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‘Kevin’, a new collaboration between Ben Bondy and Mister Water Wet, presents what feels like a time-machine hidden in the back of your closet. ‘Laundry’ pleasantly haunts listeners with phantom purrs, harmonies, hums and horns. This project is a hand reaching through the void and out of your speakers responding to moments of isolation and pining with resounding gratitude. It makes space for warmth in slow-healing wounds; the gift of reset that is born from the call and response between friends.

Tiella Sound launched in 2023 with a self-titled LP from Perugian artist VAISA, setting the scene perfectly with its lo-fi maelstrom of field recordings, obscure rhythms and tribal textures.
Neapolitan artist Livio Improta follows suit with ‘Fondamentalismi’, a 10-track exploration of broken, slow-motion rhythms coated in vinyl crackle and layers of atmospheric dust. Another superb album that announces Tiella Sound as a vital new label.

Youcef Debbihi continues to impress and surprise after already his 3rd volume as Sea of Disillusions. This 4 tracker extends what was already started and established in the previous volumes, expanding his studio excellence into more break beat oriented directions, either at high speed in the form of almost Drum'n'Bass with "K2" or slowed down as a more trip-hop tempo with "Break Whale".

B-side slows down to upper 90BPM range of driving rhythm under atmospheric dubby hints of humidity "5deF", and, finalizing with a beatless Ambient mix of "Loon River" which sounds like the slow motion intro to an epic trance anthem that never fully takes off, setting the stage for something heavy to be mixed in. Essential for any reasonable DJ record bag.

Duality Trax first opened its books in 2020 with an EP featuring Radiant Love regular Fio Fa and a remix of the year contender coming from Lisbon’s Violet. Since then the label has become known for its acute attention to detail, giving each release the shine it deserves while avoiding disposable practices and challenging the industry through its dedication to duality and balance, whether that be sonically or surrounding gender identity. It’s really no surprise that one of house music's leading label ¦gures Tywi was destined to make an appearance. Having started the Haŵs imprint in his home city of Cardiff, the label’s wide-spread popularity began to gain the attention from some of the industry’s most respected heads and became a breeding ground for new artists to emerge. A shared love of music resulted in tracks being shared over time and eventually DUALITY6 was born. In what will be his ¦rst full length EP, Tywi continues to join
the dots between 90’s house, prog, breaks and trance, with a huge remix coming from Frankfurt-based artist Maruwa. Title track ‘Reality Checkpoint’ connects various styles with a modern take on progressive trance. Sonics feel as if they’ve been projected from space in a kaleidoscopic mind-warping ride, coupled with the producer's impressive ear for world building soundscapes. A child of the ‘90s, Maruwa combines her classically trained ear with the nostalgia of her upbringing in the remix; channeling early trance records and deep, chugging rhythms into a wave of euphoria ¦t for peaktime. It’s the ¦rst time the label has also delved head ¦rst intofull trance territory, turning the intensity levels up while paying homage to both label owner and artist’s early musical in§uences. The B side opens up with ‘Spellbound’ which feels like a guided tour around the cosmos, sat beside trusted travelers and embraced by everything-will-be-alright energy . The track’s interior is built around synths that feel both effortless and light as our tour guide brings us towards our ¦nal destination. The EP comes to a close with ‘Laws Of Motion’, building slowly with shades of leafy greens and deep oceanic blues as it gently brings us back down to earth.

Upcoming album 'Fruit Of The Void' to be released later this fall.
Kosmo Sound is a perfect balance of tight rhythms and extended melodies, and they constantly strive to push boundaries with their sound. Having worked together with dub legends Daniel Boyle and Alpha & Omega and having played as the support act for Adrian Sherwood, The Twinkle Brothers and Omar Perry, heavily inspired, they took refuge in the studio to record this album full of meditative sounds and dense grooves.

“It's a slow motion dub explosion.” - Woodburner

“As a mixture of Slimmah Sound, El Michels Afffair and Khruangbin in which deep dub basses flirt with thin desert blues guitars, jazzy drum patterns and tufts of saxophone.” - Indiestyle

“The canvas that these six musicians span as Kosmo Sound has a musical breadth that effortlessly ranges from dub over jazz to psych.” - daMusic

"an amalgation of styles that tickle the senses" - ReggaeVibes

“This remarkable debut makes one curious about future releases” – Irie Ites

SUMMER OF SEVENTEEN are MONIKA KHOT (NORDRA, ZEN MOTHER), WILLIAM FOWLER COLLINS, DANIEL MENCHE, FAITH COLOCCIA (MAMIFFER), and AARON TURNER. (SUMAC, SPLIT CRANIUM).

Wildfires plagued Washington state during the summer of 2017, their smoke drifting westward toward the Seattle area and toxifying the air. Shortly before that trauma, MONIKA KHOT, WILLIAM FOWLER COLLINS, DANIEL MENCHE, FAITH COLOCCIA, and AARON TURNER had gathered at the latter two musicians' House Of Low Culture studio on idyllic Vashon Island with revered producer RANDALL DUNN. There they cut eight songs that capture the makeshift band's feelings of what COLOCCIA calls "a kind of doomsday lurking in the background." It's as if these highly attuned players had a premonition.

"Summer Of Seventeen" -which was edited and arranged by MONIKA KHOT, who records apocalyptic music solo as NORDRA and plays in the avant-rock band ZEN MOTHER—is a nuanced admixture of these musicians' sounds and a culmination of all of their previous collaborations. COLOCCIA and TURNER have created eldritch folk and chamber rock for over a decade in MAMIFFER while engaging in various solo and group projects that explore their profound spirituality in sound. MENCHE has been a fixture on the abstract composition scene for 31 years and COLLINS is a savvy explorer of drone and ambient forms. Their ephemeral summit meeting has yielded a masterwork for the ages.

A heaven/hell and beauty/beastliness dichotomy pervades the album—as if a titanic struggle was transpiring in that small studio. The fearsome trumpet fanfare that starts "Chorus Of The Innocents" heralds a baleful fate. With a subliminal industrial rhythm bristling beneath the eerie exhalations, the song submerges us in a slow-motion maelstrom, a horror-film facsimile of MILES DAVIS' "Bitches Brew". "Perceived Slight" threads death-metal screams through a stark, suspenseful atmosphere, with austere glints of guitar and beats like fists on a casket lid intensifying the dread.

Angelic chants and celestial drones perfume the air in several of the songs on "Summer Of Seventeen", countered with muted blast beats, serrated hums, jagged glitches, simulacra of grinding gears and lightning. It's as if no good deed goes unpunished. "Spirits Of Redeemer" could be an elegy for the human race while "Cultural Orphan" sounds like a symphony for a malfunctioning factory. The album ends with "Theatre Needs An Audience," a harrowing ballad somewhere between EINSTÜRZENDE NEUBAUTEN and MERZBOW; it's a savage rent in the space-time continuum.

"Thinking about this record now," COLOCCIA recalls, "it seems like we were all sort of anticipating something like this current pandemic happening, although we were thinking about it as fire in the hands of man (literal fire, and also gunfire) that would overturn the normal running of things and reveal the current false beliefs systems holding up most of America."

That grave aura infiltrates "Summer Of Seventeen", However, a hopefulness bubbles beneath the foreboding architecture of sound and noise summoned here. The bunker is the new penthouse.

-Dave Segal, April 2020

The collective Beste Modus Cinthie, Diego Krause, stevn.aint.leavn, Ed Herbst and Albert Vogt launched the label in 2012 as a platform for their own material, not long after came the realisation that many other artists around them were keen to be involved with the imprints burgeoning success and this led to the birth of Beste Fruende, a home for music from friends and affiliates of the label. Kevin Over’s ‘Butchers’ leads on the package with a swinging drum groove, emotive piano chords and a garage sub-tinged sub bass line alongside resonant synth licks and infectious vocals. Rindeau follows with ‘Wax On The Moon’, taking things deeper via twinkling Rhodes lines, dusty robust drums and modulating percussion. Cuartero’s ‘Floor Paca’ opens the flip side with choppy bass stabs, soft chord hits and a subtly nuanced rhythmic drive before ‘Slow Motion’ rounds out the package, employing classic deep house tropes with airy ethereal pads, vocal chops and shuffled, strippedback drums at its core.

Six years after their last full-length release, Satoshi & Makoto return with Mirage Café, the highly anticipated new album on 8mm Records, in collaboration with Standart Magazine.

A carefully crafted and long-awaited work, Mirage Café is more than an album — it is a fully immersive sensory experience. The Japanese duo expand their signature sound into deeper and more cinematic territory, blending refined electronica, ambient textures, subtle jazz inflections and understated groove with remarkable elegance and control.

The title evokes an imaginary café — a space of contemplation, connection and inspiration. The partnership with Standart Magazine reinforces this conceptual layer, bridging music and coffee culture into a cohesive narrative that feels both intimate and international. The result is an album that unfolds like a slow ritual: warm, enveloping and meticulously detailed.

Throughout the record, Satoshi & Makoto demonstrate a mature and confident songwriting approach. The production is rich yet restrained, atmospheric yet rhythmically engaging — balancing introspection with forward motion. Lush harmonies, delicate arrangements and immersive sound design create a listening experience that rewards both focused attention and late-night drifting.

With Mirage Café , the duo not only meet expectations after a six-year silence — they surpass them. This is a masterwork of nuance and vision, poised to become a defining chapter in their discography and a standout release in the contemporary electronic landscape.

Composer and multi-instrumentalist Koen Holtkamp has spent more than two decades shaping a body of work at the intersection of ambient, experimental, and electroacoustic music. Known for his role in the influential duo Mountains, as well as a solo catalog defined by texture and spatial awareness, Holtkamp has long explored how sound interacts with environment and perception. With Nightlife, he enters a new phase of that inquiry, one shaped as much by physical relocation as artistic evolution.

After leaving Brooklyn for the relatively rural setting of New York’s Hudson Valley, Holtkamp found himself immersed in nature and embracing a slower way of life, a shift that directly informed the album’s creation. Rather than rushing into a new project, he allowed the space itself to guide him, focusing on experimentation and play instead of a fixed outcome. Over time, a new instrument emerged from his modular system, built around physical modeling techniques that emulate plucked string sounds. Drawing on a deep affinity for acoustic traditions, from guitar soli to the kora and other chordophones, he began translating those influences into an electronic language, creating music that feels tangible, effusive, and even intimate, despite its synthetic nature. As the pieces took shape, Holtkamp expanded the project into a kind of imagined ensemble. Composed with specific collaborators in mind, the album features extensive contributions from drummer Greg Fox and saxophonist and flutist Matt Bauder, whose performances subtly reshape the material and draw it toward more fluid, song-like forms, alongside a guest appearance from Ben Vida on synth bass. Yet even as Nightlife occasionally resembles a band in motion, its construction resists traditional cohesion. Acoustic and electronic sources coexist to create a hyper-dimensional sense of space, with each element deliberately placed in its own distinct environment, yielding a complex yet inviting setting that feels both otherworldly and completely natural.

Much of the album was created during late-night sessions, which became a kind of personal ritual and ultimately inspired its title. Nightlife unfolds as a series of finely detailed environments, where stillness, texture, and subtle interplay take precedence over momentum. Each piece invites close listening while remaining open and unforced, reflecting both a change in pace and a deepening of focus. The result extends Holtkamp’s ongoing interest in how sound can shape, and be shaped by, the spaces we inhabit.

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

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

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

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

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

Madelyn Byrd returns to Glasgow’s Somewhere Press with a hazed set of weightless soundscapes. »Night Rider« opens in widescreen with the chirp of cicadas dancing across a desert landscape, before Shiroishi’s saxophone eventually cuts through the dark like neon. The story Byrd tells is close to their heart: they spent their teenage years in the Sonoran Desert, the vast subtropical expanse spanning parts of Arizona, California, and Mexico. Its seemingly alien landscape — pocked with giant, tree-like cacti and looming rocky outcrops — is lodged in the cultural memory, a quality Byrd draws on as they slowly reveal their poetic narrative.

The album plays like a road movie of sorts, moving through Byrd’s memories and setting them to very different rhythms. Clattering drums emerge on »Of Nature, Of Bodies, Of Dreams«, while Byrd’s soft tones, processed to sound almost otherworldly, glide gently across the metallic clangs. Each track highlights a form of movement: there is the microscopic, insectoid crunch of »Imprint«, where guitar prangs meet Shiroishi’s spirited runs, while »Into Sonoran Pool« creates motion from the atmosphere itself, recreating the thick desert air with shimmering electrical currents and psychedelic processes.

At this point, the album begins to echo Robert Ashley’s late-period theatrical work: compositions that broke with familiar formats, juxtaposing dialogue with knowingly experimental orchestral flourishes. Byrd strikes a similar note through a fusion of poetry, sound design, choral music, and chiming, listless ambient elements that also recall Harold Budd. Budd grew up in the Mojave Desert, which borders the Sonoran, creating an eerie parallel with the moods he conjured throughout his long career.

Byrd finds a similarly aesthetic link to the West Coast landscape, referencing the history of experimental music while establishing their own voice. As the album rides into the sunset with a roar of engines, they offer a distinct vision of pop: »What Is, What Was« integrates a chugging break and ketamised vocal hook, while the finale, »In Perfume, Remember«, lands as a James K-like heartmelter.

Following one of 2025’s standout EPs, the CEO of the National Centre for Mark Fell Studies fires from the hip in brilliant, club-troubling motion. In step with 30 years of prism-pushing work — and particularly the »Nite Closures« EP, which signalled a concerted return to the dancefloor — Fell pulls aspects of hypermodern dance and electronic music from Chicago, Tanzania, and Japan into his own peculiar agenda.

The hugely distinctive results pull the body into thrillingly unusual, typically ascetic arrangements, activating every pointillist drum hit with attack and decay in a soberly ludic play of rhythmelodic tension and release, executed to delirious ends; 40 minutes of computer music.

As an artist who witnessed first-hand the explosion of electronic music in early ’80s Sheffield, and its interplay with house and rave as it refracted into wild new styles during the ’90s, Mark Fell is uniquely positioned to pursue his passion for the dynamics of electronic dance music to the nth degree. »Servitude In Context« continues to develop ideas around music for movement in the mid-2020s, placing decades of keen observation — from the macro and historical to the niche and hypermodern — at the service of flexing bodies in new directions.

Long-held notions of multistability manifest in what feels like two machines playing chess on the dancefloor, attempting to adapt to each other’s playing styles and patterns in real time, anticipating and zigzagging around the next move. The result is a plethora of options for limber dancers and those who only bust a move inside their heads.

The slow-fast play of accelerating and decelerating strikes, alongside monotonic chatter in »Actuations #1 (Extended)«, acclimatises the body to a uniquely sensual physics. This develops into the rudely screwed, asymmetric angularity of »Time-Slur« and the shatterproof elasticity of »Taut Manifold«, which feels like an LLM trained on Autechre.

»Low Energy Mantra« offers the EP’s closest resemblance to melodic structure, like gamelan and footwork refracted through lab-grown diamonds. Then »Anode« flashes its teeth with a rudeness recalling the latter stages of Fell’s Pat Thomas jams, before »3 Lost Contours (Pts 1–5)« tilts into 12 minutes of proper quicksilver madness, balancing the sexiness of his Sensate Focus work with an updated, clean-hoofed step and parry.

The first transmission from Pink Dolphin arrives on a double-sided 12” – two sides of music following the warmth, movement and possibility of an endless day.

Night Wind moves with the ease of a warm summer afternoon – light, fluid and quietly uplifting. Rhythm and atmosphere flow together with an effortless sense of motion, like a breeze arriving from somewhere just beyond the horizon. There is a feeling of open space throughout: sunlight on water, windows open, landscapes slowly passing by. Nothing feels hurried. The music simply finds its own pace, suspended somewhere between movement and stillness.

As the music unfolds, familiar elements seem to drift in and out of focus, leaving just enough unexplained. It feels less like a destination than a moment – one of those stretches of summer when time loosens its grip and the day seems capable of continuing indefinitely.

Night Wind is a small escape into that space.

Jason Dungan (aka Blue Lake) and Johan Carøe find beauty in the rhythms
and repetitions of domestic life for collaborative album, 'Routine' - out September 25

Copenhagen-based multi-instrumentalists Jason Dungan and Johan Carøe didn't set out to make an album. Instead, as the title 'Routine' suggests, they found their way there through a process of habitual making and listening, developing an intuitive musical language to reflect the dreamlike meanderings and creative play of life's quiet moments. 'Routine' blends pop orientated sounds, Avant-garde minimalism, folk and new age with the emotive depth of film-score.

Their meeting was not entirely coincidental. Previously in bands such as Squares and Triangles, Jason Dungan has since recorded multiple albums under the moniker Blue Lake, including the lauded 'Sun Arcs', pursuing his passion for self-built percussion and multi-string instruments. Johan Carøe meanwhile is a composer whose film soundtrack work has seen him collaborate with Angelo Badalamenti, Arp, and Sofie Birch, at whose Andersabo residency (curated by Dungan) the pair first met, resulting in the highly praised album 'Repair Techniques' written by Birch and Carøe.

'Routine' emerged organically over many years against the backdrop of great personal change. As Carøe said goodbye to his father and welcomed his first child, the pair sent each other fragments of melodies and patterns, working up responses when time allowed to assemble a sonic palette that combined acoustic instrumentation of zither, clarinet, cello, saxophone (among others) with the textures of tape, drum machine and Yamaha DX7 synth. Inspired by the vulnerability and DIY ethos of Arthur Russell's home recordings, the vision of labels like Disques de Crepescule, and the art pop, experimentation inherent to late '70s and early '80s recordings from NYC and Japan alike, Dungan and Carøe conjured new forms for their folk, leftfield pop and avant garde influences from the low-lit living rooms of Copenhagen and rural Sweden. "I'm very interested in the ways in which music and art emerge from our wider experiences as people, workers, parents and in the daydreaming activity of making music," Dungan explains of a process which allowed the duo's individual styles to drift apart and merge together seamlessly. "I think the process was definitely capturing moments in time, but over a long time," Carøe adds. "It was a bit like improvisation, but with time stretched."

The music floats with grace and humility, remaining sophisticated yet acutely introverted.
Whether on 'Clouds', where soft layers of zither and clarinet are moved along by a featherlight bass riff and the hypnotic clip-clop of the primitive groovebox, or the gentle grandeur of cello rising and falling through 'Routine 1', the album reveals itself over 10 instrumental tracks, evoking the ineffable calm that descends when the light changes and the world turns inwards. The act of time passing became a key creative ingredient to the evolution of the album, enriched with the exciting challenge to transform their passing rounds of home recordings via a slow release musical dialogue. Jason found creative moments in the twilight hours to lay down zither, melodica, acoustic guitar to name but few, while Johan utilising "line-in and headphones" would manipulate, stretch and pitch Jason's melodic pathways during newly born naptimes.

Carøe rhythmically plucks and slides the stringed cello instrument, leaving palpable foundations on 'Hymn' and 'Chords', in a treated, stylistic approach akin to Mabe Fratti, while 'Silence' draws to a close with a gospel touch. Dungan's harp-motion zither flourishes reveal more classical connotations on 'Reunion' with inspiration of Bedroom Community's Nico Muhly as organs rise with Moogs, culminating with a climatic choral outro from friend, mezzo-soprano Anna Caroline Olesen.

'Routine' then is their first collaboration, an album of deep and sincere reflection with inviting overtones that gesture with unrushed authenticity. A document of a new-found friendship that opens a window into the most personal of spaces, where the daily practices of music and life exist side-by-side to wondrous effect.

Perhaps because this debut album takes its title from the 80 duplications of the original cell, Eightycuts' first album seems constructed according to an organic logic: one idea contains another, a motif divides, bifurcates, transforms.

The tracks then function like organisms in motion, traversed by passages, secret chambers, and successive metamorphoses.

Nothing remains quite identical to itself. Through these krautrock repetitions, the psychedelic experiments of Siam and Greg, sometimes joined by Frédéric D. Oberland, the group constructs songs that unfold through proliferation. Nervous drums propel the tracks forward while the guitars open up more ambiguous spaces, both abrasive and melodic. Somewhere between the urgency of punk and the slowness of trance.

For years, EYRE LLEW were defined by motion.

Cities blurred into one another. Borders became routine. Airports, night drives, ferry ports, backstage rooms, festival fields, hotel corridors, and long-distance journeys stitched together into a single continuous life of movement. Success, such as it existed, was measured in miles travelled, crowds gathered, and momentum sustained. The band moved because they had to. Because stopping felt like failure. Because “making it” always seemed to live somewhere just ahead.

Then the world stopped.

Lockdown didn’t just interrupt EYRE LLEW’s trajectory; it dismantled it. The relentless forward motion that had shaped their identity for over a decade disappeared overnight. Tours vanished. Plans dissolved. The infrastructure of their lives as musicians collapsed into silence. For a band built on movement, it felt devastating.

Written across lockdown and the years that followed, the album is not a record about absence; it’s a record about presence. About love that feels like home. About stillness as strength. About devotion without spectacle. About grief without melodrama. About healing without performative optimism. About growth that doesn’t announce itself loudly, but happens slowly, privately, and honestly.

After years of movement, it is EYRE LLEW learning how to stand still and discovering that this is where the real growth starts.

For years, EYRE LLEW were defined by motion.

Cities blurred into one another. Borders became routine. Airports, night drives, ferry ports, backstage rooms, festival fields, hotel corridors, and long-distance journeys stitched together into a single continuous life of movement. Success, such as it existed, was measured in miles travelled, crowds gathered, and momentum sustained. The band moved because they had to. Because stopping felt like failure. Because “making it” always seemed to live somewhere just ahead.

Then the world stopped.

Lockdown didn’t just interrupt EYRE LLEW’s trajectory; it dismantled it. The relentless forward motion that had shaped their identity for over a decade disappeared overnight. Tours vanished. Plans dissolved. The infrastructure of their lives as musicians collapsed into silence. For a band built on movement, it felt devastating.

Written across lockdown and the years that followed, the album is not a record about absence; it’s a record about presence. About love that feels like home. About stillness as strength. About devotion without spectacle. About grief without melodrama. About healing without performative optimism. About growth that doesn’t announce itself loudly, but happens slowly, privately, and honestly.

After years of movement, it is EYRE LLEW learning how to stand still and discovering that this is where the real growth starts.

Petrozavodsk is a heavy drone trio based in Porto and Barcelona. They add dub, experimental and improvisational elements to a crushing, drone metal sound.
“Forest Fire” is the band’s vinyl debut, and is a more concentrated, expansive, and heavy offering following their debut tape “Winter War”.
Side A kicks off with “Forest I”, a collaboration with electronic artist Container AKA Ren Schofield (US/UK). The noise/rave veteran remixes the band’s guitars into a hot bubbling swampy mess that feels very alive, propulsive, punishing, yet fun – Container fans would know.
“Forest II” is all dubbed-out drone-rock, with blackened guitar, monotonous low thrusts, and a snare that is coming from an extremely far distance – everything echoing and shaking, dubwise almost-noise effects from the drum kit eroding in wide stereo.
Side B is one longform piece “Fire” with slow-motion guitar washes, and a bass that sounds like a high rise falling down. It nods to the genre’s touchstones (Boris’ “Amplifier Worship”, Sunn O)))) while carving its own path. A downtuned wall of heavy sound.
Recorded in Catalunya and Portugal, all amps turned up high. Mixed and mastered by Moa Pillar in London, with additional mixing on “Forest II” by the band’s guitarist Anton Vasin.
Guitar: Anton Vasin
Bass: Matvei Podgornov
Drums: Ivan Zoloto

With "Jamaican (Bam Bam)," HUGEL and SOLTO breathe new life into Sister Nancy's iconic anthem - a bold, rhythm-charged reinterpretation built for the modern dancefloor. It grips from the first beat: dynamic drumming, crisp claps, and a bassline that rolls deep with sway and sensuality. Layers tighten and unfold, teasing the body as electronic tinctures flicker beneath, building lift and slow, simmering tension. Through it all, Sister Nancy's voice cuts steady and alive, grounding the track in its roots while driving it forward. The energy keeps rising vibrant, climactic, and free. "Jamaican (Bam Bam)" smolders from within, a kinetic force that turns motion into release.

Artwork by Rachael D’Alessandro. Words by Marie Floro. Executive Producer Mimmo Falcone. Distribution by Muting The Noise.

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 .

"Psychedelia in White", das dritte Album des ehemaligen Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds-Mitglieds Mick Harvey und seiner langjährigen musikalischen Partnerin Amanda Acevedo, knüpft an ihr 2023 erschienenes Duett-Debüt Phantasmagoria in Blue an.

Das überwiegend aus Eigenkompositionen bestehende Album bewegt sich zwischen Mystik, Mythologie, Liebe und Verlust. Mit vielschichtigen Arrangements und opulenten Klangtexturen erkundet das Duo neue, experimentellere musikalische Räume. Traumartige Bilder und mythologische Motive verbinden sich mit einer persönlichen Botschaft der Hoffnung und der Sehnsucht nach einem Ausweg aus dem Chaos der Gegenwart.

Zu den Höhepunkten zählen „Perfect Storm“, entstanden in Zusammenarbeit mit dem kanadischen Komponisten Peter McNestry, „Song for Aurora“, eine Glam-Rock-Hommage an Marc Bolan und T. Rex, sowie „The Greatest Delight“, inspiriert von Acevedos Visionen von Schattenwesen und jenseitigen Liebenden.

After making waves in the underground with their first release, psychedelic techno explorations from Winkles, A Sky Full Of Numbers head to the shoreline with a five tracker of misty electronica from Japan’s The Rituals, the new collaboration between Tasoko and DOLTZ. Across acclaimed releases on Explore, Bitta, and Delsin, the duo have separately explored deep techno, ambient, acid house and IDM, showcasing innovative sound design and spacious, understated grooves. For AFSON, the duo apply their unique point of view at a lower tempo, pulling away from the peak time to deliver a shadowy journey through dewy electronics.
Opening transmission 503M feels like tuning into a damaged frequency somewhere beyond the cloud line. Misty lead synths slither through blown circuitry while buzzing sequences and short-circuiting percussion crackle against purring bass pressure below.
There’s an eerie electricity in the atmosphere, as if the track’s been exposed to too much heat and left glowing softly in the dark. From the opening bars, The Rituals instantly establish their ability to make techno feel both mechanical and hallucinatory.
Ugan sees the duo descend deeper into the haze. Reverb-drenched synth motifs hover like distant lights through thick fog while a propulsive dub bassline locks into loose electro-funk rhythms beneath. There are echoes of hauntological electronics and early IDM experiments here, but The Rituals avoid nostalgia entirely, steering the track instead towards something crepuscular and alive.
Stepping out of the shadows, Broken Frog Lamp pushes forward on a rolling rhythmic framework as melodies slowly force their way through layers of sea mist and static interference. Atmospheric without losing momentum, the track balances submerged emotional weight with hypnotic forward motion.
The mood softens but never dissipates on Salty Air, a damp and dewy excursion into dubbed-out psychedelia. Rainfall ambience, skittering stone percussion and swelling pads fold around sliding sub bass and filtered stabs, while jazzy cymbals and syncopated hats gently pull the track forward, as the condensation clings to the hardware.
Closing cut “Night, Castle, Reflection” drifts into darker territories, where redlining drums and pulsing low-end pressure throb beneath thick layers of saturated texture. Woozy synth work smears against tightly controlled rhythms, creating an immersive and slightly uneasy atmosphere that closes the EP at its most introspective point.
Taken as a whole, the EP transports you into the midnight hour, when the comforting embrace of stillness can easily nudge you towards hallucination, dissolving the boundaries between dream state and dancefloor hypnosis.

Michaela Turcerová’s compositions unfold in slow motion. The saxophonist and composer’s glacial music zeroes in on the granularities of each note as it rings, soaking in every subtle shift in texture and pitch.

Šumum exemplifies this patient approach to writing music, branching out from themes of loss and togetherness into an intricate tapestry of introspective sound. These four pieces invite deep collaboration between performers, who together shape the music through the shared process of listening and interpreting Turcerová’s relatively open scores. And while these works often grow from long, stretched-out tones, they also foreground forward direction: no note stays in one place, no melody is without action. Instead, Šumum chronicles how the tiniest shifts can lead to major transformation.

Šumum builds from Turcerová’s longheld interests in place and minimalism. Many of the composer’s works explore perception: how a room can shape the music we hear, and how repetition alters a melody. Like the music of Éliane Radigue, Šumum embraces the rainbow of colors that appear when close listening with the wave-like flow of looped melodic and rhythmic patterns. All the album’s pieces observe the subtle changes that happen as music grows.

Group communication yields the constant evolution that defines Šumum. The album feels like a conversation, with each instrumentalist swapping phrases or trading places when the moment feels right. “Straty” builds from a series of strongly accented drones that appear as quickly as they fade away; underneath them is a perpetual rhythm that drives the color of each long held note, from melancholy into radiance and back again. With “Vlny,” pitch eventually disappears, leaving a delicate rhythm, and with “Masy,” a matrix of brassy tones link together and eventually burst. No matter where the music goes, one thing remains true: Šumum invites close listening, and in the process, reveals the beauty of continual motion.

Pacific Northwester Drew Sullivan is the man behind the Slow Dancing Society and on his latest album, he interrogates nostalgia with clearer eyes while sculpting analogue glow, treated guitar and patient ambience into scenes that breathe. Tracks drift like headlights through snow - hums, howls, bass rumbles, rain-veiled keys all feature, each motion subtle, deliberate and devastating. The record's power lies in restraint: chord changes feel meteorological, melodies arrive as messages, then vanish. It's ambient music with a spine, grief without spectacle. By the time 'Blue Suburban Skies' lifts into Twin Peaks-levels of ache, Sullivan has rebuilt a world you want to hide away in forever.

In spring 2025, Abul Mogard and Rafael Anton Irisarri created the source material for their second album, Where Light Pauses in the Silence of the Sun, during a three-day residency at Morphine Raum in Berlin. Functioning as both recording studio and performance venue, the space has no stage, with the audience gathered around the performers. Working within an open framework, the duo reshaped the music each evening while recording the performances live to multitrack. Rotary speakers, modular synthesizers and bowed guitar formed the core of their sonic language, captured through a 1970s mixing console and microphones placed around the room.

Back in Mogard’s studio in Rome, the material was further crafted as motifs were stretched, fragments isolated, and tempos dissolved. Irisarri recorded additional guitar textures and treatments in New York, while passages recorded by Martina Bertoni and Andrea Burelli in Berlin reinforced the harmonic centres and brought breath, refinement and a new sensibility to their compositions. The process continued as Mogard’s layering and subtraction reassembled everyone’s parts into the final arrangement.

The album opens with “In the Eastern Wild,” building from a sparse outline into a monumental formation of low-frequency weight, its internal motion shaped by the rotating Leslie speaker. “Over the Domes” widens into a broader acoustic field, where sustained modular tones meet waves of softly plucked guitar. The music then turns inward with “A Blue Descent,” centred on Bertoni’s cello, whose growling timbre introduces a melancholic depth.

At the album’s centre, “In a Quiet Radiance” unfolds around a slow guitar ostinato, its luminous stillness opening into a more expansive and reflective state. Across its ten-minute span, Burelli’s violin lines and Bertoni’s lower cello phrases gradually surface, weaving through the harmonic field. Mogard brings Burelli’s processed voice to the fore, its emotive, operatic presence becoming one of the record’s pivotal moments. “Of Blessed Ages” suspends the sonic flow, shifting between parallel major and minor chords as lingering, slowly decaying melodies shape the music’s internal drift. The closing “Among Shadows” settles into a darker resonance as layered textures recede.

Mogard and Irisarri’s shared language balances restraint and maximalism. UK magazine Crack describes the music as “a tidal wave held in suspension,” while Dutch newspaper de Volkskrant writes, “What a colossal sound, and how this music strikes at the emotions.” Reflecting on the residency sessions, Irisarri recalls: “At moments I genuinely couldn’t tell if a sound was coming from me or from Abul. It stopped feeling like two people making decisions and began to feel like we were inside a system moving on its own."

Marja de Sanctis’ cover artwork revisits the vessel sculpture from the duo’s first album, Impossibly Distant, Impossibly Close. There it appeared as raw, unfired clay. Here it has been fired in the kiln and finished with a glaze. Light gathers on its polished surface and spills into the surrounding space. As she explains, “I wanted to convey the idea of continuity within the duo, and the vessel became a kind of container for that idea. However, their music felt different this time, and with the collaboration of Martina and Andrea, I felt it should have a sleeker, softer, more glamorous look, very distant from the first raw appearance.” The transformation of the vessel from raw clay to fired form suggests a passage from immediacy toward permanence, mirroring the music’s gradual expansion.

In spring 2025, Abul Mogard and Rafael Anton Irisarri created the source material for their second album, Where Light Pauses in the Silence of the Sun, during a three-day residency at Morphine Raum in Berlin. Functioning as both recording studio and performance venue, the space has no stage, with the audience gathered around the performers. Working within an open framework, the duo reshaped the music each evening while recording the performances live to multitrack. Rotary speakers, modular synthesizers and bowed guitar formed the core of their sonic language, captured through a 1970s mixing console and microphones placed around the room.

Back in Mogard’s studio in Rome, the material was further crafted as motifs were stretched, fragments isolated, and tempos dissolved. Irisarri recorded additional guitar textures and treatments in New York, while passages recorded by Martina Bertoni and Andrea Burelli in Berlin reinforced the harmonic centres and brought breath, refinement and a new sensibility to their compositions. The process continued as Mogard’s layering and subtraction reassembled everyone’s parts into the final arrangement.

The album opens with “In the Eastern Wild,” building from a sparse outline into a monumental formation of low-frequency weight, its internal motion shaped by the rotating Leslie speaker. “Over the Domes” widens into a broader acoustic field, where sustained modular tones meet waves of softly plucked guitar. The music then turns inward with “A Blue Descent,” centred on Bertoni’s cello, whose growling timbre introduces a melancholic depth.

At the album’s centre, “In a Quiet Radiance” unfolds around a slow guitar ostinato, its luminous stillness opening into a more expansive and reflective state. Across its ten-minute span, Burelli’s violin lines and Bertoni’s lower cello phrases gradually surface, weaving through the harmonic field. Mogard brings Burelli’s processed voice to the fore, its emotive, operatic presence becoming one of the record’s pivotal moments. “Of Blessed Ages” suspends the sonic flow, shifting between parallel major and minor chords as lingering, slowly decaying melodies shape the music’s internal drift. The closing “Among Shadows” settles into a darker resonance as layered textures recede.

Mogard and Irisarri’s shared language balances restraint and maximalism. UK magazine Crack describes the music as “a tidal wave held in suspension,” while Dutch newspaper de Volkskrant writes, “What a colossal sound, and how this music strikes at the emotions.” Reflecting on the residency sessions, Irisarri recalls: “At moments I genuinely couldn’t tell if a sound was coming from me or from Abul. It stopped feeling like two people making decisions and began to feel like we were inside a system moving on its own."

Marja de Sanctis’ cover artwork revisits the vessel sculpture from the duo’s first album, Impossibly Distant, Impossibly Close. There it appeared as raw, unfired clay. Here it has been fired in the kiln and finished with a glaze. Light gathers on its polished surface and spills into the surrounding space. As she explains, “I wanted to convey the idea of continuity within the duo, and the vessel became a kind of container for that idea. However, their music felt different this time, and with the collaboration of Martina and Andrea, I felt it should have a sleeker, softer, more glamorous look, very distant from the first raw appearance.” The transformation of the vessel from raw clay to fired form suggests a passage from immediacy toward permanence, mirroring the music’s gradual expansion.

In spring 2025, Abul Mogard and Rafael Anton Irisarri created the source material for their second album, Where Light Pauses in the Silence of the Sun, during a three-day residency at Morphine Raum in Berlin. Functioning as both recording studio and performance venue, the space has no stage, with the audience gathered around the performers. Working within an open framework, the duo reshaped the music each evening while recording the performances live to multitrack. Rotary speakers, modular synthesizers and bowed guitar formed the core of their sonic language, captured through a 1970s mixing console and microphones placed around the room.

Back in Mogard’s studio in Rome, the material was further crafted as motifs were stretched, fragments isolated, and tempos dissolved. Irisarri recorded additional guitar textures and treatments in New York, while passages recorded by Martina Bertoni and Andrea Burelli in Berlin reinforced the harmonic centres and brought breath, refinement and a new sensibility to their compositions. The process continued as Mogard’s layering and subtraction reassembled everyone’s parts into the final arrangement.

The album opens with “In the Eastern Wild,” building from a sparse outline into a monumental formation of low-frequency weight, its internal motion shaped by the rotating Leslie speaker. “Over the Domes” widens into a broader acoustic field, where sustained modular tones meet waves of softly plucked guitar. The music then turns inward with “A Blue Descent,” centred on Bertoni’s cello, whose growling timbre introduces a melancholic depth.

At the album’s centre, “In a Quiet Radiance” unfolds around a slow guitar ostinato, its luminous stillness opening into a more expansive and reflective state. Across its ten-minute span, Burelli’s violin lines and Bertoni’s lower cello phrases gradually surface, weaving through the harmonic field. Mogard brings Burelli’s processed voice to the fore, its emotive, operatic presence becoming one of the record’s pivotal moments. “Of Blessed Ages” suspends the sonic flow, shifting between parallel major and minor chords as lingering, slowly decaying melodies shape the music’s internal drift. The closing “Among Shadows” settles into a darker resonance as layered textures recede.

Mogard and Irisarri’s shared language balances restraint and maximalism. UK magazine Crack describes the music as “a tidal wave held in suspension,” while Dutch newspaper de Volkskrant writes, “What a colossal sound, and how this music strikes at the emotions.” Reflecting on the residency sessions, Irisarri recalls: “At moments I genuinely couldn’t tell if a sound was coming from me or from Abul. It stopped feeling like two people making decisions and began to feel like we were inside a system moving on its own."

Marja de Sanctis’ cover artwork revisits the vessel sculpture from the duo’s first album, Impossibly Distant, Impossibly Close. There it appeared as raw, unfired clay. Here it has been fired in the kiln and finished with a glaze. Light gathers on its polished surface and spills into the surrounding space. As she explains, “I wanted to convey the idea of continuity within the duo, and the vessel became a kind of container for that idea. However, their music felt different this time, and with the collaboration of Martina and Andrea, I felt it should have a sleeker, softer, more glamorous look, very distant from the first raw appearance.” The transformation of the vessel from raw clay to fired form suggests a passage from immediacy toward permanence, mirroring the music’s gradual expansion.

"It began somewhere between sleep and memory.
After first meeting in dreams, in Brussels and Berlin, on landscapes that felt strangely close to Vilnius, Marija Rasa aka emer and Ugnė Uma leisurely rewrote those visions into songs.

What followed became a collection of moments suspended in idle summers, familiar faces, gentle motions, skin touched by golden sun. These songs wander through closeness and distance, tracing the delicate emotional shifts between us, who almost understand each other completely.

‘you and me’ lives in the space where magical realism meets everyday intimacy: honey-colored evenings, recurring thoughts, and the slow surrender to things unfolding on their own."

LOWERCASE sits in the darker progressive lane — trance-informed, disciplined and hard-edged. Militant pacing with low-end intent, built on pressure and control: long blends, transitions, and that slow-burn momentum that holds the floor without raising its voice.

Progressive motion with a trance backbone — patient, driving, and engineered for fully dialled-in rooms. Three tracks. No excess. Straight function: cycle.
A1 return – A ripping progressive scorcher, primed for larger-floor impact and long-form hypnosis.
B1 cause – An emotional progger: two-tone movement harmonised into break that blooms just to drop back to stride.
B2 way – Rooted in dub culture, a deep trance exploration — spacious, weighty, and quietly consuming.
All tracks written and produced by Boris Salimkhan

Forest Drive West returns to Mantis with a double pack of crooked, finely chiseled rhythms and porous, tactile atmospherics. Hovering comfortably between the distinct energies of drum & bass and techno, Joe Baker has helped define the creative upsurge in crossover tempos and tones with a practice that focuses on mood and presence rather than genre tropes. His first releases appeared 10 years ago on influential labels like Livity Sound, Rupture and Hidden Hawaii. He reconvenes on Mantis after delivering the first release for the Delsin series back in 2020. The scope across these eight new tracks is steeped in Baker's trademark restraint and subtlety, but equally he explores a broad scope of energies and tempos. From ambient, spacious downtempo and slow-motion, heavily dubbed drum mantras through to crisp, techy drum funk and dancehall-coded swagger, the range within the distinctive Forest Drive West sound is more versatile than ever. It's a range cemented further by the guest appearances on the album, as Patrick Russell comes on board for snarling, D&B-coded workout 'Uromastyx' and DB1 lends his chops to mesmerising closing breakbeat trip 'Planes'. Exquisite sound design with a mysterious streak binds these various approaches together. With club impact matched by spatial immensity, Mantis 1920 furthers the surefooted, intentional sound Baker has been shaping out as Forest Drive West for the past decade.

Dirty Heads have built a career out of soundtracking the best moments of people's lives, and with '7 Seas' they're not slowing down. The RIAA Platinum Certified Southern California outfit returns with their much-anticipated ninth full-length album, building on their signature balance of carefree energy and reflective songwriting while inviting fans into their next chapter of freedom, positivity and forward motion. From sun-soaked, laid-back anthems made for a day at the beach to hard-hitting late-night bangers, the album moves fluidly across moods without ever losing the infectious Dirty Heads energy fans have come to love. With over 3 billion career streams worldwide and multiple #1 singles on alternative and rock radio, Dirty Heads have built a dedicated global following by seamlessly fusing reggae, hip-hop, alternative rock and pop.