Cerca:slow to speak

Kēpa is built whole, even if life has broken a few bones along the way.

Back when he was a pro skater, he gave everything to the board. Today, he gives that same intensity to the stage, delivering hypnotic cine-concerts where motion, sound, and image blur into one. The only falls left now are the ringing final chords of his guitar — not just an instrument, but an extension of his body.

Fingerpicking is his native tongue. So much so that Kēpa no longer sings — he lets the strings speak. Percussive, alive, essential. This music isn’t about performance, it’s about living: a personal quest, a way to reach others by first going inward. Moving against the current without fighting the wind. Finding breath, essence, and remembering we’re all drifting on a spinning planet, surrounded by forces bigger than us.

It’s easier to look away. Easier to follow noise, fear, or false prophets. Harder — and braver — to truly connect.

Released in late 2025, Hotline Service opened the door, offering a wide-open, spiritual escape. With SOUL WASH SERVICES— produced by Timber Timbre — Kēpa goes further. Warmer, deeper, more focused. The album feels like sunlight on asphalt, a long drive with the windows down, time slowing just enough to let something real surface.

A kindred spirit to Hermanos Gutiérrez, Kēpa plays the role of a modern, pagan preacher — guiding us through a dusty, golden road movie that unfolds entirely inside the listener. His music doesn’t shout; it cleans.

Kēpa does it all: writes, plays, films, edits, mixes. Music becomes image, image becomes music. Nothing is separate, on record or on stage. There’s no excess, no showboating — just an open invitation to slow down, go deeper, aim higher.

Tracks like Solarium and Paradisiac reach the peaks with minimal gear: five strings, a few picks, and total control of touch and space. Listening to Kēpa feels like checking in with yourself — a quiet inner trip shaped by sounds from every corner of the world. Blues, not to feel them, but to leave them behind.

After years devoted to picking, his playing has become something sacred.

And if you let it, it carries you with it.

Jeb Loy Nichols is at it again with a brand new 7” that pairs two sides of his soulful storytelling. On the A-side, the exclusive cut “Do The Get Together” makes its debut – a slow-burning southern soul dancer that gently calls people closer, both on the dancefloor and beyond it. With warmth, patience, and a steady groove, Nichols invites connection without force, offering a quiet reminder that togetherness can still feel natural and unpretentious.

Driven by Cold Diamond & Mink’s deep-pocket rhythm and understated analog textures, “Do The Get Together” unfolds with ease. The groove never rushes, allowing Jeb’s voice to guide the message with soft authority and lived-in wisdom. It’s a song that feels tailor-made for late-night spins, where movement and meaning find common ground.
On the flip, “First Night Away From Home” brings listeners back to the opening chapter of Nichols’ latest album This House is Empty Without You. Warm, melodic, and intimate, the track captures that mix of vulnerability and quiet resolve that defines Jeb’s songwriting. Together, these two sides form a perfect 7” pairing, pressed for those who value soul that speaks gently but stays with you

Those not familiar with Jones' style will listen slack-jawed at the sheer anticipatory nature of his sound collage. The five extended tracks are based on hypnotic and somewhat menacing grooves: a repetitive dub bass beat, waves of Middle Eastern strings and voices, layers of building hand percussion. The washes of sound and percussion come and go, often creating a sense of motion and change. All of the tracks are similar and even share elements. Mid-East tension is so accurately captured through the use of the region's instrumentation (especially percussion), sinister electronics, samples of men chanting, women crying, sounds culled from the horrors of war, and occasional angry distortion that the listener will be transported to the belly of the beast.

»Mullah Said« displays two aspects of the work of Muslimgauze. Firstly, musically, it is in the delightful drifting ambient vein. The percussion is mainly acoustic hand drums - providing a rhythm of aural features - the trademark shimmering string sound heard on a number of releases is much in evidence, rhythms are generally slower, there are lots of samples of people speaking in conversation, markets wherever. 'Mullah said' opens the disc with the lovely mix of these sounds. »Every Grain of Palestine Sand« continues the mood, with a slightly faster tempo, and more emphasis on the beat. But it soon locks into a mesmeric lassitude as various effects echo or smear the sounds, drums come in for short moments, different string sounds enjoin the play. »Muslims Die India« follows the mood though the voices seem darker, sadder, and then comes »Every Grain of Palestinian Sand« followed by »Muslims Die India«. Yes - not a typo, these tracks are repeated. Muslimgauze trend – to remix himself. Prime Muslimgauze middle eastern ambience - if you like that side you will love this album. The final track is short and different, a crackling ground over which a singer chants a song interrupted by machine-gun percussive bursts - »An End«.

What's the first thing you think of when someone mentions Thee Oh Sees? Probably their riot-sparking live show, right? Visions of a guitar-chewing, melody-maiming John Dwyer careening across your cranium, rounded out by a wild-eyed wrecking crew that drives every last hook home like it's a nail in the coffin of what you thought it meant to make 21st-century rock 'n' roll? Yeah, that sounds about right. But it misses a more important point-how impossible Thee Oh Sees have been to pin down since Dwyer launched the project in the late '90s as a solo break from such sorely missed underground bands as Pink and Brown and Coachwhips. (While Dwyer still records songs on his own, Thee Oh Sees is now a five-piece featuring keyboardist / singer Brigid Dawson, guitarist Petey Dammit, drummer Mike Shoun and multi-instrumentalist / singer Lars Finberg.) That restlessness extends to everything from the towering, thirteen-minute title track of 2010's Warm Smile LP to the mercurial moods of 2008's The Master's Bedroom Is Worth Spending a Night In. Now, Thee Oh Sees chase the home-brewed symphonies of Castlemania with the scrappy, high-wire hooks of Carrion Crawler / The Dream. Originally envisioned as two EPs, it was cut live to tape in less than a week at Chris Woodhouse's Sacramento studio in June, reflecting the battering-ram bent of the band's live show better than any bootleg ever could. "As I'm sure most would agree," explains Dwyer, "Castlemania was more of a vocal tirade. This one's meant to pummel and throb." That it does, whether one blasts the slow, speaker-bruising build of "The Dream," the sunburnt organs and dovetailing guitars of "Crack in Your Eye" or the interstellar instrumental "Chem-Farmer," a perfect example of what happens when one takes a well-oiled machine-a gang of rabid road warriors, really-and adds a second, groove-locked drum set to the mix. To listen is to realize that Dwyer's music is as manic as the underground comic inclinations of his artwork; colorful and confusing in a way that's more than welcome. It's downright refreshing, like a slap in the face at 5:00 in the morning. Or, as Dwyer puts it, "You have to leave a mark somehow."

Two forward-thinking cuts, pressed loud and unapologetic, straight from the Bristol-based producer who knows exactly how to move a system.

“Paisley Breaks” is a break-driven speaker melter — restless drums, nuff low-end pressure, and just enough chaos to keep the dance on edge. Flip it over and “Sunday Monday”switches the mood: laid-back, hazy, and reflective, capturing that slow-burn feeling after a weekend that went a little too far (in the best way).

From the shadowy edges of Limbo into the basscomesaveme universe, this release balances raw energy with late-night introspection — made for sound systems, afterhours, and everything in between.

Jennifer Touch release her next LP 'Aging at Airports' on Fabrika Records. The idea for the record title came before the music even existed as Touch was spending an increasing amount of time in airports while touring. In her own words: "It felt like I waste a large part of my life waiting for the next show to come, to entertain and perform my music and build timeless moments with others. This waiting, the slowly ticking time at the gate, was in complete contrast to what I want to do as an artist: to be in flux, to create things that will last forever. The airport, as a busy hub, was like a symbol of this ambivalence. And a reminder: every second, whether waiting or on the move, I have to accept that I am fading, that my creative power, my face, and my body are fading. As a (performing) artist, everything feels like a strange contrast. While you want to stay true to yourself and speak authentically from the soul, you are also expected to appear forever young, and powerful. Artists are often wanted to distract people, but creating this art forces me to confront my own transience. I feel the struggle to fit into this powerful artificial framework that the world has set and the desire to break free from it."

For the first time, all the 1978 recording sessions of Lino Capra Vaccina's legendary Antico Adagio - including Frammenti da Antico Adagio and Echi Armonici da Antico Adagio - collected in one definitive deluxe edition. Minimalism, and so much more. Sheets of resonance, stunning harmonic interplay, intricate rhythms rising as one. Sidelong works of pulsing, hypnotic, ritualistic drone built from vibraphones, marimbas, gongs, bells, and cymbals, threaded by the sustained vocal tones of Juri Camisasca and Dana Matus. A trance-inducing, meditative, cosmic world of sonic interplay - the world beyond, joined with that which lays within.

Before an aberrant idea of progress ludicrously sped up our daily lives, even in hectic Milan it was possible to "play slowly" - with no pressure, simply following the path your art was showing you. This music moves between modal fascinations, ritual evocations, and states of hypnotic trance, evoking the acoustic environment of Tibetan and Zen Buddhist ceremonies and the temporal structures of Noh theatre, from which Vaccina took the name of his original label, Nō. Now, fittingly, this complete collection appears on Ubi Kū, the label of the Italian Buddhist Union.

Lino Vaccina (1953) first gained note as a member of Aktuala, creating a hybrid of rock, avant-garde, and ancient musics while incorporating sonic traditions from across the globe. After leaving in 1974, he studied at Milano's Civica Scuola di Musica, collaborating with Franco Battiato and Juri Camisasca, and forming Telaio Magnetico in 1975. In 1978 he self-released Antico Adagio in a tiny edition and wouldn't be heard from again until 1992. From 1979 to 1985 he was percussionist with the Orchestra of Teatro alla Scala under maestros such as Abbado and Ozawa. His career has been marked by an incredibly high bar of quality and a tragically slim recorded output - a rigorous and sensual language fusing Oriental, Mediterranean, and African influences with ritual elements and a cosmic sense of time.

As Massimo Torrigiani writes: "Lino Vaccina's music captivates through its internal coherence and its ability to generate states of suspension and deep listening - through undulations, small melodic fragments, dialogues between acoustic instruments and resonances that seem to evoke a phantom orchestra. An example of personal exploration, discipline and openness that speaks across time to anyone willing to be drawn into its sound."

Frammenti da Antico Adagio and Echi Armonici da Antico Adagio contain material from the original sessions, restored and issued by Die Schachtel in 2014 and 2017. The new masters, prepared by Giuseppe Ielasi, are based on those restorations and the original material. The package includes previously unpublished photographs from the May 1978 sessions and liner notes by Mauro Radice in Italian, English, and French. Cover art by Dana Matus. Printed by Legno, Milano & Mother Tongue, Verona.

Personnel: Lino Capra Vaccina (vibraphone, marimba, tablas, wooden drums, darbuka, cymbals, gong, metal sheets, bells, bass drum, tom, snare drum, piano, voice), Dana Matus (voice, percussion, cetra), Juri Camisasca (voice), Mario Garuti (violin), Roberto Mazza (oboe). Original production by Massimo Villa & Lino Vaccina with Piero Cannizzaro. Recorded May 1978 at Circle Studios, Milano.

The heights of the Italian avant-garde, at their very best.

Logical Absurd is very proud to present the 20th Anniversary of the album "She And Me Fall Together In Free Death" by Nurse With Wound. "She and Me Fall Together in Free Death" is probably the most approachable, largely "musical" album that NWW has released since Rock N' Roll Station. It's also one of his strangest concepts, a marriage of trance inducing Krautrock grooves with a traditional jazz standard and some jarringly atonal musique concrete. Side A is the 20- minute title track: a slow-motion jam reminiscent of of one of Can's sidelong tracks on Tago Mago or the more avant-garde grooves of Tony Conrad and Faust's Outside the Dream Syndicate.

The propulsive Jaki Liebezeit drumbeat is the foundation for a long jam session with what sounds like a dijderidoo and layers of guitar feedback. It's a massive, heavy sound, the kind that Julian Cope would devote a whole chapter to in his "Kratrocksampler". Side B is one long piece with three distinct movements. Beginning with those familiar, World Serpent-trademark windchimes, the listener is quickly ushered into Staple- ton's singing debut (!) in a rendition of the oft-covered traditional jazz ballad "Black is the Color of My True Love's Hair" This was a favorite of the recently deceased Nina Simone, and also of the avant-jazz screamer Patty Waters. Nurse With Wound's version is backed by cello drones, repetitive guitar strums and tambourine, sounding very much like The Velvet Un- derground's "Venus in Furs".

It's such a treat to hear Steven Stapleton's multitracked vocals cover this classic song, and this eerie version rates as one of my favorites. This song and the title track prove to the naysayers that Nurse With Wound is equally adept at rock n' roll songcraft as he is at demented sound collages. The creepy jazz cover seques into "Chicken Con- cret (For Missy E)", a truly warped tape-edit job that juxtaposes chicken squawks and sythesized birdcalls with random bleeps, speaker hiccups and gongs.

A chopped-and-screwed love letter to the sounds of rebajada – half-speed cumbia, pioneered by Sonido Dueñez in the 1990s, and born from an overheated turntable motor that didn’t make the crowd stop dancing. With Debit’s treatment, rebajada becomes an ethereal, at times intense ambient tapestry that’s also a history lesson.

Spend any amount of time pacing the streets of Monterrey, the bustling city in the north of Mexico where Delia Beatriz, aka Debit, grew up, and you’ll be sure to catch traces of cumbia echoing from Bluetooth speakers, DIY soundsystems, or car stereos. An Afro-Latin dance form and »practica cultural« originating in Colombia in the early 19th century, cumbia evolved rapidly in the early 1900s, as a localised sound played on drums and flutes quickly modernised to integrate European instrumentation like the accordion. When it reached Mexico in the 1940s, the sound shifted again, fusing with mariachi styles and integrating further vallenato folk elements. Eventually, cumbia spread across the entirety of Latin America, splintering into a spectrum of different musical styles such as chicha in Peru, and cumbia villera in Argentina. And over in Monterrey, cumbia inadvertently found its own idiosyncratic groove.

From the 1950s to the 1970s, waves of immigrants from across Mexico and Latin America headed to Monterrey to find work, making a home in Colonia Independencia. Colombian cumbia records, shipped in from Mexico City, Houston, and Miami, became the soundtrack of the neighbourhood, relaying familiar stories to a rural working class adjusting to their new industrial reality. The sound struck a chord with locals, and huge street parties hosted by ramshackle soundsystems known as sonideros unified the diverse community. So when cumbia rebajada materialised serendipitously in the 1990s, it emphasised and highlighted the memory distortions at the heart of the immigrant experience. Local record collector, selector, and sonidero Gabriel Dueñez had been playing cumbia for hours one night when disaster struck: his turntable’s motor overheated and slowed down, turning the music into a warped groan, with half-speed voices echoing over wobbly accordion drones and splashy drums. But the crowd kept dancing, and Sonido Dueñez realised he’d struck gold – cumbia rebajada was born.

Over the next few years, he dubbed a popular series of mixtapes, hawking them at the flea market on the dried-up Santa Catarina riverbed beneath El Puente del Papa, the bridge that links downtown Monterrey with Independencia. These woozy archives became the stuff of legend, poetically but subconsciously shadowing DJ Screw’s series of epochal cassettes that appeared over the border in Houston. Beatriz uses Sonido Dueñez’s first two tapes as the starting point for »Desaceleradas«, entering into a dialogue with time, culture, and geography as she recalls the sonic ecosystem that surrounded her decades ago, long before she emigrated to the USA. If 2022’s acclaimed »The Long Count« was an attempt to recover concealed pre-Columbian history in the face of colonisation, »Desaceleradas« jumps forward, figuring out how memory and shared celebration can resist a more contemporary form of cultural erasure. As AI systems scrape, blend, and decontextualise culture around us, leaving vapid slop, »Desaceleradas« proposes a slower, more careful, and ultimately more human kind of engagement. It’s an archive with a pulse.

Montreal indie rock trio Plants and Animals announce "The Jungle", their fifth studio album set to be released October 23rd via Secret City Records. Their shortest album yet and certainly their boldest, "The Jungle" is eight acts in a world full of noise. The album is auto-produced and was recorded at Mixart, their studio in Montreal. The band explains : "We started working on this a couple of years ago. Warren was afraid for a friend's health. He thought he was self-medicating too much and not taking care of himself. He couldn't let go of this image of an overworked dude swallowing too many sleeping pills and falling asleep with the stove on. So it began as the place next door, sometime before Greta Thunberg turned the expression into a rallying cry, where Earth is the house and the people are sleeping. It's terrifying, and on the whole we're not unlike this friend, are we?" "The Jungle" starts with electronic drums that sound like insects at night. A whole universe comes alive in the dark. It's beautiful, complex and unsettling. Systematic and chaotic. All instinct, no plan. Voices taunt,"yeah yeah yeah." This tangled time in which we find ourselves is reflected back in shadows. Every song is such a landscape. The first one grinds to a halt and you become a kid looking out a car window at the moon, wondering how it's still on your tail as you speed past a steady blur of trees. You watch a house go up in a yellow strobe that echoes the disco weirdness of Giorgio Moroder, Donna Summer and David Bowie. You get pummelled by a rhythm then set free by a sudden change of scenery_the wind stops, clarity returns. You're under a streetlight in Queens, soft-focus, slow motion, falling in love. You speak French now too, in case you didn't already. Bienvenue. These are personal experiences made in a volatile world, and they reflect that world right back at us, even by accident. There's one song Nic sings to his teenage son who was dealing with climate change anxiety and drifting into uncharted independence. The band carries it out slowly together into a sweet blue horizon. Warren wrote the words to another shortly after losing his father. It's about the things we inherit not necessarily being the things we want. In a broader sense, that's where a lot of people find themselves right now.

A meditative, folk-inflected score rooted in improvisation, ‘Dragon’s return’ echoes the soul of A film long buried behind the Iron Curtain



With Dragon’s Return, Australian composer and multi-instrumentalist Oren Ambarchi and Norwegian guitarist Fredrik Rasten present a new, meditative score to Eduard Grecner’s eponymous 1967 Slovak cult film — a stark, black-and-white parable.



The album captures a unique live performance recorded at the Videodroom Festival during Film Fest Ghent in October 2024, where this new score premiered alongside the film in collaboration with the Slovak Film Institute. What began as a fleeting, improvisational encounter between music and image has since taken on a life of its own — an evocative sound world that retains its power even in the absence of visuals.



The album will be available on vinyl and all digital platforms from September 12 via VIERNULVIER Records. The vinyl edition includes an obi strip, a booklet with film stills, and extensive liner notes on the film.



The label is known for shedding new light on forgotten films through reimagined soundtracks — claire rousay’s acclaimed The Bloody Lady being the most recent example.


“Folklore meets avant-garde in an ancient drama - a ballad about love, hate and finding a way out of loneliness” - Rastislav Steranka (Slovak Film Institute)



Ambarchi and Rasten do not accompany the images so much as speak through them. Their interplay — on guitars, flutes, percussion, and voice — unfolds slowly, without a fixed destination, culminating in subtle, entrancing drones. With few breaks or ruptures, this trippy, folk-inflected continuous composition invites surrender.



Rasten’s 12-string guitar and delicate use of voice create layered textures that shimmer and shift. Ambarchi, known for his electro-acoustic work, here explores a radically softer mode — strumming, bowing and coaxing tones from his instrument as though it were a string section unto itself. He blows into shells, adding breath and texture to the sonic palette, touching on something elemental.


Together, they evoke a sound world that feels both ritualistic and strangely familiar — as if echoing from a forgotten ceremony or dreamed into being after hearing an old folk tale. Rooted in improvisation, the music speaks in tones both intimate and expansive, shaped live in dialogue with the film and with each other, with only minimal overdubs added afterward.

It's been 10 years since Pomegranates - Nicolás Jaar's unofficial/alternative soundtrack to Sergei Parajanov's 1969 film The Color of Pomegranates - was first released, and to highlight this occasion we are reissuing the album on vinyl, with the first edition (a collaboration with the label Mana) having long been out of print.

Longer and slower-releasing than his other albums, Pomegranates often parallels the cinematic epic on which it’s based, with ideas pursued over long timelines and across dark landscapes, assembling elements and moods from the aesthetic and folkloric landscapes of Armenia. Jaar’s identity is perceived within this, folding in his heritage as Palestinian and Chilean as he attempts to build a musical architecture outwards that frames as much of the mess and sprawl of life as possible; using a language that investigates the movement and fluctuation of his own artistic career and character similarly to the film’s tracing of the coming of age of the young poet, Sayat-Nova.

At times, Pomegranates feels profoundly intimate, as though looking through the archive of a friend’s music and discovering the accent and common currency that lives within each of these tracks. Much of Jaar’s most elegant and touching melodic work is nestled here, its power residing in its simplicity and willingness to speak to the heart and not the mind of the listener.

In the text document included in the first freely distributed version of the album in 2015, Jaar writes that the album was conceived during a moment of change, and that the pomegranate became an icon that heralded that passage of time. The physical publication of Pomegranates closes one door whilst opening another, keeping promises and marking a significant point in the career of an artist who restlessly reinvents himself, with a document that illustrates a common language of lyricism, freedom, and emotional resonance linking his many paths and projects

The Dead 60s seminal self-titled album gets a timely Deluxe edition reissue on Vinyl for its 20th Anniversary, on Deltasonic Records



“Back in the day, punk and dub weren’t just sharing space—they were smashing into each other headfirst. Late '70s Britain was a pressure cooker, and for kids like me, growing up between Brixton’s bass bins and the chaos of King’s Road, that collision was everything. Jamaican sound system culture met punk’s raw spirit in a haze of smoke, sweat, and feedback. It wasn’t about genre—it was about energy. Identity. Defiance. so when The Dead 60s came along, post-Britpop and post-bullshit, it felt like someone had dusted off the blueprint and run it through a battered old tape echo. These weren’t just lads with good taste—they understood the assignment. They took the DNA of two rebel cultures and mutated it into something that could stand tall in the 21st century. Dub-soaked, punk-fuelled, dripping with that Liverpool attitude. I remember first hearing them and thinking—yeah, here we go again. Not in a retro way, but in a real way. Guitars that cut like sirens in the night. Basslines fat and warm, straight out the Channel One playbook. Lyrics that painted the grey corners of Britain like CCTV poetry. It was the sound of youth under pressure. The sound of not fitting in—and not wanting to.

Their debut album dropped in 2005, and it hit like a flare in the dark. “Riot Radio” was a pirate broadcast from the concrete frontlines. “Control This” swaggered with menace and reverb. It was like someone opened a time capsule from the punky-reggae party and rewired it for a new generation.

Now, with this 20th anniversary vinyl reissue—complete with the full dub companion produced by Central Nervous System—we get to hear the bones and blood of it all. The dub versions pull the tracks apart and let the ghosts speak. Reverb, delay, space—it’s not just production, it’s meditation. Revolution slowed down to a heartbeat. It’s music that makes you move and think. What they’ve done here is more than remix a record—they’ve revealed its soul. That’s what dub does when it’s done right. And The Dead 60s, they got that. They weren’t tourists in the culture—they were students of it, shaped by it, and ultimately, contributors to the legacy. Liverpool’s long had a love affair with Jamaican music—you can hear it in the streets if you’re really listening. The Dead 60s tapped into that lineage, but they brought their own thing to the table. Punk's fire. Dub’s depth. Ska’s bounce. All filtered through a Northern lens and blasted out like protest graffiti. This 20th anniversary reissue ain’t about nostalgia. It’s a reminder. A celebration. A call to arms. Music like this doesn’t belong in a museum—it belongs on a system, shaking walls and waking minds. Crate diggers, completists, young punks, old heads—this one's for all of you.

So put it on and turn it up. Let the punk edge sharpen your thoughts, and the dub shake your bones ‘cos this isn’t just a reissue - it’s resistance on wax.....”

Fog is Marija Rasa’s debut album on Short Span as emer, and her first cut to wax. It follows a single featuring Ugnė Uma for Stroom and a wonderful debut tape for the now cult (I hope!) incubator label Lilerne Tape Club.

It’s for dreamers. Very dub. Soul. Ambient too. A bit of Detroit-like post industrial imagining. You can read it is as a new and different version of a very classic dub technique from the producer in many ways - Marija at the mixing console and effects desk, conjuring a new versioned music through radical restructuring and an instinctive reshaping of space + melody + lyric in studio experimentation.

Tracks are pinned down by thick and enveloping bass while other elements float in and out, fleeting narcotic or hypnagogic notes of fantasy and song form bob in and out of focus. Scant colours and disorienting voice and melody sit suspended, occasionally coalescing and breaking out into moments of radiant beauty and slowly burning manifestations of warmth and presence shooting through the heart and gut.

Found Keys is the debut album by American artist Ruth Maine. Although Ruth has been playing and composing music for over two decades, this is the first time she decided to record some of her varied compositions and share them with the public. But in times when it is the norm to clamour for attention, she prefers to go the opposite way. Ruth likes to let her music speak for itself and stay in the shadows.

The 16 short piano pieces heard on this album, each about two to three minutes long, were recorded remotely and purely surrounded by nature. Once a composition was found and Ruth considered it mature, she only recorded it once, embracing the beauty of doing something for the first time with all its little imperfections. Found Keys sounds anything but imperfect though. These compositions feel timeless, intimate and comforting, as if they have been around for a long time, like an old friend. Gently played keys slowly evolve into minimal pieces through repetitive melodies. There’s stillness as much as there’s brightness, sadness as much as joy; welcome to a beautiful journey through Ruth’s world of wonder.

In many ways, Found Keys is a deeply personal record that takes Sonic Pieces back to its roots. And it leaves a feeling of nostalgia while reviving memories of the past.

Found Keys is the debut album by American artist Ruth Maine. Although Ruth has been playing and composing music for over two decades, this is the first time she decided to record some of her varied compositions and share them with the public. But in times when it is the norm to clamour for attention, she prefers to go the opposite way. Ruth likes to let her music speak for itself and stay in the shadows.

The 16 short piano pieces heard on this album, each about two to three minutes long, were recorded remotely and purely surrounded by nature. Once a composition was found and Ruth considered it mature, she only recorded it once, embracing the beauty of doing something for the first time with all its little imperfections. Found Keys sounds anything but imperfect though. These compositions feel timeless, intimate and comforting, as if they have been around for a long time, like an old friend. Gently played keys slowly evolve into minimal pieces through repetitive melodies. There’s stillness as much as there’s brightness, sadness as much as joy; welcome to a beautiful journey through Ruth’s world of wonder.

In many ways, Found Keys is a deeply personal record that takes Sonic Pieces back to its roots. And it leaves a feeling of nostalgia while reviving memories of the past.

Furthering the passionate exploration of cinema that has guided her two previous LPs - 2017’s ‘Fassbinder Wunderkammer’ and 2020’s ‘I Should Have Been a Gardener’ - the Milanese guitarist/composer, Alessandra Novaga, returns to Die Schachtel with ‘The Artistic Image Is Always a Miracle’, two sides off shimmering, tense compositions – culminating as one of her most creatively ambitious and conceptually rich outings to date – freely inspired by the life and work of the Russian director Andrej Tarkovsky and the music of Johann Sebastian Bach.

Classically trained at the Musik Akademie in Basel, Switzerland, over the last decade Alessandra Novaga has emerged as one of the leading figures within northern Italy’s thriving new, experimental, and improvised music scene, rendering striking solo efforts, in addition to collaborations with Loren Connors, Stefano Pilia, Elliott Sharp, Nicola Ratti, Paula Matthusen, Sandro Mussida, Kid Millions, Travis Just, Francesco Gagliardi, and others. Remarkably ambitious and forward thinking, her approach to the guitar embarks upon a relentless deconstruction and rethinking of her instrument’s unique properties through distinct applications of structure, resonance, space, and tone, creating in a deeply personal and emotive music, seeking narrative and meaning within the abstractions of sound.

In 2017, with the LP, ‘Fassbinder Wunderkammer’, issued by Setola Di Maiale, Novaga embarked upon the exploration of her love of film. Having begun with Rainer Werner Fassbinder, this was followed in 2020 by Die Schachtel’s release of ‘I Should Have Been a Gardener’, a deeply intimate mediation on the life and work of Derek Jarman. Rather than focusing on a fixed point of inspiration or a single film to work from, these pieces achieve a form of abstract portraiture, distilling elements drawn from these filmmaker’s life and work into ambient networks of texture and tonality. ‘The Artistic Image Is Always a Miracle”’ freely inspired by the Russian director Andrej Tarkovsky and the music of Johann Sebastian Bach, finds Novaga radically expanding her sonic palette within this approach.

The seeds of ‘The Artistic Image Is Always a Miracle’ can be traced to a conversation that Novaga had with Alan Licht (contained in the highly regarded Common Tones: Selected interviews with artists and musicians 1995–2020, Blank Forms, 2021), relating to the connections between music and cinema, which led her to consider Andrej Tarkovsky’s use of Bach's music within a symbiotic framework: how the music illuminates the imagism of the films, and the film illuminates new dimensions of the music. Slowly developing over the subsequent years, the resulting album comprises six individual works, some of which draw directly upon pieces of Bach’s music that Tarkovsky used in his films – specifically 'Erbarme dich, Mein Gott', 'Das alte Jahr vergangen ist', and 'Ich ruf zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ' - while others draw upon the sensibilities and moods evoked in the imagination by the director’s films.

As a point of departure and illumination into the process and spirit that underscored the creation of the album, Novaga points toward a passage in Tarkovsky’s "Sculpting in Time”:

“Art is born and takes hold wherever there is a timeless and insatiable longing for the spiritual, for the ideal: that longing which draws people to art. Modern art has taken a wrong turn in abandoning the search for the meaning of existence in order to affirm the value of the individual for its own sake. What purports to be art begins to look like an eccentric occupation for suspect characters who maintain that any personalized action is of intrinsic value simply as a display of self-will. But in artistic creation the personality does not assert itself, it serves another, higher and communal idea.”

‘The Artistic Image Is Always a Miracle’ can be understood as a realisation of the collectivism of which Tarkovsky speaks, in the service of something far beyond the expression of self. Encountering Novaga moving into fairly uncharted waters, three of the album’s pieces incorporate the human voice we encounter the voices of others: that of the poet Arsenij Tarkovsky, the director’s father; a singer from Bach’s ‘Erbarme dich, Mein Gott’, capturing a broadcast in an underground parking lot, and Novaga’s own, rendering the melody from Bach’s “Ich ruf zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ”. Roughly alternating between solo excursions on guitar and bristling electroacoustic pieces, over the course of the album’s two sides Novaga weaves one of her most abstract and ambitious bodies of recordings to date, shifting between the complex tonal mediations generated by the six strings of her instrument, and phycological densities activated by the expanded pallet of sonority made possible by the tactics and approaches of musique concrète.

An immersive, deeply engaging meeting of beauty and melancholy within a labyrinth of voices and ideas, ‘The Artistic Image Is Always a Miracle’ transfigures the life and work of Andrej Tarkovski – one of the greatest auteurs in the history of cinema – into a singular, experimental statement of collective truth. Belonging to recent, ambitious stream of contemporary new music releases on Die Schachtel that’s already included Novaga’s ‘I Should Have Been a Gardener’, Stefano Pilia’s ‘Spiralis Aurea’, Jim O'Rourke & Giovanni Di Domenico’ ‘Immanent In Nervous Activity’, Claudio Rocchetti’s ‘Labirinto Verticale’, and Damāvand’s ‘As Long As You Come To My Garden’, among others, ‘The Artistic Image Is Always a Miracle’ is available on as a limited edition of 300 dark turquoise vinyl LPs released on June 21, 2024. The LP, designed by Bruno Stucchi / dinamomilano, comes with an 8-pages insert illuminated by Alessandra’s text as well as the lovely and intense photographs of Matilde Piazzi.

Off The Record (faitiche 39), the new album by French collagist Roméo Poirier, is an amusing romp through the discarded history of recording studios. It contains fourteen miniatures based on accidental recordings of studio talk, revealing things that were never meant for the public: we hear instructions from studio staff, scraps of talk between musicians, or just microphones being adjusted, as well as false notes, false starts: everyone stops. Start again: 1, 2, 3, 4!

Poirier’s approach recalls Accumulation, an artform practiced by Arman, Jean Tinguely and Daniel Spoerri that involved piling up everyday items into assemblages. The objects themselves often remained unaltered, the artistic gesture consisting in the careful curating of a distinctive selection. Poirier’s audio collages explore similar terrain. The fourteen pieces on Off the Record combine more than a thousand found sounds from studio archives into complex miniatures. The audio content of these outtakes is twisted, stretched, cut, reassembled, slowed down and accelerated. Voices cut into a microgroove, from a very old recording, intertwine with digital voices gleaned from YouTube. All of them in dialogue, engaging the listener with the impression of being part of a new music group.

Poirier uses the mundane routine of setting up before the actual recording gets underway to tell a universal story about working in a recording studio. And he manages something few achieve, transforming specialist knowledge into a narrative whose beauty goes far beyond its immediate subject. It speaks to everyone, because the story is told in a musical language that is open and accessible, evoking magical images reminiscent of Oz – a world consisting less of events than of camp hallucinations, captured in grainy black-and-white photographs. En passant, Poirier shows us how the notion of material accumulation can produce great art.

Written and produced by Roméo Poirier, mastered by Stephan Mathieu, photos by Roméo Poirier, graphic design by Tim Tetzner.

Jennifer Touch release her next LP 'Aging at Airports' on Fabrika Records. The idea for the record title came before the music even existed as Touch was spending an increasing amount of time in airports while touring. In her own words: "It felt like I waste a large part of my life waiting for the next show to come, to entertain and perform my music and build timeless moments with others. This waiting, the slowly ticking time at the gate, was in complete contrast to what I want to do as an artist: to be in flux, to create things that will last forever. The airport, as a busy hub, was like a symbol of this ambivalence. And a reminder: every second, whether waiting or on the move, I have to accept that I am fading, that my creative power, my face, and my body are fading. As a (performing) artist, everything feels like a strange contrast. While you want to stay true to yourself and speak authentically from the soul, you are also expected to appear forever young, and powerful. Artists are often wanted to distract people, but creating this art forces me to confront my own transience. I feel the struggle to fit into this powerful artificial framework that the world has set and the desire to break free from it."