald for upsammy's microscopic glitches and chiming pitch-bent melodies. It's almost unbalancing to witness the track's impossible dimensionality, the interplay between reverberant marimba hits and bone-dry synths, or percussion that's been recorded and processed in consciously different settings. A new architecture emerges in the sound itself that the two artists scan and explore meticulously, testing its boundaries with undulating hybridized rhythms on the invigorating 'Superimposed' and offsetting the powdery drums with liquified smacks and alien voices. The duo's vibrations are knotted with piano flourishes on 'Hyperlocalize', balanced with artificial clanks and clangs that disappear into the track's sonorous atmosphere, replaced by whispers and half-hallucinated insectoid chirps. 'Seismo' is an album that feeds off the energy generated by its juxtapositions: the tension and anticipation that's melted by rapid, hyperactive movement and the finely drawn rhythms disrupted by a layer of indistinct, barely perceptible microsounds. It's a collaboration that sounds like two minds challenging each other but not wrestling, each peering from their own distinct vantage point and imagining a third landscape shaped by optimistic, queer vibrations.

In 1983 Nana Vasconcelos came into contact with a group of young musicians from Quebec City, who combined their association with the avant-garde with a visceral love for Africa and the Far East. The entire album encompasses the musicians' multifaceted music experience infused by a sense of spirituality and mystery - immersed in an ocean of rhythm with one shore in Brazil and the other in Africa. Ntsano is now available on CD for the first time, plus 180g vinyl with cutting and pressing by Pallas Group, Germany. The limited edition LP is presented in a gatefold sleeve with booklet & each copy is hand numbered. The audio has been transfered from original analogue tapes.

Austin Wintory's third collaboration with Giant Squid and creative director Matt Nava, Sword of the Sea, sees it's soundtrack surfing onto vinyl.

The music has been specially mastered for vinyl and is pressed to heavyweight discs, all housed in a deluxe gatefold sleeve. Illustrator Elaine Lee has created original artwork that flows from the front cover to the back.

Nominated for Best Score Soundtrack for Video Games and Other Interactive Media at the 68th GRAMMY Awards, Sword of the Sea is an aesthetic successor to thatgamecompany's Journey and Giant Squid's ABZÛ and The Pathless. The album is a mellifluous musical adventure, resonating immaculately with the game's sense of flow and beauty. Piano, synthesisers, strings, wind, and choral elements collaborate with, and cascade over one another, always with a purposeful momentum. Harmonically, pieces carry the listener along a gently undulating path, punctuated by unexpected chord changes - jagged little musical surprises that hint at the game's deeper mysteries.

Soloists Kristin 'Field of Reeds' Naigus, Tina Guo, Malukah, Paul Cartwright and Tom Strahle elevate the score with soaring performances, while ensembles including London Voices and the Phoenix Boys Choir enrich the texture of the enveloping compositions.