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Slow Glass is not only the debut release by Le Frère it is also a very personal diary of the last two years of his life. All four tracks are based on recordings, samples and ideas he collected while travelling the world. With the concept of 'Slow Glass' in mind Le Frère tried to catch moments of his life without stripping them of their dynamic and evanescence.

The EP starts with lots of positive energy and light but already reveals glimpses of the shadows that slowly emerge throughout the following tracks. 'Nice' is a lightly humming version of an (almost) innocent summer morning. It's a collage of field-recordings, synth-pads and manipulated guitar sounds. 'Candid' is a light and open dialog between a simple guitar theme and a playful synth-arpeggio. 'V1b1n'' creates the dense atmosphere of a rainy Caribbean afternoon dominated by field recordings and everyday noises. 'Nttt8'sets a counter point to the previous three tracks as the energy of Le Frère's travels cumulates in 'Nttt8', making it a more dance-floor oriented piece carried by a dark and heavy bass-line and almost rave-sirens.

Tiki for the Atomic Age feels like a mid-century transmission intercepted from a parallel timeline—one where hi-fi futurism, Polynesian fantasy, and postwar optimism never lost their sense of wonder. Kava Kon isn’t recreating exotica so much as reviving its original promise: escape, elegance, and possibility, rendered in warm, widescreen stereo.

Built on shimmering vibraphones, reverb-drenched guitars, analog organs, and ritual-leaning percussion, these tracks move at an unhurried pace. This is oceanic music—designed for dim lights, glowing glassware, and time stretched just enough to breathe. The lineage is clear: lounge exotica, bachelor-pad modernism, space-age pop. But this isn’t pastiche or museum work. It’s retro-futurism with intention, imagined from the future looking back.

The “Atomic Age” isn’t just aesthetic shorthand. It speaks to contrast—leisure in the shadow of anxiety, beauty alongside uncertainty, fantasy as a necessary technology. Kava Kon understands that tiki was never about geography; it was about psychology. A constructed elsewhere. A permission slip to slow down.

Pressed on vinyl, Tiki for the Atomic Age comes fully alive: tactile, immersive, and meant to be lived with. For listeners drawn to mid-century dreamscapes and modern exotica that honors the past without freezing it, this is an invitation—step sideways out of the present and into something more elegant.

Deep, deep stuff on the debut album from K Wata. Long and dubwise, dark and detailed. With bass that fills and warms a space.

All noir. Cast shadows against the wall. Weight being shifted and distributed with singularly delicate poise, like a knife being balanced on the end of a finger.

There’s a silvery, loose flow state to this record that maybe reveals the way some tracks were first written to be deployed live at Sustain Release 2025. Then taken back to the lab and tightened up further into the album’s final form, with beautiful mixing work between Kenzo and Chris Botta.

With that in mind, Give U Space unfolds slowly and fluidly, giving the listener the chance to access and open up to the deepness of the sound, being led down a path. It rolls and builds momentum and groove, and ratchets tensions up toward peaks of energy "Whisper Dub" and "There Will Be Love".

The tunes feel architectural. Rooms to be in and settle into. Simultaneously stripped back and then etched with neat little details and characterful or atmospheric sound choices. The silhouette of slo mo Memphis and Houston trap is a leading influence, especially with the drums. Mixing with bits of click’n’cut sampling and psychoacoustic tricks, the penumbra of dub techno and drowsier dubstep, and SG’s soft vocals rising in the ether.

The presence and inspiration of the sound system is obvious in all of Kenzo’s work, the music can rattle when spun up louder or blended into the club. But K Wata’s uniqueness and signature comes from an often equally inward facing quality, touched by distance and longing and a sort of chiaroscuro incandescent light set up.



Written and produced by K Wata.

Mixed by K Wata and Christopher Botta at Fer Sound Studio.

Vocals on “Give You Space” and “Go” by SG.

Clarinet on “Radio Embrace” by Eugene Lai.

Mastered and cut by Mike Grinser at Manmade.

Art by S. Gong

With the stunning Planes In Reverse, Sascha Funke, the Berlin-born producer and DJ, and long-time member of the Kompakt family, releases his first album in almost a decade, since 2017’s Lotos Land. It’s a welcome return for one of the most eloquent and elegant producers in electronic and dance music, someone who’s always been able to say more with less, and the ten tracks here, moving effortlessly between techno, house, minimalism, disco house, and home listening tunes, are all gorgeously sculpted miniatures. With guest appearances from partner Julienne Dessagne (Fantastic Twins), with whom Funke has also worked in Saschienne, there’s something homely and family about it, too; a family of sounds, a home of tone. There’s also something consummate about Planes In Reverse, as though Sascha Funke has perfected the album format. There’s no flab here, no excess – it plays out like a perfectly designed experience, ten tracks, coming in under fifty minutes, an album where every moment matters.

It’s full of variety, but everything has the unmistakable Funke thumbprint, one that was developed during the late ‘90s / early ‘00s minimal techno and microhouse moment, but which was always open to other ideas and other sounds, too. Planes In Reverse came together quickly for Funke: “Last winter, I had two or three new tracks, which gave me a core feeling: ‘Ah, this could be the direction of something like an album.’ Sometimes it can be very easy that you wrap it up and then it becomes something coherent and solid. This happened within two or three months; it was very fast and direct.” Everything fell into place – the ten tracks revealed themselves, the album sat together as a whole, and the final piece of the puzzle was returning home again to Kompakt, who have supported Sascha Funke from the very start, releasing his first single, “Campus”, back in 1999.

Planes In Reverse opens stealthily with “What You See”, where rhythms percolate and bass prowls while gaseous textures fill the sonic spectrum. It’s also the first appearance of Fantastic Twins on the album; here, she speaks a hypnotic mantra, a prelude to the title track, where Dessagne has a pure pop moment, her voice ecstatic and vibrant. Indeed, Planes In Reverse plays out like thesis and antithesis ending in synthesis, the tracks nestling next to each other even as they shuttle between sounds, genres, perspectives. There are some beautiful moments dropped throughout Planes In Reverse – the heavenly textures that make the title track feel so cloud-bound; the glassy and orbital tones that drop from the skies through the disco house inspired “Karat”; the clamour and clatter of hyper-edited voices shuffling through “Splitter”; or the field recordings of Sascha’s son football training session that drop “Zockers” into a different place and space, slowly giving way to a beautifully paced electro-pop mantra. “In Germany,when the kids play a computer game, or when they play football, we describe it as zocken. They’re the players, they’re the Zockers.“ Funke explains.

Planes In Reverse winds down with the beautiful “Kruso”, where ticklish, loving arpeggios careen around the room, and drift-work chords shimmer and shuttle between your ears. It’s a perfect comedown to an album that feels breathes in and out at an organic pace, nothing above 130 BPM, everything sitting together just so. Indeed, that’s the feeling you take away from Planes In Reverse; it sums up the spirit of Sascha Funke productions perfectly, while also existing beautifully as its own world dreamt unto itself. It’s Sascha Funke down to the very essence. Nothing unnecessary, nothing extraneous: Pure Funke.

On a class debut for Biscuit’s choice Good Morning Tapes label, Kyoto’s dub specialist G Version III runs signature fusions of digidub steppers, drill, and holographic, minor-key FM synths.

One up on her 12” for Riddim Chango last year (plus the »Scenery From Double Glazing« tape for Digital Sting in ’24), G Version III’s »Chapter II« most finely chisels her lucidly rugged definition of the late ’80s / early ’90s mystic steppers sound. The OG Caribbean spirit is heard filtered through UK dances and shored up in Japan, where G tessellates its salient points with a palette of glassy Japanese synth tones and chamber music to exquisite effect. If Wendy Carlos was a soundgyal?

Across six cuts she builds the dance around digidub x drill waltz »Livin 4« and a haunted dancehall special in the harpsichord/horn riff of »An Idyll«, impressing her prowess in the fusion of subcontinental scales with a drill-tipped skip in »Queen G Theme Chapter II«, and tucking right into an aerodynamic, flying steppers mode, shades away from Element, in »Motherearth Guidance«. At a slower, wider stride her »Higher Grade« goes eyes-down on massive subs, and »Voice of Mystique Warriyah« adapts the classic-schooled sound like TNT Roots in Tokyo.

Berlin-based Mor Elian is back as Alloy Sea with a new work exploring spacious dub and tape-processed soundscapes following an ambient outing, Xoomin, back in 2023. This is music for quiet moments and private contemplation with slowly unfolding arrangements and many layers made from synth, hiss, texture and the scantest of melodic motifs. The release also features the project's first vocals with Emkay of Trickpony on 'Air Index' adding a human soul to the widescreen designs. It's a hugely evocative and cinematic world and another doozy from Elian that culminates with the eerie and sparse 'The Receiver', which is full of scattered found sounds that slowly coalesce into a rhythm.

“One foot out the door, another in the otherworld…”
So begins Hannah Lew’s debut, self-titled solo record, soaked in imperious, wide-eyed pop songwriting and a girl-group/post punk aesthetic that belies the artist’s history in the U.S. underground. A towering, hook-laden album, it’s infused with an optimism and surrealism that conversely deals with the times we find ourselves in.

Recorded at home in Richmond, CA and in The Best House studio with Maryam Qudus in Oakland CA, with the assistance of a crack team of West Coast musicians, this album sees Hannah Lew stepping out from behind the legacy of her two groups Grass Widow and Cold Beat. While musically bearing similarities with her previous work, “Hannah Lew” is a bold leap into direct pop territory, making ample use of a vocal style that teases out the inherent melancholy in her melodies. Mastered by Sarah Register, each song is a perfectly honed nugget that frequently pulls the heart in two directions at once.

Themes of change, breaking up, shattering old ways of being are shot through the record. For the front cover, a photograph of the artist’s face was printed, ripped up and re-assembled, resembling the creative process embarked upon by Lew for her first “solo” material. The album feels instinctual, almost dream-like in its assemblage of sweeping synths and pulsating, propulsive drum machine beat patterns with Lew’s vocal performances sensitive and caressing over the top. Increasingly relying on the subconscious and dreams to guide her creative process, Hannah Lew frequently abandons literal interpretations or linear narratives, the songs seeming to exist in a swooning, effortless flow-state while remaining emotionally hard hitting.

On an album where every song could be a single, there are kaleidoscopic shades and varying emotional tones in abundance. First single Another Twilight is carried along a pumping, Italo-disco-style 4/4 beat and mono-synth bass line, the low end pulling at the heart and body. Lew’s vocal melody teases the track before swan-diving into a gorgeous chorus as she sings “it’s all over baby and I don’t mind… in decline, I take my time…” The album is suffused with moments like this. On slow builder Damaged Melody, an arpeggiated synth elongates the verse before a cascading synth showers down melodic glitter. The stunning Replica uses dual swirling synth patterns before a driving, synthpop chorus for the ages carries Hannah Lew’s vocal into the stereo field, sailing in on a high register singed with the embers of a break up.

In a departure from previous groups, her solo songs are guided by dreams and free association inspired by Dada and the Surrealist movement and sculpted afterwards. As such, the songs reveal themselves on repeated listens, revealing traces of heartbreak inspired by both personal and global elements - Hannah Lew regards the album “a wartime album.” On Move In Silence, Lew intones “there’s a war outside, just out of view,” revealing the dichotomy at play throughout. With the songs evolving naturally and in a flow state, the pressures and sadnesses of the modern age bleed through, mixed in with Lew’s inherent love, sensitivity and fractured-but-intact optimism. On the swooning, sublime Sunday layers of Numanoid synths open up for the commanding vocal performance pontificating on grief, love, pain as she “feels the ache on Sunday…” As the chorus builds and Lew’s call-and-response vocal adds to the emotional tension, it almost feels like too much to take.

Elsewhere, there are echoes of Hannah Lew’s previous work. On Time Wasted a bass guitar comes in with a heavy, punk attack before the synths and vocal harmonies reminiscent of later Cold Beat elevate everything. The glassy, sweetly resigned closer The Clock sounds like so classic it could be cover, a sweetened Jesus & Mary Chain tune perhaps, before it erupts into volcanic chorus that could only come from Hannah Lew in 2026.

In 2023, Kraków-based composer Martyna Basta and Los Angeles-based sound artist claire rousay were invited to Poland by Unsound for a short residency, where they spent a few days trading ideas and concepts, and brainstorming their first collaboration. Initially motivated to create lengthy, expansive pieces together, they also ended up experimenting with shorter vignettes, and ‘hotel room’ expresses these two extremes, featuring three long-form tracks and three brief, euphoric songs. “It wasn’t something we specifically planned,” explains Basta. “It just unfolded that way.” The most important stage of the process, however, was the period that followed the residency, when rousay and Basta began working on their sketches in isolation, trading drafts and sculpting the sounds independently before rousay handled the final mixdown. In the comfort of their own bedrooms, they were better able to reflect their individual creative routines, organically reaching a junction where their music felt truly unified. Even while they were in Poland, the duo joked that it might have been easier if they’d been holed up in separate rooms emailing each other.

Both artists have had an energetic few years: after steadily building a reputation for her diaristic and candid concrète experiments, rousay signed to Thrill Jockey in 2023, releasing the acclaimed ‘sentiment’, ‘a little death’ and the more eaze collaboration ‘no floor’; Basta, meanwhile, followed up 2023’s hallucinatory ‘Slowly Forgetting, Barely Remembering’ and her debut for Belgium’s Stroom imprint, ‘Diaries Beneath Fragile Glass’ with a studio album on !K7’s 7K sublabel: ‘Winged in Collapse’. The title of their collaboration reflects rousay and Basta’s hectic touring schedules in the wake of these releases, the constant feeling of displacement and the emotions that emerge when the environment is in flux. “I know we aren’t the only musicians traveling and creating work at the same time,” says rousay, “but being able to speak about that experience and all the things that come with it was comforting.” And the music itself, assembled from hypnagogic field recordings, spectral voices, electronics and filtered instrumental improvisations, sounds bewitchingly unmoored, not tied to a specific location but hovering around the uncanny space in-between.

Scratchy ASMR sounds introduce us to the opening track ‘zoom’, initially obscuring the duo’s elegiac harmonies. They are careful to let the various elements evolve at their own pace, with the fictile guitar drones melting into the foreground while Basta’s dissociated whispers and rousay’s illusory synths pick out the subtlest subliminal shades. It all builds to the piece’s dramatic third act, when layered chords ring out like organ blasts, enveloping the negative space. The shorter, more anxiety-provoking ‘denim’ is remarkably divergent, a dismantled folk memory pieced together from skeletal piano notes, vaporous choral echoes, haunting string plucks and pulsating feedback. Where the music aligns is in the mood itself, capturing a feeling that’s neither completely abstract nor fully referential. Not ambient exactly, ‘hotel room’ is a suite of soundscapes that gesture towards structure while repeatedly folding in on themselves.

On ‘Lost and Found’, wordless Autotuned ad-libs spiral around delicate guitar plucks and washing waves, coalescing into a faded Polaroid of opiated Americana, and on ‘Where Are You Now’, operatic squeals and corroded orchestral scrapes are juxtaposed with nauseous low-end tones. Evaporating until only industrial whirrs and music box chimes remain, the latter encapsulates the entire album’s chilling liminality, smudging saturated voices with casual electro-acoustic interjections before it erupts abruptly, transforming into a dense, pitch-skewed hymn. ‘hotel room’ plays like a surreal travelogue, teasing listeners with airy familiarities as it humidifies dry, awkward spaces. More a labyrinth of catacombs than a single, fixed chamber, it’s Escher-like – cryptic and seductive – and decked out with personal asides and intimate details that reward the most patient, curious listeners.

After their recent LP Mirages (Kraak Records, 2025) with French turntablist Guilhem’All, the group continues to explore collaborations with artists and instruments from diverse musical traditions. Building on decades of uncompromising acoustic exploration, Razen delves deeper into their practice with five improvisational pieces that unfold slowly in time and space. The duo’s radical core - Brecht Ameel and Kim Delcour - finds in Van der Harst a longtime kindred spirit, united by the impact of sound, intonation, and the sheer joy of playing.

To be released on April 24 via VIERNULVIER Records, the artwork for Stained Glass Starling was created by American visual artist Robert Beatty (Oneohtrix Point Never, Christina Vantzou, The Weeknd, Tame Impala). The physical release comes with a 16-page booklet including artwork and an interview.

A long-standing artistic kinship lies at the heart of this project, with first encounters dating back to the early 2000s in Belgian musical improv theatre. Van der Harst’s lifelong experience in improvised music and music theatre, spanning back to the 1980s, combined with a vast arsenal of rare and historical instruments, opens new tonal territories within the Razen universe.

These explorations are not incidental: his family roots in the former Dutch East Indies — through his great-grandfather — provide a quiet backdrop to his enduring affinity for Asian musical traditions. Instruments such as erhu, Javanese kacapi, and others introduce timbres
that bring the music its most pronounced Asian inflections to date.

Yet despite this shift in colour, the underlying ethos remains unmistakably Razen. Working from sound rather than form, the ensemble approaches music as painters approach a canvas: adding layers, contrasts and shades with care. There is no soloist’s ego here; all voices are equal, echoing principles found in gamelan traditions.

Over the decades, Razen and Dick Van der Harst have crossed paths repeatedly, notably through cult theatre productions by Belgian theatre maker Eric De Volder, including Zwarte vogels in de bomen (2002) and Huis der Verborgen Muziekjes I–II (2000–2006). Recording an albumtogether had long been a shared aspiration — a wish that crystallised after a 2024 concert at Concertzaal Miry in Ghent, part of the Ruiskamer series by VIERNULVIER Art Centre.

Phara returns with a second project under his In Glass alias. In 'Scratching the Surface', we're light years away from the heavier, more instructive dance records that have become synonymous with Phara's style. In this EP, the Belgian artist reaffirms his celestial, delicate sound in four tracks that delve further deeper into the emotional soundscape proposed in the first EP.

'Sally' begins the project with the most dance floor oriented of the four tracks, proposing an intoxicating blend of styles that bloom throughout its six minutes. Soft pads and bright keys twinkle along a cradling rhythm as In Glass delivers a truly musical piece that sifts through memories. Percussion is then taken out of the equation as 'All Things (424 Version)' comes and lands softly on the center stage. Lush, ambient waves come lapping at the shore of 'Scratching the Surface', describing nothing but space and serenity - a breath from everything. The dreamy tone of 'All Things' oscillates along reassuringly into the B side, keeping the tempo low and the sound design organic. Here, we step into In Glass's world of dub techno and adjacent sounds that defined his first record last year. 'Plateau' rises slowly from the wax with a round low end and suspended chords that hover high above. Opening stabs over a harmonic bassline make a head massage of a track that sways along. The raw emotion behind In Glass's music is inviting, flashing by as ethereal synths open and close to install a personal, meditative experience of electronic music. The percussion remains discrete, allowing the harmonic information to wash over the listener into the last track of the EP. He concludes with 'My Idle Hands', pressing further into the dub techno sound that echoes through a cathedral of memories. Blurry shapes pass by over a more determined rhythm section, confirming the intimate nature of In Glass's music. The music wanders along, its head in the clouds but with a full heart, telling stories of being lost and finding home.

Hot on the heels of their debut LP Scimitar return with a lightning fast follow up simply entitled Scimitarium II.
Formed in 2024 by veterans of Copenhagen’s underground music scene including members of Slaegt, Gam, and Shaam Laerin, Scimitar released their debut LP in February 2025 to wide acclaim. Arriving as a fully formed force of nature with an album far beyond the reach and scope of bands significantly deeper in their discographies. It should come as no surprise that their follow up drinks even deeper from the same well of riches as their first effort. Somehow, this time around, there is more light in the dark, although the glimmers and rays only serve to amplify the heaviness of the utter pitch blackness.
Opening itself up in a wrenching moment of becoming, Scimitatium II begins like an infernal piece of machinery, a vast, complex engine of sound slowly but steadily finding its inexorable pace until vocalist Shaam A’s voice breaks upon its nascent rhythms like glass. Once velocity is reached there is seemingly no stopping this breathless journey as its angular guitar lines narrowly wend themselves through cavernous tunnels leaving echoing tendrils in their wake, all while the frantic rhythm section threatens to shake the whole damn thing to pieces.
The flaming Scimitar is born of smoke and ash, and mystic flame burning itself brightly for ritual rebirth; a self immolating operation capable of incredible creation and terrible destruction.

XKatedral Anthology Series II (An Anthology Of Slowly Evolving Timbral Music), featuring exclusive music from Kali Malone, Jessica Ekomane, Mats Erlandsson, Theodor Kentros, Wilma Hultén, and Maria W Horn.

"XKatedral Anthology II is the second instalment in a series of archival releases dedicated to presenting music by composers affiliated with XKatedral working within the realm of slowly evolving harmonic and timbral music. This double-vinyl set contains an array of pieces dating from 2018 - 2020. This collection of pieces focuses on the use of synthetic sound and algorithmic composition languages as tools for precise work within the realm of spectral exploration. In addition to this, the electronic instrumentation in many of the pieces is augmented by acoustic instruments.

The first piece on side A is Kali Malone’s Music for Low Quartet. This piece is an adaptation of the composition “Rose Wreath Crown” originally released on The Sacrificial Code in 2019. In this iteration, the music is scored for two double basses played by Vilhelm Bromander and Zach Rowden, and sine tone electronics performed by Malone herself. The recording of this piece was made at EMS in 2019.

Closing side A is Jessica Ekomane’s ‘First Light’. This computer music piece focuses exclusively on digital sound, layering razor sharp synthetic textures into an otherworldly dynamic weave. The music heard here is a reworked version of a piece originally commissioned by Semibreve in 2020.

Side B contains the work ‘Hands Melt In The Sun’ by Mats Erlandsson. This composition is built from electronically processed tuned zithers and synthetically generated tones arranged in a series of chordal inversions over a sustained fundamental tone. This music, written as a love-letter to the localized drone tradition of Stockholm in the years 2008-2012, was composed and recorded in seven days while in residence at Ställbergs Gruva in Bergslagen, in the summer of 2018.

Opening the second half of the collection is Rough Draft v.7 by Theodor Kentros. Kentros’ compositional practice usually combines acoustic and electronic source material and in this piece he molds the sound of the Buchla 200 and a collection of recorded wind instruments into a molten mass of sound. In its original form, this music was presented as a multichannel immersive work and even in the current stereo configuration it retains some of that enveloping sense of depth.

The second piece on side B, Inertia, is by Wilma Hultén, who makes her debut on record here. An exclusively synthetic piece, Inertia utilizes internal digital feedback in a sealed synthetic system to manifest a harmonic field that swells and abates throughout the length of the piece, interspersed by small gestural elements.

Closing Anthology II is Maria W Horn's work ‘Dies Irae’ for female vocal quartet, pitched glass and synthesis. ‘Dies Irae’ uses a modified form of traditional tonal harmonic language to invoke an uncanny and restless middle ground between the classical western polyphonic vocal tradition and contemporary electronic music. The version heard here is a live recording from Eric Ericssonhallen in Stockholm on May 30th 2020. Performing the piece here are the vocalists Katarina Henryson, Lisa Holmgren, Vilma Ogenblad and Paula Wegmann, as well as Maria herself on glass and electronics."

As Nathan Fake rises from the nocturnal subterranea and rave catharsis of his previous records, on Evaporator, he resurfaces into the domain of daylight, bringing a tangible sense of air rushing against your face, of big skies, and endless landscapes. The idea of pop accessibility that trickled into 2023’s Crystal Vision is refracted here through the prism of sweeping ambient, deep electronica, and trance uplift. Evaporator is Fake’s idea of “airy daytime music”, with each track a different barometer reading across the album’s varying atmospheres, which range from vibrant sunbursts, bracing rainscapes, and fine mists of clement melodics. “It’s not overtly confrontational electronic club music,” states Fake. “It’s quite pleasant, it’s accessible. As I was progressing through making the tracklist, I called it a daytime album. It doesn’t feel like an afterparty album.” For the past decade Fake has been gingerly introducing collaborations with heroes and friends alike into his lone, idiosyncratic working process. Border Community alumni Dextro AKA Ewan Mackenzie transmutes his ferocious drumming for Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs into the blurred choral thump of ‘Baltasound’. ‘Orbiting Meadows’, meanwhile, is his second collaboration with Clark, an eerily idyllic duet where microtonal 18EDO piano clangs slowly twirl around wailing pads. Evaporator marks the junction point of old technology and ever fresh creativity for Nathan. The trusty “dinosaur” age software, particularly Cubase VST5, that has powered two decades of music is rarely updated. “I used to sort of feel a bit ashamed of using such old software, and then I kind of had an epiphany – that’s just how I work”, comments Fake. “That’s just how I play. I’m very fond of these old tools, and I get the most joy out of them, but now I’ve incorporated new technology too.” When an artist accumulates so much synergy with their instrument, music making becomes instinctual. By Fake’s account, much of Evaporator just fell into place. The album title arrived randomly in his head (“it felt completely perfect. Airy.”), ideas looped and developed until things locked into place and just felt right. ‘The Ice House’ is a fleeting glimpse of the sonic world he taps into in this creative state, its glassy FM synths built around a counterpoint between rough-hewn crystalline arpeggios and sparse yet gravitas-bearing bass. “That riff I just wrote out on the keyboard, I just played it forever and ever and ever. The original track ended up being really short. Here you go, and it’s gone!” These unplanned channellings of sound call forth records from Fake’s past while he looks ahead, perhaps getting at the very essence of his musicianship. The opener ‘Aiwa’ (“the breeziest,” he muses) reminds of the introspection that characterised Providence, excited by the fire and grit of Steam Days’ textural experiments, its chunky slams and clatters surging into a flood of harmonic buzzing as they reach out for old wisdom. ‘Hypercube’ stampedes in a similar chronological confluence, infusing an incessant synth line reminiscent of the golden age of rave with the crackling, ecstatic energy of modern festival anthems. Like the vaporisation of liquid to particles, everything that Evaporator presents has a mutant desire to be amorphous. Sounds rarely settle; the irradiated garage beat of ‘Bialystok’ is pitched downwards to driving, rebounding effect, while ‘You’ll Find a Way’ warps static into shivering energy, cinematic synth strings building anticipation into a gradual gush of chords. This translates into a more expansive stereo field than Fake has explored before. ‘Slow Yamaha’ saves the wildest, most kinetic transformations for last with a cornucopia of crispy melodies and fried drums; a sibilance of cymbals on the left, a susurrus of shakers on the right, and kaleidoscopic lasers pulsing and fizzing all around. Evaporation culminating in pure excited atoms. In a world where music has increasingly become background content, making albums remains lifeblood for Fake: “It makes me realise how long; twenty years is ages! It’s weird to see how much the world has changed. Release day back then you did fuck all, now you spend all day on socials. When I grew up the people who made the electronic music I was into were quite mysterious, and the artwork was very abstract. There was a massive distance between you and that music, and that was a key part of it, really. Now it helps to be an extrovert, and I'm just not, but the album marks the first time my face has graced the cover art. I’ve never wanted to do this before, I'm very shy, and generally I don’t like being seen,” he professes. “But, twenty years in, I supposed I could try something new. I'm very lucky that I'm somehow surviving in this world, where the media world favours extroverts and interesting looking people. It’s not my world but somehow I’m still in it.” Evaporator continues to prove Nathan’s necessary presence, with some of his most engaging, varied, and magical music yet.

Clikno Is Proud To Present The Second Strike Of Dr.nojoke's Double Ep 'zero'.

'aplose' Is A Straight 10 Minute-stomper, Which Sounds Like A Wild Horde Of Percussionists Clanging And Banging Cans And Pots. The Truth Is The Doctor Just Threw Glass Marbles On A Wooden Floor. Fun-time! For The Hips He Adds A Low Rolling Bassline And For The Head Some Freaky, Randomly Pitching Chords And Off It Goes! Call It Afro-kraut-jazz-tech Or Just Clikno - Aplose Is A Counter-action To Electronic Music Production With Electronic Machines - Marbles Do It As Well!

'kumuestu' On The Flipside Is The Antagonal Piece On Zero.two - More Dark And Deep It Is Music For A Fictional Ritual. Carried By A Hypnotic Fluctuating Bass-figure And Drones The Tune Slowly Mutates Into A Shamanic Rhythm Monster Creating A Resonating Field For Transcendental Dancefloor Action - From Here To Eternity.

Zero.two Is Purely Audiophile Electricity To Twitch Your Body In All Directions. Do The Clikno!

Again Zero.two Is A Limited Vinyl-only Release Pressed On Transparent Vinyl Coming In A Transparent Sleeve - Transparent As Light, As Ideas, As Music And As The World Should Be - No Borders, But Freedom, Peace And Equality For Everyone!

“I like to work with a variety of instruments and set ups,” says Mark Van Hoen, sometimes known as Locust or Autocreation but here working under his own name on the excellent Plan For A Miracle, his first physical release of solo music since 2018’s Invisible Threads. ”Sometimes it’s literally in my studio, with all the hardware electronics available. Sometimes the laptop, using software instruments. Some of the tracks on this record were recorded in the desert (Joshua Tree) using a 4-track tape machine and small modular synthesiser set up. Each track was recorded in different location using different instruments, which accounts for the distinction between each piece. It’s also about my own reaction to my environment, and what’s going on in my life at the time.”

The Croydon-born Van Hoen started musical life in the early 1990s, signing for R&S records in 1993 but developing his own, myriad and distinctive style across a range of releases on Touch, Editions Mego and other labels, using a battery of instruments, including analogue synthesizers and taking a number of different approaches to recording, rather than ploughing a single sonic furrow. He has worked on a number of collaborations, including with Nick Holton and Neil Halstead of Slowdive, under the moniker of Black Hearted Brother - their Stars Are Our Home was released in 2013. “I have known Neil Halstead since 1992,” says Van Hoen. “He shared a house with me for a couple of years, and the music I was making and listening to along with clubs I was attending had an influence particularly on Pygmalion, the final Slowdive album on Creation.”

Each track on Plan For A Miracle does indeed sound like a world unto itself, a mini-environment, a weather condition, an ecosystem created for the moment. It’s a collection of tracks recorded over the past few years, released on Bandcamp - despite his apparent absence, Van Hoen works constantly. Opener “Climates”, in its exquisite limpidity, feels like a homage to Brian Eno, one of his most formative influences in his teen years, commencing with Music For Films, which he bought in 1979. “This Is For Them”, feels like a ghostlike throwback to early drum & bass or electronica, reminiscent of his own, earliest outings. “There have been a number of requests from labels to make some more music like my very early releases on R&S,” says Van Hoen. “This is part of ‘letting go’ and realising that there’s nothing less creative about going back to those styles again.”

“Pencil Of Spheres” is something else again, a magnificent, imaginary glass structure, shimmering, refracting, without visible means of suspension, a thing of impossible beauty. “Electric Lights” evokes an abandoned fairground, its lights still pulsating, its music lingering. “The Underpass”, meanwhile, insofar as it reminds of anything at all, is faintly reminiscent of Cluster or Neu’s! West German ambience, the urban mundane rendered magical, the sodium lights, the whitewashed walls. The reverberant, faintly oriental chimes of “Insight” transport us yet again, burgeoning and intensifying.

The landscapes, the skyscapes rendered on Plan For A Miracle feel unpopulated as a rule - but when he does introduce vocal elements, Van Hoen has a history of doing so to spectacular effect - think of “Real Love” from 1998’s Playing With Time, the seductive intonation of its title recurring throughout like a series of massive holograms, echoing, stuttering, breaking up, surging. Here, there are just the faintest of vocals, barely distinct, disquieting. “There’s been a bit of a game changer in recent times,” explains Van Hoen. “AI software that enables you to extract vocals and instrument parts from virtually any recording. That means sampling individual parts from existing sources is no longer limited to the original mix exposing certain parts soloed. The vocal parts I use are from multiple sources and often pitch shifted altered rhythmically and melodically.“ There’s further vocal chatter on “I Really Do”, proceeding at a faster pace as if giving chase, or being pursued - distant, enigmatic. “The Music”, meanwhile, its beat tolling, lost in its own fog of static, features a curious intonation, like the ghost of a lost Walker Brother.

Sadly, the album’s title is in reference to a personal tragedy on Van Hoen’s part - the loss of his wife. Titles such as “I Won’t Give Up”, which faintly reminds of another Eno masterpiece, Another Green World, in its nautical hurly-bury, or the pastoral strains of “Mrs Who”, heavily clouded with sadness, seem to allude to this. “In fact the record was recorded entirely before she passed away,” says Van Hoen, “most of it before she even became very ill. The title was given to the album when it started to look like she wasn’t going to make it beyond a few months. It was something Osho said - “plan for a miracle” - so it was a statement of hope. Unfortunately it was not to be.” Although the album is non-thematic, non-specific in its atmospheres, sound paintings, elegant structures it most certainly stands as a magnificent monument to Osho’s memory.

-David Stubbs.

Poem by Alea Coble (February 2026) - Written for Andrew Weathers, Chattonooga Recording Project

Listen to my story and everything will come out true. - Bessie Smith

35° 02' 44.27" N -85° 18' 34.85" W:

Howl. Hammer strikes firing pin. Its echo ricochets over river bend. The woodpecker’s syncopated pop-pop-pop clink and thwap in time with cops practicing prayer at the firing range.

Quick. Sketch a few constellations onto a postcard: empty shotgun shells, these pre-forgotten fossils snaking rusted railroad spikes, like snagged rosary, fallen poplar petals draped over cerulean glass ashtray scattered along glittering fractures, ignored like a treaty. Train tracks reverberate necrophilic boomerang-hunger for mountain air without that coal dust. Eat. Eat. Everything is real estate. Even the air is for sale. Buy it cheap while I.C.E. carves through the valley along the Trail of Tears in unmarked SUVs, traffic stops.

Howl. Callback to estranged entanglements oscillating over holler and highway. Meet on the porch. Haint-blue ceiling. Some ghosts can’t get through anyway. They got tied up on the Walnut Street Bridge by a mob of white spit. Howl. The South should scare you.

But the woodpecker is still nesting, hungry, typing uncannied punctuation marks into black oak: a deed. Home? Takes a side-eyed knowing to call by name. The moon sickles in a sweating glass of iced tea.

Speculation cycle: symmetry as ancient as sour-dank betrayal of the tongue, bitter bones binding blood and lead, alchemical forgetting like I found a hairbrush in the yard while planting wild irises, like someone is charging $10 for an old glass Coke bottle, like semicolons itching restless under new sod from no-one-knows-where. Howl. Sing back. History is soil-in-stereo.

How will this line end? Like riverbank? Like atlatl arching hope smash-through a stained glass window? Words fall out of the sky, and 30 American flags snap at attention on the bridge. Howl. A shift in the wind gallops through the streets tossing her head back, laughing.

Tennessee River, who once kissed Pangea, how she softens at the knuckle-suck of it all, that secret-sweet stowed in the feathers of sandhill cranes lifting up on warm summer breeze: slow-shooting stars bending toward unbothered brevitas.

Howl. The red wolf knows her truest kin is always her shadow’s shadow.

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 .

Cinna Peyghamy unveils new album fusing Persian tombak and modular synthesis Five years in the making, "Music For Tombak & Synth" bridges heritage, technology, and personal identity. The project, initiated in 2019 during Peyghamy's master's thesis research on contact microphones, was conceived as a means to reconnect with his Persian roots while exploringexperimental sound design. In the album, Peyghamy seamlessly blends the traditional Persian tombak with modular synthesis and digital signal processing, creating a distinctive musical landscape that bridges live improvisation and studio production. The album’s genesis traces back to Peyghamy’s exploration of improvised electronic music and his desire to craft a performance-ready setup. Over
several years, the project evolved from capturing the energy of his live shows into a fully composed studio work.

"Music For Tombak & Synth" stands as the first record where Peyghamy unites his dual identities as a live performer and producer, resulting in a body of work that reflects his deep connection to family, memory, and cultural heritage. The album features personal elements such as his father’s voice reciting the poetry of Ahmad Shamlo on the track Dar Shab ,?? ??collaborations with long-time friend Quelque Bourdon on clarinet, and the evocative sounds of the Persian setar, all anchored by the physicality and rhythms of the tombak. A sentiment further reflected in the album cover; a photograph taken by his father, Khosrow ‘Payram’ Peyghamy, picturing both his parents and grandparents.

With this release, Peyghamy moves beyond conventional boundaries of "traditional versus contemporary" or "acoustic versus electronic," instead offering a nuanced exploration of identity through sound. Each track serves as a keepsake, referencing cherished memories, emotions, and musical influences that define his experience as a French-born artist of Iranian descent, unable to visit his home country. "Music For Tombak & Synth" invites listeners to engage with a deeply personal narrative, rooted in both cultural history and sonic innovation.

Convergence is an ambient album formed through a series of morning rituals during rehabilitation following a severe medical event and an extended hospital stay. After weeks immersed in the constant alarms, beeps, and environmental signals of medical equipment, the act of listening itself became recalibrated. The music was performed and assembled using glass marimba, flute, and analog synthesizers, with each instrument treated as a source of resonance and gradually dissected through spectral analysis—allowing melody to emerge from fragments through repetition, attention, and daily practice, where synthesis functions not as traditional composition but as an exchange of signals.


Working slowly and intuitively, Stardust Multiplier approaches sound as a communicative medium between humans, the natural environment, and non-ordinary states of perception. Motifs evolve through repetition and subtle variation, informed by ceremonial music, mythic structures, and speculative communication frameworks associated with non-human intelligence—not as narrative devices, but as metaphors for attuned listening and pattern recognition.

Rather than moving toward resolution, Convergence documents moments of alignment—instances where intention, system, and environment briefly synchronize. The result is a restrained, deeply focused record, less concerned with atmosphere than attention, where synthesis functions as both a grounding practice and a method of inquiry.

Trajectories collide in a wormhole as Tokyo-based Igaxx and Amsterdam-based Gropina converge on a crepuscular four-track 12-inch and digital release for Paesaggi Records. Igaxx drifts through near-beatless, spiralling psychedelia: “The Perception” is a slow-burn ascent, suspended in a state of perpetual anticipation, forever circling a climax that never arrives. “Someday in Time” settles into a steady pulse that glides outward, dissolving into the distance as if lost in quiet contemplation.

On the flip, Gropina reshapes the two pieces through his own sonic lens, like stepping through the looking glass. “The Perception (Version)” brings a supernatural, Kraut-inspired vibe, opening with a deceptive 2:35 intro before unfolding into Mother Sky-esque drums, primitive flutes, and reversed guitars. “Some Day In Time (Version)” is a dubby reinterpretation driven by a ’70s Ace Tone drum machine, a funky bassline, dub-soaked guitars, noir alto saxophone, and subtle details swirling through the mix.

Music To Watch Seeds Grow By continues its second season with Seoul-based left of centre ambient duo Salamanda - Uman Therma (Sala) and Yetsuby (Manda) - and their meditation on the inner life of a basil plant. Seeds 008 is an ambient composition born from quiet domestic observation: a single basil on a windowsill, its days shaped by light, warmth, and the slow passage of time.

The album moves through a full day in the plant's life opening with ‘introduce my atom which is my favorite one’, an act of quiet self-declaration in morning light, before settling into the unhurried rhythmic pulse of ‘to to ki toki tok’- the drip of water, the tick of a clock, the slow beat of photosynthesis. ‘allez, pousse!’ - one of the standouts in this journey - carries the basil's gentle will to grow, to push, to tilt toward the sun, while ‘hungry snail’ captures a moment of creaturely encounter on the glass: an uninvited visitor, moving slowly, wanting. As the afternoon deepens, 'Basil's Ritual' traces the daily ceremony of light and warmth, repeated with calm devotion from root to leaf. Night falls across 'Basil's Dream', and in the stillness something like sleep arrives - the plant resting, imagining tomorrow's sun. The album closes with ‘the blue wine’, a final mysterious reverie in which the basil seems to contemplate its own fate, somewhere between acceptance and wonder.

If you’ve been following the wanderings of prolific psychedelic magicians Elkhorn, you might be surprised that Elkhorn guitarist Drew Gardner’s solo LP Wave Field is the most out and out “rock” record on VHF in many years. Working here in a small group with excellent players Tom Malach (guitar), Andy Cush (bass), and Ryan Jewel (drums), Gardner cuts loose on a set of propulsive and swinging material that allows him to greatly expand his sound into unexpected areas. “Rhizoid” starts with a sneaky groove riding the nimble bass and drums of Cush and Jewel before a leap into the ripping Sonic Youth/NEU! hybrid of “Space Ray.” “Shadow Casting Grass” brings things back down to end the side with some Elkhorn-adjacent gentle guitar weave backed again by the sly rhythm section. “Wave Field” kicks off side 2 with an extended buzzy guitar raga with Cush’s melodic and fat bass providing jammy counterpoint. The epic “Mayan Bees” closes the LP with an extended workout on another extremely fine drum and bass ostinato, a hypnotic minor key riff that slow builds over 10+ minutes.

Recorded in concert at the University of Sheffield in March 2025, Reality Is Not A Theory is the first collaboration between Mark Fell and Pat Thomas. Major figures in British experimental music since the 1990s, Fell and Thomas have developed their rigorous practices from radically different backgrounds and perspectives: where Fell’s singular take on synthetic abstraction emerged from Sheffield’s electronic underground, Thomas is a virtuoso improvising pianist steeped in jazz and modernist art music who has simultaneously worked with sampler-based electronics for decades. As the record’s wonderfully academic subtitle explains, we are presented here with two sides of ‘algorithmic and improvised music for computer and piano’, exemplifying both players’ insatiable search for new (and sometimes uncomfortable) playing situations.

The performance begins with Fell’s electronics close to the timbres of acoustic percussion, attacks that suggest wood, metal or glass threaded along a rapid pulse while Thomas focuses on the lowest registers of the piano, deadening the strings. As Fell’s electronics start to ring out and occupy more harmonic space, Thomas turns to wide, repeated clusters, which slowly expand into patterns of chords. Like in his recent solo recordings and his trio work with Joel Grip and Anton Gerbal, Thomas’ playing combines extreme dissonance with a deep lyrical sense. Fell’s work gradually shifts its focus toward drum sounds, drawing on the microtemporal processes that have characterized his practice in recent decades. Heard together with Thomas’ probing piano, the computer sounds call up unexpected associations with the klangfarben antics of improv drummers like Paul Lovens or Tony Oxley. Throughout its second half, the music grows increasingly frenetic, as Thomas sounds out rapid, irregularly repeated figures and beautifully sour chords in the upper register, while Fell’s percussion develops into angular pan-pipe-like feedback and waves of glissandi.

With great confidence and patience, Fell and Thomas often let their individual contributions remain rhythmically distinct and unsynchronised, allowing unexpected correspondence and coincidence to guide the music’s development. Recorded in a hall named after Sheffield steel manufacturer and Master Cutler Mark Firth, the location might suggest a model for understanding how Fell and Thomas interact here: two workers in the same workshop, each immersed in their own part of the production process. Arriving in a striking sleeve designed by Mark Fell, with liner notes by Francis Plagne, Reality Is Not A Theory is an invigorating document of the meeting of two mavericks of contemporary music.

2025 Repress!

Recorded in a remote cabin on the Devon coast, STILL OUT is an album-length collaboration between musician-filmmakers – and childhood friends – Will Cookson and Tom Haverly. A reflection on friendship, landscape and the passing of time, it inspired a road trip from North Yorkshire to North Devon they took together in the summer of 2024, and forms the soundtrack to a film of the same name which had its premiere screening as part of Stroud Film Festival in March 2025.

Like the film, STILL OUT is also an oblique homage to The KLF’s iconic 1990 album Chill Out, which the Gloucestershire-based pair revisited after it turned up unexpectedly a few years back in Tom’s dad’s record collection. Inspired to create their own recording using a similarly free-spirited process, Will and Tom relocated to the Devon coast in late summer 2023, splicing together a 40-minute mix from their personal archive of recordings and found sounds in a remote cabin with no electricity or mobile reception.

"It came together using cut-and-paste techniques, with ongoing shifts and tweaks,” says Will. “The final result was an audio collage that felt like something legendary hip hop producers The Bomb Squad might make - if ambient music was the only material in their sample library."

Using ‘ambient’ as a starting-point rather than an end in itself, they took inspiration from across the musical spectrum – classic-period Brian Eno, Philip Glass, Bill Evans, plus outliers such as 80s singer-songwriter Virginia Astley and the late DJ-producer Andrew Weatherall. The connections, though, are anything but obvious as the audio shifts seamlessly from field recordings and spoken-word interludes to mood pieces and snatches of vintage pop.

Edited and assembled using freely available open source programs, the source material was often radically altered using tools such as “PaulStretch”, a digital sound-morphing algorithm that allows users to stretch audio files to extreme lengths.

"When we found ourselves in a creative slump or unsure how to navigate a tricky part, we'd say, ‘Let's put some syrup on it and slow it down,’” says Tom. “That always helped us get back on track during late-night recording sessions at the cabin."

Part-soundtrack, part-meditative experiment, STILL OUT is intended as a reflection on the mental and emotional shift that occurs when stepping away from the routine of daily life – an album that forms a celebration of our ever-changing relationship to the world around us and the mystery of what it means to pass through time and space.

“The true follow up, 35 years later, to The KLF’s ‘Chill Out’”.
JD Twitch (Optimo).

An ambient journey reflecting on friendship, the British landscape - and The KLF’s landmark album Chill Out

"This record and film are just lovely. You need this in your life. Moo-Moo!” Balearic Mike (Down To The Sea & Back)

"The album is a perfect companion to the KLF classic, utilising the British countryside as the setting, occasionally reminding you that Mother Nature is not to be messed with.” Strictly Kev (DJ Food)

"A beautiful ambient journey into the landscape, taking the listener from reality to dream state and back again. A mystical realm full of mysterious chanting, rattling trains and sounds from the very depths of the earth."
Lally MacBeth & Matthew Shaw (Stone Club)

Repress!

200 COPIES ONLY

Nils Frahm has unexpectedly confirmed details of a new collection of solo piano music, his first album since 2022’s three-hour Music For Animals. Day will be released by LEITER on March 1st, 2024, and it will be available on limited edition vinyl as well as via all digital platforms. Recorded in the summer of 2022 in complete solitude and away from his studio at Berlin’s famed Funkhaus complex, it is preceded by a single, ‘Butter Notes’, out on January 19. Day may come as a surprise to those who, over the last decade, have watched Frahm shift slowly away from the piano compositions with which he first made his name in favour of a nonetheless still-distinctive approach that’s considerably more instrumentally complex and intricately arranged. In addition, in 2021, having spent the early part of the pandemic arranging his archives, he released the 80 minute, 23-track Old Friends New Friends, a compilation of previously unreleased piano music intended to enable him to ”start over” with a clean slate. Judging from the extended, ambient nature of Music For Animals, it proved a successful gambit, but Frahm has never been able to resist returning to his first love, and those who enjoyed earlier acclaimed albums like The Bells, Felt and Screws will once again revel in Day’s familiar, personal style. Day, which contains six tracks, three over the six-minute mark, is the first in a pair of albums Frahm has lined up for 2024. In keeping with their nature, however, he won’t be making a song and dance about the release. Instead, he’ll resume his ongoing world tour, which has already included fifteen sold-out dates at Berlin’s Funkhaus as well as a show at Athen’s Acropolis. It will continue with shows all over the world, among them several sold-out dates at London’s Barbican in July 2024, where he previously curated a weekend of music, film and art, Possibly Colliding, in 2016. The album is best enjoyed in the manner in which it was recorded, in the intimacy of a peaceful, cosy room. There are muffled pedal creaks on the cyclical, quietly jazzy ‘You Name It’ and, during the palliative ripples of ‘Butter Notes’’ arpeggios, the sound of dogs barking in the streets outside. The compassionate, hesitant ‘Tuesdays’ and emotionally ambiguous ‘Towards Zero’ linger with the poignant persistence of Harold Budd’s earliest work, while ‘Hands On’ is a sometimes brighter, airier tune that sets its own, deliberate pace, and, as he has on occasions before, ‘Changes’ sees Frahm employing elements of his instrument’s construction in a ‘prepared piano’ fashion. Characterised by its confidential mood, Day confirms that, while Frahm is arguably now best known for elaborate, celebratory concerts calling upon an arsenal of pianos, organs, keyboards, synths, even a glass harmonica, he’s still a prolific master of affecting simplicity, tenderness and romance.

Berlin-Hamburg duo Session Victim return to the ever-reliable Delusions Of Grandeur imprint with Chapter Two of their Sidequests trilogy, marking yet another high point in their almost twenty year journey through heartfelt, sample-rich music. Overflowing with analog warmth, sundrenched textures and irresistible grooves, the release also features a stellar remix from label cofounder and deep house pioneer Jimpster who kicks off the EP. Here he takes Behind The Glass into spaced out house-not-house territory. With crisp drum programming, trademark Rhodes, and subtle pads that build over time, his version delivers that late-night sophistication he's known for—steering the downtempo original in a clubbier direction without losing its blissed-out essence. Up next we have a brand new collaborative effort with long time friend, label mate and fellow sample nerd Nebraska. Make It Happen is a dusty, slo-mo house groove featuring delicate keys, euphoric strings and that unmistakable sense of journey. It’s just the kind of low-slung epic house they do best—intimate yet club-ready, nostalgic but never retro. Flipping over, Too Soft To Be Loud, another collaboration with Viken Arman, follows with a jazzy, almost samba-esque rhythm and swirling atmospherics. Loose percussion, catchy guitar riffs and Rhodes stabs collide with off-kilter dub FX and soft vocal snippets giving the track a laid-back, live-band feel that harks back to their See You When You Get There era. Hubcap Candy dives deep into funk territory. Nebraska’s on point boogie bassline drives the track forward as crunchy drums and layers of synths create a dreamlike haze. It’s loopy, moody, and finds Session Victim at their very best. Closing out the EP we have the original of Behind The Glass, a headsy, beatdown piece that slowly unfolds over an unconventional brass-like bassline and delicate guitar textures, paying homage to the golden age of Trip Hop haziness and it’s pioneer turntable spirit. Blending crate-digging sensibilities with forward-thinking production, this latest release solidifies Session Victim’s reputation as genre-blurring tastemakers, and their chemistry with Delusions Of Grandeur remains as strong as ever

James Morrison"s new album Fight Another Day is born of difficult times and heavy emotions but one that, ultimately, leans into the light and joy and hope. Written after a period of reflection and therapy, the songs deal with his own struggles, childhood, and personal battles, with Morrison saying, "Every day being a bit of a battle. Trying to eke the light out after what felt like darkness for ages." From the defiant title track to the soul-baring Something I Can"t Forget and the feelgood New Day, the album captures a wide emotional spectrum. "I"m really proud of the album in terms of the creative, sonic elements and how I dealt with truthful stuff," he says, "but also... it"s an album of songs that hopefully make you feel better and make you nod your head and stamp your feet and singalong."

James Morrison"s new album Fight Another Day is born of difficult times and heavy emotions but one that, ultimately, leans into the light and joy and hope. Written after a period of reflection and therapy, the songs deal with his own struggles, childhood, and personal battles, with Morrison saying, "Every day being a bit of a battle. Trying to eke the light out after what felt like darkness for ages." From the defiant title track to the soul-baring Something I Can"t Forget and the feelgood New Day, the album captures a wide emotional spectrum. "I"m really proud of the album in terms of the creative, sonic elements and how I dealt with truthful stuff," he says, "but also... it"s an album of songs that hopefully make you feel better and make you nod your head and stamp your feet and singalong."

Sticking a dirty thumb in the eye of fate, our third collaboration sees this marrow deep family malarky turn official as Pace Yourself teams up with YS’s own imprint ERF REC for a split release. As if our status as minor celebrities and footnotes of the underground could level off no further: the unification no one asked for is here. Sticking it to the man, handing your arse to ya on plate; cauterising infected suburban minds world over.

Burn is the second YS album and written as a direct follow-up album to Brutal Flowers. If their first album was an exercise in the incremental, a construction of poise and patience, Burn, should be taken way the fuck at it’s word: it quite literally finds catharsis in twisted reverse. Birthed out the malignant kick found in deconstruction and chaos. Evil twin, psychotic younger sibling, call it what the hell you like. It might take you a moment to get the lay of the land in this darkly mutated world. Like a bug eye’d native first confronted with a zippo, the hit is radical and instant: a new way for the world to go up in smoke.

Splice the Seattle slacker scene with the spliffhead soundsystem culture of the 90s Bristol trip-hop scene, then cross-breed that with the DIY optimism and glee in creation found in the cut-and-paste worlds of skate, graffiti and hiphop, now run that through the skitzo basement mind of John.T. Gast and you’re close to the kind of scorched earth and spiked suburbia that birthed Burn.

Dunno quite what YS have been ingesting of late but this massively twisted LP touches on a host of gloriously fucked totemic underground sources while not sounding much like any of them. It has the ballsy swagger and hard flipping of the script as Massive Attack’s seminal Blue Lines. Indeed, the eponymous album tracks sound similar - the opener ‘Burn’ is like a hard nosed jammed out redux of ‘Blue Lines’. Getting into a kind of slow-spinning overdubbed maximal euphoria ending with mumbled downer vocals, struggling to conceal their tongues in their cheeks there’s an air of paranoia and proto-conspiracy theory. It’ll leave you scratching your head, feeling like you’ve stepped into a New World Order governed by a cacophony of drop outs, dope fiends and apocalyptic stoners. A cracked out world somewhere between Richard Linklater’s movie Slacker (1990) and Marc Singer’s Dark Days (2001).

The rest of the album parts like a tongue on a wine glass: Smith and Mighty, Bandulu, ambient Luke Slater records, Wah Wah Wino, Nurse with Wound, Land of the Loops, Placid Angels, Adrian Sherwood, Urban Tribe and DJ Shadow can all be heard in momentary splatters - but Burn like other works by YS, is its own ritual beast. ‘Moth’, a track which has been knocking about the underground deejai circuit for many moons, is a real raw chopped and screwed slice of stoner erotica that reeks of obsession and unrequited desire. Elsewhere, on tracks like ‘Switch’, ‘Trying’ and ‘Drift’ the throughline from Brutal Flowers can be heard. Underneath the driving heavy gravity the trademark emotional intimacies of YS linger: eternal recurrence, ghosts of static and shortwave, worn memories of the playful and painful sort. The brief moments where flashes of orchestral ambience get out from underneath the swagger are so pure, personal and unguarded that for a moment they leave you completely lonesome. In the album’s closer ‘End’, you can hear the fleeting promise and DIY possibilities of an analogue world and embers of ash that flutter in its wake: where it seemed, for a brief moment, that collective of DJs, engineers, rappers, graffiti artists and skate crews were emerging from the streets, giving the middle fingers to the system, before just as quickly disappearing back to the doldrums of obscurity. ‘End’ is a bittersweet ode to early soundsystem culture, MCs and pirate radio - an out of step time where for a moment the underdogs and weirdos seemed to be kicking on the door of something bigger.

A veritable teenage doof suite dosed with desire, claustrophobia and deviance. Burn is a good old howl at the moon: lonely, raw, and out for blood; basement style exegesis at its best. A thump to the gut, a stud through your blood. A dubbed-to-death classic straight out of the annals of nowhere. A perfect post card from oblivion. A bleak, bold and personally ferocious vision of tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

This is everything that record collectors skip dates for. Fuck the scene and keep that shit underground. That’s what it is all about. Know what I mean, if you do? You’re in…

A warm breeze drifts through the open cabin of the boat, carrying the scent of salt and sunwarmed teak as it stirs the linen curtains. The man moves easily, bare feet against the wooden floor, the slow rhythm of the harbor rocking beneath him. He flips through his records with a knowing touch, pulling out a favorite—something smooth and mellow, with buttery vocals and melodies that drift like a sailboat on calm waters. The needle drops, and honeyed guitar riffs spill into the air, effortless and sunlit. He reaches for the bottle of rum, the ice in his glass chiming softly as he pours, then adds a squeeze of lime, a lazy stir. Outside, the water glows in the last light of day, golden ripples stretching toward the horizon. He leans back against the cushioned bench, drink in hand, the music swirling around him like the evening breeze—unhurried, weightless, exactly where he wants to be.


Small Talk brings together a carefully curated selection of long-forgotten, yet remarkably smooth and captivating soft rock and AOR tracks from the ‘70s and ‘80s, compiled by Brandon McMahon. These lesser-known songs are drenched in lush harmonies, dreamy guitar riffs, and mellow rhythms, capturing the essence of an era without the mainstream recognition. For those with an ear for the obscure and a taste for the subtle, Small Talk offers a fresh perspective on an era’s most overlooked gems.

Transitioning from the successful 2 Years EP (O Sótão Records, 2023), Tiago Fonseca became an up and coming Producer and DJ based between Lisbon and Porto. On the back of gigs at some of the best clubs in the country, he also transitions from Tiago A.F. to TGZ (sounding Tigz) as his moniker for what’s to come ahead. Long Shape, his latest project, is O Sótão’s first vinyl release, and the first to be delivered with higher standards of professionalism. Learning the trade, the processes, the timeframes, the costs, and having just completed 10 years of existence. A good time to go a bit deeper.

In the summer, Tiago sent me a golden playlist of unfinished projects for a second opinion. The idea for a new record started there, and from the bunch we handpicked a selection that ended up making really a lot of sense for us. We were looking for wet deepness and eternal warm ups, pulling up the fader slowly. An invitation to leave our mental capsules and divert attention towards a seductive bassline cliff-hanging a dream. Progressiveness and jazz. Long shapes and melodies in the last frontier between nostalgia and hope.

To help, we invited Miguel Tenreiro (a.k.a. Gazpa) to master the tracks, with him adding a smooth-extra-delicious pump on the beautiful original elements. Miguel also picked up the title-track for a remix treatment, breaking up the tempo with a hip-hop-electronica finale, sprinkled by a guitar solo from Zé Nuno - another great musician stemming from Mr. Bean’s bar, where we held a residency for the past year.

Long Shape will drop on March 21st. Vinyls might be only available a bit later. It will be a landmark moment for us, being Tiago’s most complete work to date, and a better representation of his rich musical influences, expanding it, as we speak, to another level. It’s also been 10 years for O Sótão, so there’s that too. To sum up, I’m just very glad that Long Shape sounds exactly where we would like to be after all this time, with a quick image of a nite-lit skyscraper cutting into a couple of rocks being dropped in the coolest whiskey glass, and the people warming up to a dream.

Edition of 100 Vinyl 12’’, Cover 3mm spine

Full of Hell Coagulated Bliss bio Full of Hell burst forth with incredible force from the small, dagger-shaped city of Ocean City, Maryland, 15 years ago. Over five full-lengths, five collaborative full-lengths, and countless splits, EPs, singles, and noise compilations, they’ve evolved at extraordinary speed, their music becoming more complicated and technical without ever slowing down or losing its soul. Everything on a Full of Hell album feels like a blur: smears of guitar, harsh noise shaken like gravel in a bag, singer Dylan Walker’s snarl and bite carrying him into outer space or into the core of the earth. They’re coiled, interlocking, impossible to penetrate, and they move with alarming speed. They have now reached terminal velocity. Having created their own context, they’re now able to walk around within it, to survey its terrain, to visit far corners and see who’s nearby. Coagulated Bliss sounds like Full of Hell, but it’s nothing like any Full of Hell record that’s come before it.

Black Truffle is pleased to announce a new edition of Kassel Jaeger’s Fernweh, returning François J. Bonnet’s electroacoustic project to the label five years after the acclaimed Meith (BT069). Originally released on Giuseppe Ielasi and Jennifer Veillerobe’s impeccably curated Senufo Editions in 2012, Fernweh stands near the beginning of the gradual expansion of Bonnet’s approach after the austere acoustic textures of Aerae and Algae (both released on Senufo), leading to the lush, layered environments of recent solo works on Shelter Press and the epic electronic expeditions undertaken in duo projects with Stephen O’Malley and Jim O’Rourke.

A major work in the Kassel Jaeger oeuvre, stretching over two LP sides, Fernweh draws together synthesized and musique concrète materials into a drifting assemblage. Its title’s meaning is close to the concept of ‘Wanderlust’, fitting for this music that moves freely and unexpectedly between what Bonnet calls ‘climates’. Beginning with fizzing electronics whose rhythm of gradual approach suggests breaking waves, the clinical atmosphere is soon haunted by intangible traces of lived reality. Textures call up wind, water, insects, the crunch of feet on sand or the clinking of glasses, yet they can never be identified with any certainty. At times these concrete elements possess a vivid ‘closeness’; at others, the sounds shade into a formless distance. Though the listener forms no clear picture from the concrete sounds, these elements aerate the music, lending it their space.

Drawing from the rigorous formal language and conceptual apparatus of the French musique concrète tradition—with which Bonnet, as director of the GRM and researcher into its deepest archival recesses, is intimately familiar—the music of Kassel Jaeger is equally informed by how underground experimental music has rethought electroacoustic techniques, with Fernweh at times calling up the grit and grime of para-industrial eccentrics like Maurizio Bianchi or the Toniutti brothers, and at other moments suggesting the slow-moving grandeur of early Olivia Block. Subtle features of dynamics and rhythm act as connective tissue between the numerous ‘scenes’, with wave-like envelopes, rapid pulsations, and short, tape-loop patterns all recurring throughout the piece, shared ambiguously between electronic and concrete sounds. Amid these shifting, often inharmonic textures, the electronic elements sometimes cohere into melodic shapes and chordal patterns, cutting through the fog in distorted arcs or underpinning the layered surface with slow-moving harmonies. Like his friend and collaborator Jim O’Rourke, Bonnet displays a radical openness at odds with academic tradition, allowing unabashed emotion to coexist with rigorous experimentation. As Fernweh dies away with mysterious shudders, listeners are left at once moved and unsure of exactly what they just heard.

Glasgow-based Effective Dreaming—the solo project of Scottish artist and musician Iain Ross—unveils Dream Catalogue Vol. 1, arriving June 21st, 2025 (Summer Solstice) via Swedish experimental label Fluere Tapes.

Issued as a limited run of 50 cassettes, each adorned with hand-worked, corroded copper sheet inserts and labels, Dream Catalogue Vol. 1 feels less like a release and more like an unearthed artefact: weathered, humming, quietly alive. The materials echo the music’s exploration of fragile impermanence and erosion: oxidised metal, magnetic tape, hiss, hum. A tactile world where sound wears its decay like a patina.

Across its length, the album unfolds in a series of flickering vignettes—drifting, dissolving, reappearing. Shaped by synths, environmental recordings, tape loops, and soft drones, the pieces move like glints of light on water—never fixed, always in motion. Achingly beautiful melodies rise and vanish, tracing fragile pathways through a landscape of shifting sensations. Some moments glow with a gentle warmth, like sunlit glass or breath on a fogged mirror. Others slip into shadow: slow, submerged passages feel closer to memory than music. The album feels loose and weightless, yet dense with feeling—a presence more sensed than held.

There is no fixed narrative here—only fragments and artefacts, half-remembered places, echoes of dreams. Each track hovers just at the edge of clarity, evoking not specific stories, but moods, textures, and the quiet drift of time. It’s music that feels both intimate and remote, like overhearing a distant signal only you can understand.

The name Effective Dreaming is drawn from Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Lathe of Heaven, where a dreamer's visions alter the very fabric of reality—past and present reshaped, histories rewritten, unnoticed by all but the dreamer himself. In a similar spirit, Ross’s music inhabits a space where memory, perception, and matter blur—where each sound carries the residue of something once real, now transformed and dissolving as one drifts through the seams of the world.

Dream Catalogue Vol. 1 is a meditation on texture, transience, and the quiet resonance of what slips away.

For listeners of: Wave Temples, Dolphins Into the Future, Guenther Schlienz"

Space Dimension Controller (Ninja Tune, R&S, Dekmantel, Royal Oak) returns with a six-track EP that pays homage to the early 90s Artificial Intelligence era—think Warp Records, ambient techno, and the roots of IDM—but with his signature futuristic twist. While the foundation is unmistakably retrofuturist, SDC propels the sound into new dimensions, blending slow-motion acid lines, ethereal textures, and subtly propulsive rhythms for daydreamers and dancefloors alike.

Cindytalk is the mercurial, expressionist outlet of Scottish artist Cinder, inspired by the crossroads of exploratory UK post-punk and early European industrial. Her work thrives on chance and transformation, collaging elements of noise, balladry, soundtrack, catharsis, and improvisation. "We were trying to find our own space," says Cinder of the formative period Camouflage Heart emerged from, amidst a move from Edinburgh to London and Cinder's evolving exploration of gender identity, well before culture at large was equipped to understand. With contemporary discourse we see that the project manifested her transgender ideas as visceral music. The guttural, feral sound marked a notably darker turn from The Freeze's sixyear run on the fringes of punk. Changing the project's name became vital, not just because they kept hearing the former was already taken, but the desire to embody the spiritual and sonic shift, "to uncover new pathways_to feminize it," she says. Cinder, with bandmates David Clancy and John Byrne, arrived at Cindytalk, a winking nod to Sindy, the British fashion doll rival to Barbie known then for its pull-string talking mechanism. "The goal was to have a more interesting narrative, more interesting dialogue. Music was ultimately my only way of talking to people. That was my conversation with the world, an abstracted conversation_an attempt to make some kind of tiny, tiny mark, if possible, you hope somebody will notice." Over the years, Cinder has heard from fans who did pick up on the signals and find refuge in Camouflage Heart. Camouflage Heart plays with tension and pace, from creeping to feverish to claustrophobic. The percussion moves between restless marches and barely-there pulses; for some parts, they scratched and hit a tin bath, among other objects. Guitar lines vibrate and stab as Cinder contorts her voice freely. She pulls poetry from a cerebral abyss, like "make the snake in your eye, pierce the camouflage heart" on the slow-droning centerpiece "The Spirit Behind the Circus Dream." In that register is raw power, both vulnerable and menacing, an ability to locate something deep and emotionally charged within. "I still remember that person who was way too intense for their own good," Cinder reflects. "I couldn't make a record like that now, certainly not vocally, while that anger hasn't dissipated; there's still a kind of warrior." For all the destruction and disintegration of Camouflage Heart, Cinder maintains the objective was never full-on fatalistic; these songs seek not to destroy but to poke and provoke, to transform and heal, to find cracks of light in a crumbling world. She points to the last lines of the opening track, "It's Luxury": "Don't look down," the lyric pines through static and rhythm. Cinder extrapolates, "I'm essentially saying, just keep fucking going. As time went on, for me, that falling became flying. Camouflage Heart is the beginning of believing in flight."