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Following on from the Bergisch-Brandenburgisches Quartett’s anarchic Live ’82 (BT095), Black Truffle continues its deep dive into the archives of legendary drummer/accordionist/photographer/composer/conceptual prankster Sven-Åke Johansson with Scheisse ’71. Recorded in November 1971 during the Berliner Jazztage at a heavy-hitting concert that also included the Spontaneous Music Ensemble and groups led by Peter Brötzmann, Manfred Schoof, and Masahiko Sato, Scheisse ’71 is the only document of a wild, otherwise unrecorded quintet featuring Johansson on drums, accordion and oboe d’amore, legendary free jazz vocalist Jeanne Lee, her husband Gunter Hampel on vibes, flute and bass clarinet, live electronics pioneer Michael Waisvisz on modified Putney (VCS 3) synthesizer, and the unknown Freddy Gosseye on electric bass. Part of a festival centred on giants of jazz like Duke Ellignton and Dizzy Gillespie, the radical performance shocked its audience, who can be heard heckling and yelling abuse at points, including the titular exclamation of ‘Scheiße!’ Clocking at just over half an hour and recorded in raw but detailed stereo by Johansson himself, the music burns with intensity while also making room for spacious passages and frequent dynamic movement. Beginning with Lee’s voice, Hampel on flute and Johansson on oboe d’amore in a bird-like game of call and response, the unexpected entry of Waisvisz’s tortured, squelching synth bursts prompts the first of many changes in energy and instrumentation, as Gosseye’s busy, roving bass enters and Johansson moves to the kit, his swinging cymbal work and juddering toms extending the approach of Sunny Murray or early Milford Graves. The presence of synthesizer, electric bass, and Lee’s highly amplified voice moves the quintet away from conventional free jazz textures, at times pushing into zones of abstract free sound reminiscent of what groups like MEV, AMM or Johansson’s MND were exploring in the same years. But the energy and joyful melodicism of the music keep it rooted in the tradition of American fire music and its European inheritors. Capable of changing gears in an instant from ferocious blow outs to fragile tapestries of chiming vibes and fizzing synth, the music finds space for Lee’s post-bop free scat (which integrates shrieks and howls just as a post-Ayler saxophonist might), Gosseye’s virtuosic bass runs (a rare attempt to apply the classic free jazz style of players like Alan Silva or Henry Grimes to the electric instrument), Johansson’s folkish accordion interjections, and even a sustained passage of unison bass clarinet and electric bass riffing in its second half. Special mention should be made of Waisvisz’s Putney performance, one of the earliest documents of this under-recorded instrument inventor and player, here playing a major role in giving the music its wildly exploratory, primordial air, his buzzing glissandi and bubbling filter sweeps at times howling like a distressed monkey. Arriving in an austerely stylish sleeve with beautiful black and white photographs by Johansson, Scheisse ’71 is an essential recording that adds yet another layer to our appreciation of this golden era of radical free music.

New album from Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit, tackling issues such as gun violence, the opioid crisis, and women's rights all through Isbell's signature songwriting lens. Weathervanes is a collection of grown-up songs: Songs about adult love, about change, about the danger of nostalgia and the interrogation of myths, about cruelty and regret and redemption. Life and death songs played for and by grown ass people. Some will make you cry alone in your car and others will make you sing along with thousands of strangers in a big summer pavilion, united in the great miracle of being alive. A Jason Isbell record always lands like a decoder ring in the ears and hearts of his audience, a soundtrack to his world and magically to theirs, too. Weathervanes carries the same revelatory power. This is a storyteller at the peak of his craft, observing his fellow wanderers, looking inside and trying to understand, reducing a universe to four minutes. He shrinks life small enough to name the fear and then strip it away, helping his listeners make sense of how two plus two stops equalling four once you reach a certain age - and carry a certain amount of scars. Jason Isbell has established himself as one of the most respected and celebrated songwriters of his generation. The North Alabama native possesses an incredible penchant for identifying and articulating some of the deepest, yet simplest, human emotions, and turning them into beautiful poetry through song. Isbell sings of the everyday human condition with thoughtful, heartfelt, and sometimes brutal honesty. The record features the rolling thunder of Isbell’s fearsome 400 Unit, who’ve earned a place in the rock ‘n’ roll cosmos alongside the greatest backing ensembles, as powerful and essential to the storytelling as The E Street Band or the Wailers.

Offering a three track EP on Token, emblematic UK producer James Ruskin proves his capability and linear focus once again through 'From the Ashes'. Looking past trends to create a lasting record rich in texture and thick with impact, the project affirms what the scene has already known to be true about his work for the past 25 years.

Setting his intentions from the A1, Ruskin wastes no time by creating an intimidating introduction. Saturated percussion and stuttering keys whip through a 4 minute masterclass of sound system focused production. Adventurous in structure, Ruskin remains unquestionably in control of a bursting, almost chaotic track. 'From the Ashes 2' picks up what was left off, containing a hard-set groove with hi hats slithering in progressively from the stereo image to slightly destabilize an impressive club-heavy tool. With intricate work being done in the ambience, the EP's hard hitting second track booms through a cavernous acoustic, giving the record not only body, but dimension. Switching up the rhythm and focusing on more mental synth work for the third act, Ruskin quickly and mercilessly rips through his work with a shrill pad, creating overwhelming tension to be released in the first third of the recording. He brings a dosed dissonance between his elements, reflective of the qualities of vintage techno with today's capabilities and arrangement. Pushing intensity through waves, Ruskin leaves us in anticipation of a fourth track that is never given.

Essential UK experimental composer Richard Skelton returns to Phantom Limb for new album selenodesy, interweaving his newfound love of electronics and synthesis with mastery of gritty organic texture.

Skelton’s music has always been rooted in landscape, in the loam and grit of the earth: from his 2009 Pennine Moors-inspired modern classic Landings to his more recent Moraine Sequence of geological excavations, his work has been bound inexorably with the stark and untended wilderness of northern landscapes. With this new album, however, Skelton shifts his gaze skyward — in part the result of a move in 2017 to the countryside near the Kielder Observatory, and to a so-called ‘dark sky’ region of the UK. In this remote landscape, light pollution is minimal, allowing the austere majesty of the night sky to be seen with greater clarity.

The resulting album, selenodesy, reveals a new, reverberant spaciousness to Skelton’s use of electronics. It marries the twin worlds of his previous Phantom Limb release - 2020’s These Charms May Be Sung Over A Wound, and its abandoned-factory threnody - with the landscape-revering arcana of his earlier work, which saw him bury instruments in the soil to return months later to recover and record with them, newly imbued with the land they occupied. selenodesy was prefigured by a period of insomnia and the relief found

in stargazing, during which Skelton tried to transcribe his hypnagogic visions: “much of this music came to me in the early hours, in that nowhere state between dreaming and waking. I’d look out the window and the night sky would be swirling with stars. Mars or Venus would be hovering in the corner of the room. I’d lie there and watch the Aurora Borealis dance across the ceiling.”

In selenodesy, we find the lingering, distorted sine waves of album opener “Albedo” that thrum and fizz with an icy, foreboding moonlight, rays of subtle movement that illuminate and darken alternately. Next follows lead single “The Plot of Lunar Phases”, whose passive shrieks echo about a cold, yawning space, reaching an ecstatic crescendo of hissing sonics and swirling celestial drone. Its dynamic range acts like the light of a lunar passage, from utmost darkness to radiant luminosity. Elsewhere, the pulsing, precessional bass of “Faint Ray Systems” gradually opens to reveal mournful, elegiac synthesis that reaches high into the night sky with an unearthly beauty. It is as if, during those long months of lockdown in the Scottish countryside, Skelton tapped into a series of sidereal electromagnetic transmissions, and transposed them into musical form.

Over a decade since its inception, Wave Temples continues to refine and refract the project’s visionary mythopoetic exotica. Panama Shift presents a 20-track kaleidoscopic star map inspired by “the euphoric cults, both then and now, that come and go in the vast ritual of night.” Bleached keys, devotional synth, and driftwood percussion align in minimalist vignettes shaded by tape hiss and field recordings of streams, waves, wind, and birds.
Dedicated to the late Japanese-born American anthropologist Yosihiko H. Sinoto (whose portrait graces the cover), famed for his excavations throughout the Pacific and French Polynesia, the album embodies a similarly voyaging spirit: “chasing ancient mysteries… and rekindling with the esoteric journey of the human spirit.” This is music of forgotten shores, sea air, and saltwater shrines, echoing in shells scattered across the altars of Atlantis.

Ace Records is proud to announce the purchase of the Shrine label and Eddie Singleton’s independent productions.
To celebrate we have compiled an album of the very best dance recordings the label made in 1965 and 1966, primarily in Washington DC.

The business’s failure made this music incredibly hard to find for record collectors and Shrine is rightly known as the rarest soul label.

It is much more than that though. The music was made by some one of the original founders of Motown, Raynoma Liles Gordy and her Motown-schooled cousin Mike Ossman, New York music business luminaries Eddie Singleton and Harry Bass and the up-and-coming talents of Washington’s Keni St Lewis and Maxx Kidd. The acts included the hugely respected Ray Pollard and fellow New Yorker J.D. Bryant, talented and established Washington and Baltimore acts Eddie Daye & The 4 Bars, Bobby Reed and the Enjoyables. Importantly, they discovered and developed the local talent of the area in the shape of the Cautions, Les Chansonettes, the Prophets and Shirley Edwards.

It took decades for UK Northern Soul fans to realise the significance of the label. It finally clicked for Stafford’s Top Of The World all-nighter DJs who searched out the incredibly hard to find later releases and played them to the cult-following of the rare soul scene. The scarcity was caused by Shrine pressing up a batch of fourteen future singles but only getting a handful released before they folded. The vast majority of the later releases were destroyed in a warehouse fire or simply binned as stillborn commercial failures.

Such was the scarcity that when the first Shrine compilations were issued in 1990, the Prophets tracks from Eddie Singleton’s master tapes were assumed to be unreleased - until Shrine sleuth Andy Rix later obtained one from a group member.

Heralding 2023 from way out west, Monde UFO land on Quindi with a distinctive album of dream pop vignettes and outer rim punk exotica.
Hailing from the same Californian heat haze as recent Quindi signings Bondo, Monde UFO have manifested in the past four years through a series of DIY releases including their 2021 album 7171 and last year's set of Fugazi covers, 4 Songs. The loose fit project centres around the singing, playing and songwriting of Ray Monde and Kris Chau and features Kern Haug on drums. The resulting sound arrives as a resourceful analog of plush 60s pop captured through the modest means of a truly independent musical endeavour.
The sound rendered on Vandalized Statue touches on dubby atmospherics, the lilting breeze of bossa nova and the introverted muse of US indie rock, but the end result is a natural, cohesive whole centered around the songwriting. Imagine the girl from Ipanema sat toking in a comfortable spot in the corner of the dive bar while someone weaves her a tall tale or two, and you might be somewhere in the right direction. The stories in the lyrics unfurl as meandering narratives taking you through everyday exchanges and far-fetched, cosmic scenarios alike. At every turn the cosy musicality gives everything a relatable, homespun charm, even as the mixing desk becomes a mess and the lo-fi FX crash into each other.
The album will be fronted by three singles which reflect the wide reach of Monde UFO's sound. 'Visions of Fatima' is one of the more melancholic pieces on the album, fronted by laconic organ and centring on cracked vocals with an off key charm that indirectly evokes Jeffrey Lee Pierce. 'Government Employee' is a sun-kissed trip of low-key lounge surrealism, bizarro storytelling and shuffling exotica splendour which broadly defines the woozy mood of Vandalized Statue. 'Garden Of Agony' is a more delicate but no less dreamy piece matching electric tremolo with acoustic fingerpicking balladry which hides its considerable depths behind a seemingly simple arrangement.
At once intimate and projected into the cosmos, Monde UFO add to the particular path Quindi is taking through hidden corners of independent music with a romantic, restless spirit.

Wiederveröffentlichung von Nighttime Birds (Vinyl) auf unserem eigenen Label 'Psychonaut Records'.

Nighttime Birds ist das vierte Studioalbum der niederländischen Alternative Rock/Metal Band The Gathering, das am 6. Juni 1997 von Century Media Records veröffentlicht wurde. Das Album wurde aufgenommen zwischen dem 17. Februar und dem 15. März 1997 in den Woodhouse Studios in Hagen, Deutschland, unter der unter der Leitung von Produzent Siggi Bemm und The Gathering aufgenommen. Nighttime Birds war ein logischer Nachfolger von Mandylion, und atmet die gleiche Atmosphäre.

Es überrascht nicht, dass der Schlüssel zur Zündung der Band nach der dunklen Pandemiezeit in Form einer Liveshow kam, als sie als Headliner des Download Festival Pilot vor 10.000 Fans auftraten. Während in den zwei Jahren zuvor kein einziges neues Wort aus der Feder von Leadsänger und Keyboarder Rou Reynolds geflossen war, wurde eine Erkenntnis geboren, die die siebte LP der Band prägen sollte: 'Ich hatte einfach nicht erkannt, dass die menschliche und physische Verbindung zu anderen Menschen so zentral für mein Schreiben ist', sagt er. Enter Shikari sind nicht nur vier Menschen - es sind Hunderttausende. Während die erste Single '(pls) set me on fire' die nächste Stufe in der Entwicklung der Band einläutet, kommen die ersten Worte von Enter Shikari 2.0 nicht als Frage, sondern als Befehl: 'Bitte zünde mich an'. Entfache den Funken in uns und lass uns frei werden. Dies mag eine neue Enter Shikari sein, aber sie haben nichts von ihrem Gespür für kühne Eröffnungsgambits verloren.

Im Frühjahr 2022 zog sich die Band in ein verfallenes Bauernhaus an der Küste zurück, um ihr Studio-Setup neu aufzubauen und den neuen Schwung auf Platte zu bannen. Reynolds fährt fort: "Zurück zu den Grundlagen. Diese Band - meine besten Freunde - versammelten sich in einem alten Bauernhaus, meilenweit von allem entfernt. Vom Netz getrennt und bereit, uns selbst neu zu entdecken. Dieses Album wird von der Sonne angetrieben, dem mächtigsten Objekt in unserem Sonnensystem. Und ich denke, das merkt man auch. Es ist eine Sammlung von Songs, die eine explosive Wiedervereinigung mit dem darstellen, was Enter Shikari ist. Der Beginn unseres zweiten Aktes'.

PURPLE VINYL


A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

Tape

A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

Heels & Souls Recordings’ fifth reissue sees them reach across the Atlantic to Vancouver, pressing up Pilgrims Of The Mind’s 'What’s Your Shrine?' for the first time ever on vinyl, 25 years since its CD-only release on Map Music. A departure from the label’s previous releases, the LP is a beautiful smorgasbord of styles - progressive house, downtempo, ambient, tech house and trance all nestle together, a wiggling journey of sonic delight from the mind of Stéphane Novak.

Turn the dial back to ‘97 and Vancouver's underground had a distinctive buzz to its rumblings, an amalgamation of scenes and styles gave rise to a cohort of producers that were unconstrained by genre, offering up a heady mix of sounds to expand the mind. ‘Welcome To Lotus Land’ the key 1996 compilation on Robert Shea’s seminal Map Music, championed much of this output including two cuts from POTM. Stéphane then released his first and only full-length album, ‘What’s Your Shrine?’ on the same label the following year.

Picking out choice moments from an album as considered and complete as this is tough. Those horizontally inclined will be drawn to the ambient dwellings of ‘Sandcastle’ & ‘Following the Sofuto Kuriimo’, tracks like ‘Nothing Can Pull Us Apart’ and ‘L’Amour? Encore?!’ are perfectly suited to warming up limbs on the dancefloor, ‘My Baby Likes Rum’ and ‘Loosejaw’ prime for one in full swing. Yet to pick individual tracks misses the stunning sum of its parts that this 70+ minute cruise is, surely one of the finest albums from the American West Coast during its halcyon days of the ‘90s.

Digging deep in his vaults, Stéphane managed to uncover the original unmastered DATs that have been given a fresh mastering by Justin Drake at the Bakehouse Studios. This beautiful, double-disc gatefold comes complete with liner notes from Ciel, words from Stéphane himself, plus never-before-seen photography - the complete package this music always deserved.

Kate NV's WOW offers listeners a prismatic shift in perspective and scale, a parallel dimension in which the mundane becomes funny, unfamiliar, and altogether sensational. Turning the contents of her 2020 album Room for the Moon upside down and spilling them across a floor checkered with intrigue and surprise, Kate places sound, object, and ritual under the microscope to magnify the delight hidden in plain sight of everyday life. WOW is Kate Shilonosova's fourth full-length release as Kate NV in six years, and third for RVNG Intl. Her prolific musical output aligns with a highly attuned aesthetic and a deep commitment to visual world building. WOW is one of many of these worlds in which music is fully saturated with color, deeply tactile and textural. Shiny, sproingy, plastic. Where Room for the Moon embraced structure (abstractly speaking) and veered pop, WOW happily abandons conventional song shapes, parsing the experience of musical time into ecstatic fragments. It's difficult to imagine a more fitting album title: pure exclamation, an organic pitch of delight leaving the mouth, with no clear etymological links. On Room for the Moon, Shilonosova's voice was layered and lyrical, with sweeping and urgent melodies. WOW finds her as a peripheral purveyor of high jinks, peeking out from the corners, commenting on her surroundings in non-verbal, and arguably non-human, utterances. Instead of employing lyricism, Shilonosova steps outside of language, and rewards us with a gum ball machine of textures: soda fizz and wind-up teeth and scraps of bubble wrap become comically huge, as if heard from an insect's perspective. Words are tasty plosives, onomatopoeias, percussive chirps and one-liners, and singing serves as another form of what Shilonosova refers to as "funny tiny sounds." WOW skews and skitters, trips over its own feet and laughs about it, plays out of tune on purpose, tilts and leans like a top-heavy flower. Shilonosova is a longtime user of Found Sound Nation's Broken Orchestra sample pack, a sound catalog of over one thousand dilapidated instruments sourced from Philadelphia public schools. These perfectly imperfect instruments are tightly spliced into WOW's patchwork of synthesizer and reworked snippets of Shilonosova's friends playing clarinet, flute, and marimba. It's central to the record's internal logic: a disregard for what is, and isn't, broken, what is, and isn't, a sentence or a song. A commingling of subject and object, with a firmly new wave sensibility. Shilonosova has long had an unusual relationship with inanimate objects (citing her bicycle as her best friend), as if the joys they evoke for her are personality traits of the objects themselves. On WOW, she evinces a kind of inverted anthropomorphism: she shrinks her voice and becomes an object among multitudes, toylike in size and perspective, cohabitating with sedentary, indifferent roommates. This pursuit of childlike perspectives is a thread that runs through much of her catalog, and places her work on a plane with that of her personal hero Nobukazu Takemura, who for decades has treated his music as a portal to childlike curiosity, both in subject matter and tone. With an invitation to pursue this curiosity, WOW further confirms Kate NV's deeply inventive, fluid and technically dizzying artistry. By refusing constraints and rules, Shilonosova embodies a profound freedom, allowing objects, sounds, and processes to unfold organically; or, as she puts it, a commitment to "accepting randomness." She succeeds terrifically at a breed of auditory defamiliarization that is all her own, and the rewards for listeners are many: through her lens, the small becomes monstrous, the abstract becomes sensorial, and the old becomes new. Kate NV's WOW will be released on February 10, 2023 on vinyl and digital formats. On behalf of Kate NV and RVNG, a portion of the proceeds from this release will benefit War Child, an organization that supports children and their families impacted by conflict, and working to build sustainable peace for generations to come.

Yellow Vinyl

Kate NV's WOW offers listeners a prismatic shift in perspective and scale, a parallel dimension in which the mundane becomes funny, unfamiliar, and altogether sensational. Turning the contents of her 2020 album Room for the Moon upside down and spilling them across a floor checkered with intrigue and surprise, Kate places sound, object, and ritual under the microscope to magnify the delight hidden in plain sight of everyday life. WOW is Kate Shilonosova's fourth full-length release as Kate NV in six years, and third for RVNG Intl. Her prolific musical output aligns with a highly attuned aesthetic and a deep commitment to visual world building. WOW is one of many of these worlds in which music is fully saturated with color, deeply tactile and textural. Shiny, sproingy, plastic. Where Room for the Moon embraced structure (abstractly speaking) and veered pop, WOW happily abandons conventional song shapes, parsing the experience of musical time into ecstatic fragments. It's difficult to imagine a more fitting album title: pure exclamation, an organic pitch of delight leaving the mouth, with no clear etymological links. On Room for the Moon, Shilonosova's voice was layered and lyrical, with sweeping and urgent melodies. WOW finds her as a peripheral purveyor of high jinks, peeking out from the corners, commenting on her surroundings in non-verbal, and arguably non-human, utterances. Instead of employing lyricism, Shilonosova steps outside of language, and rewards us with a gum ball machine of textures: soda fizz and wind-up teeth and scraps of bubble wrap become comically huge, as if heard from an insect's perspective. Words are tasty plosives, onomatopoeias, percussive chirps and one-liners, and singing serves as another form of what Shilonosova refers to as "funny tiny sounds." WOW skews and skitters, trips over its own feet and laughs about it, plays out of tune on purpose, tilts and leans like a top-heavy flower. Shilonosova is a longtime user of Found Sound Nation's Broken Orchestra sample pack, a sound catalog of over one thousand dilapidated instruments sourced from Philadelphia public schools. These perfectly imperfect instruments are tightly spliced into WOW's patchwork of synthesizer and reworked snippets of Shilonosova's friends playing clarinet, flute, and marimba. It's central to the record's internal logic: a disregard for what is, and isn't, broken, what is, and isn't, a sentence or a song. A commingling of subject and object, with a firmly new wave sensibility. Shilonosova has long had an unusual relationship with inanimate objects (citing her bicycle as her best friend), as if the joys they evoke for her are personality traits of the objects themselves. On WOW, she evinces a kind of inverted anthropomorphism: she shrinks her voice and becomes an object among multitudes, toylike in size and perspective, cohabitating with sedentary, indifferent roommates. This pursuit of childlike perspectives is a thread that runs through much of her catalog, and places her work on a plane with that of her personal hero Nobukazu Takemura, who for decades has treated his music as a portal to childlike curiosity, both in subject matter and tone. With an invitation to pursue this curiosity, WOW further confirms Kate NV's deeply inventive, fluid and technically dizzying artistry. By refusing constraints and rules, Shilonosova embodies a profound freedom, allowing objects, sounds, and processes to unfold organically; or, as she puts it, a commitment to "accepting randomness." She succeeds terrifically at a breed of auditory defamiliarization that is all her own, and the rewards for listeners are many: through her lens, the small becomes monstrous, the abstract becomes sensorial, and the old becomes new. Kate NV's WOW will be released on February 10, 2023 on vinyl and digital formats. On behalf of Kate NV and RVNG, a portion of the proceeds from this release will benefit War Child, an organization that supports children and their families impacted by conflict, and working to build sustainable peace for generations to come.

This album features Pharoah Sanders playing some no-nonsense tenor in a quartet with pianist John Hicks, bassist Walter Booker, and drummer Idris Muhammad. Sanders performs "It's Easy to Remember" (in a style very reminiscent of early-'60s John Coltrane), an original blues, and two of his compositions, including the passionate "You've Got to Have Freedom."

The musicianship is at a high level and, although Sanders does not shriek as much as one might hope (the Trane-ish influence was particularly strong during this relatively mellow period), he is in fine form. Review by Scott Yanow/AMG

Beware! This is hot stuff! Wear asbestos clothing while listening. Four world-class musicians at the very pinnacle of their art relating closely to one another in the vortex of a cyclone of jazz music. They're all burning, but listen particularly to John Hicks (R.I.P Mr. Hicks) on "DOKTOR PITT." Is he not the best thing to happen to the keyboard since McCoy Tyner? And when I state John Hicks was burning, if you've ever had the opportunity to view the video of this performance (maybe still on YouTube) recorded at the Great American Music Hall in 1981, you'll see
Mr. Hicks melting with perspiration. That's cookin' brother...
review by James S. Grogan

The two full-length records that Jeff Mangum made as Neutral Milk Hotel sound both in and out of time. Like translations of a shared subconscious, 1996's On Avery Island and 1998's In the Aeroplane Over the Sea give voice to the perennial spirit of youthful epiphany, of beginning to see the world clearly, to process and express it-no matter when you encounter them. With lo-fi indie rock, accordion, singing saw, tape collages, the so-called "zanzithophone" and beyond, Neutral Milk Hotel created an eternal entry into their Elephant 6 scene and an enduring feeling of possibility. Mangum was born in the small city of Ruston, Louisiana, in 1970, coming of age within the '80s and '90s indie and punk undergrounds, a movement of teenagers recording in their bedrooms, sharing zines and trading tapes, listening to hardcore and experimental music on college radio. For all the mythology Mangum's elusive persona has accrued-particularly during the 15 years immediately following Aeroplane, when he abruptly left the band behind-it's the beguiling songs themselves that have resonated so deeply for generations. In 2011, Mangum collected nearly all of the band's recorded output in a limited-edition box set (self-released under Neutral Milk Hotel Records, a small operation helmed by Mangum and his mother) which is now re-pressed by Merge. // CONTENTS: Black matte box is a 2-piece telescoping casewrapped package. Outer shrink-wrap includes a front sticker with "Neutral Milk Hotel," and a back sticker listing box contents. The box set includes 2 folded posters, each printed one side and each 24 x 24 inches when flat, and 1 postcard, printed front and back with box set information and sized 3.75 x 5 inches. Vinyl records: 1. In the Aeroplane Over the Sea: LP is 11 tracks pressed 33RPM to black vinyl in a gatefold jacket + printed insert for full album download. --- 2. On Avery Island: 2-LP is 12 tracks pressed to double black vinyl in a gatefold jacket + 11 x 11 printed insert + printed insert for full album download. Sides A, B and C pressed 45RPM. Side D pressed 33RPM. --- 3. Live at Jittery Joe's: 12-inch picture disc is 11 tracks pressed 33RPM to a full color picture disc in a heavyweight poly jacket + printed insert for full album download. --- 4. Ferris Wheel on Fire: 10-inch is 8 tracks pressed 45RPM to black vinyl in a printed jacket + postcard insert + printed insert for full album download. --- 5. Everything Is: 10-inch is 7 tracks pressed 45RPM to black vinyl in a printed jacket + postcard insert + printed insert for full album download --- 6. "Little Birds": 7-inch is 2 tracks pressed 45RPM to black vinyl in a printed jacket + printed insert for full album download 7-inch housed in a heavy-weight poly jacket. --- 7. "You've Passed": 7-inch is 2 tracks pressed 45RPM to black vinyl in a printed jacket + printed insert for full album download. 7-inch housed in a heavy-weight poly jacket. --- 8. "Holland, 1945": 7-inch is 2 tracks pressed 45RPM to black vinyl in a printed jacket + printed insert for full album download. 7-inch housed in a heavyweight poly jacket.

Gone: The Promises Of Yesterday is by no means a sequel to Ghetto: Misfortune's Wealth - missing are the poignant and bleak sermons on the pain of inner-city existence, replaced by dusky, sensuous re-workings of tainted love songs Warren had written as far back as 1965, during his time as a songwriter at Shrine and Motown. Still, his unfinished self-reinvention, even heard through the prism of these skeletal remnants, delivers on a remarkable purity of vision: one man's corner of black culture, 24 carats pure and mishandled perhaps until now, finally a bit less misunderstood.