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The Scream, Siouxsie & the Banshees' first album, was released late enough in the punk era to bear some claim as the first post-punk album, with only a minor traces of 'punk' (one lingering early song, "Carcass" comes to mind) and enough hints of what had come even earlier, Andy MacKay-like saxophone flourishes - to feel utterly new. Not to mention the effort producer Steve Lillywhite must have put into the album, his first fully-credited major label production.
Siouxsie was clearly the focus of the band, with her unique vocal style and lyrics, but the real star, we've always known, was John McKay, who wrote most of the album's music (as well as singles like "Hong Kong Garden"), creating a wholly new guitar sound - harsh and brittle, yet melodically intoxicating . . . best articulated by a somewhat confounded Steve Albini years later ". . . only now people are trying to copy it, and even now nobody understands how that guitar player got all that pointless noise to stick together as songs". McKay's influence lives on; many of the most influential guitarists of the past four decades credit him as a major influence - Geordie from Killing Joke, Jim Reid of The Jesus And Mary Chain, U2's The Edge, Thurston Moore, Johnny Marr and even the two guitarists - The Cure's Robert Smith and Magazine's John McGeoch - who followed him in The Banshees.
McKay's burgeoning status as the anti-guitar hero was halted when he and Banshees drummer Kenny Morris - at odds with Siouxsie and bassist Steve Severin - fled the band just after the start of a tour supporting the group's second album, Join Hands. It was a weekly music paper scandal, later the subject of a BBC documentary, and Siouxsie's vitriol working its way into the lyrics of a later Banshees b-side, "Drop Dead / Celebration". Aside from a solitary single on Marc Riley's In Tape label nearly a decade later, no music was heard from McKay again. So it comes as a major surprise to learn of a pile of excellent recordings made in the years just after he left The Banshees, unheard by all but a very few, some of which feature drummer Kenny Morris, plus Mick Allen from Rema Rema, Matthew Seligman of the Soft Boys and longer-term collaborator Graham Dowdall and John's wife Linda . . . the latter three of whom now all sadly deceased.
Sixes And Sevens is an historic lost album. Brazenly genius and bearing fair claim as the lost treasure of the post-punk era, the album collects eleven studio tracks, carefully mastered from original tapes. It's a masterpiece which best speaks for itself. John McKay will be made available for a limited number of interviews . . . and yes, there are surprises in store.

12" EP. Azmari is thrilled to announce the release of their fourth opus, 5-track EP 'In Oculis'. The EP is a reflection of the band's collective desire to reinvent themselves. With a more minimalistic approach, the four musicians have created an eclectic, intense, and vibrant body of work, recorded during various residencies in Belgium and abroad. The result is a fusion of genres that range from powerful grooves to cinematic jazz, from floating melodies to entrancing soundscapes.

For this new project, Azmari teamed up with a long-time collaborator, Guillaume Souffrice (alias Mosso Mosso), who had already been Azmari's guitarist in the band's early days. Souffrice's expertise as a music therapist and multi-instrumentalist, combined with his passion for cross-cultural rhythms and melodies, adds a new depth and dimension to the band's sound.

Souffrice's extensive travels have taken him from Iranian Kurdistan, where he studied the daf (a large frame drum used in Sufi ceremonies), to northern India, where he immersed himself in the modal subtleties of the shehnai (Indian oboe). His love for psychedelic guitar tones and the classic wha-wha pedal remains at the heart of his musical approach, creating a fusion of tradition and experimentation.

The EP opens with 'Night Plants Can Run,' a track that starts with a rhythmic loop on the Berimbau, a Brazilian percussion instrument traditionally used in Capoeira. The song offers a steady, groovy journey between Rio de Janeiro and Sarajevo, with a guitar theme doubled by the saxophone, all underpinned by a deep 4/4 groove. The middle part of the track introduces a lot of percussion (an Azmari signature move) that gives a sense of urgency and chase, inspired by the band's experience playing the track in the studio, imagining a pursuit through the depths of the Amazon.

Next, 'Disassembling the Matrix' takes listeners on a 9/4 march that feels both elusive and powerful. Born from a jam session where an arpeggiator loop wouldn't stop, the band decided to continue with it, highlighting the beauty of a spontaneous creation once again. 'Lizzard's Dream' is a guitar-driven trip that gradually intensifies in energy. The song surprises with a sudden groovy break - a moment that was initially the core of the track - before returning to its soft and introspective theme, closing out the A-side of the vinyl.

The fourth track, 'Eyelights,' was born from the shores of Vevey Lake in Switzerland. It reflects the result of a long period of mental observation and rhythmic exploration. Three different time signatures were used to create the song's intro, which comes together as they go along. The melody loops with a peaceful and nostalgic vibe, creating a dreamlike atmosphere. Under the direction of Frederik Segers, who produced the EP, 'Eyelights' takes on a cinematic feel, with classical upright piano sounds that are a first for Azmari.

The EP closes with "17th Tiger Print," which takes us to the banks of the Ganges. Souffrice's shehnai leads the track into a hypnotic, hallucinatory dimension, where the interplay between his instrument and the baritone saxophone creates a textured, mystical atmosphere. This track encapsulates the essence of Azmari, a sound that bridges cultures and emotions in a minimalist yet highly effective way.

'In Oculis' marks another milestone in Azmari's musical evolution, blending the band's signature style with new influences and experimentation. Whether you're a longtime fan or new to their sound, this EP promisesto take you on another ride around the world.

Our fourth album finally gets the vinyl pressing it so richly deserves.

Originally released in 2007, Rude Mechanicals found us firing on all cylinders. The nine years since our debut had been spent touring our cutting-edge audio-visual show round the world, playing everywhere from Tokyo to Tauranga, Portland to Paris, Leeds to Las Vegas, finding fans and absorbing new sounds along the way.

We successfully combined and refined the stand-out elements of our previous releases to create an album that is alternately danceable and meditative: a genre busting excursion in sound, heaving with warm basslines and complex rhythms, topped up by haunting melodies and immersive soundscapes.

From the evocative opening South of the Line to the stepping 1000 Mile Drift, the dub is strong, as one would expect, and so is the influence of drum’n’bass on the bottom-heavy Bird Soul and the atmospheric Please Leave Quietly; trance on the pulsating Sonic Colonic (Live at Minikami) and slinky Transient Transmission (fig.2); ambient on the burbling Harmonia and softly snarling Fragile Ladders. The title track, meanwhile, finds us addressing climate change and greed, with lyrics by Auckland MC KP.

To create the double-vinyl release, Angus McNaughton re-mastered the original audio files, while Hamish Macaulay polished the source artwork by Tom Quarelle and created a brand new collage for the centrefold using pictures taken at the time.

Rude Mechanicals will be released on 11th April 2025, except in Aotearoa New Zealand, where it will be released on 12th April 2025 as part of Record Store Day.

A stellar collaboration between composer Michael Cashmore (Current 93) and vocalist Marc Almond of Soft Cell fame. Two complementary creative sensibilities in intimate interlock; supreme compositional and vocal talents fusing to make uniquely dramatic musical and vocal interpretations of searing beauty and insight. Specifically, this suite of songs feature the heightened lyricism of a stunning array of cult poets, both contemporary and of yesteryear. 'Feasting With Panthers' is a stellar collaboration between composer Michael Cashmore (Current 93) and vocalist Marc Almond of Soft Cell fame, in the nearest thematic echo and nod, in the latter's vast back catalogue, to the darker gothic influences of his celebrated Marc And The Mambas period and his acclaimed 'L'Absinthe' and 'Jacques' twisted chanson solo albums. This album's defining aesthetic is the setting of outsider poems to music. Poems by Count Eric Stenbock plus unique lyrical translations - by celebrated poet Jeremy Reed - of works by Jean Genet, Jean Cocteau, Arthur Rimbaud, Paul Verlaine, as well as Reed's own poetry. The emphasis throughout is on 'decadent' poems of thwarted love, ill-fated romance, self-destruction and death: many poems are woven with homo-eroticism, laced with opium dreamstates and all are accompanied by Michael Cashmore's haunting and melancholic music that lends the verses a deft yearning for beauty and a bittersweet, melancholic longing for lost innocence and youth. Originally released in 2011 and long since deleted, 'Feasting With Panthers' is now restored to back catalogue availability as a double vinyl album - it's first ever vinyl edition - with a variant of the original album artwork and two printed, full colour inner sleeves complete with lyrics and pictures and featuring four bonus tracks. The album was recorded over several years by the artists sending music files back and forth by e-mail and post; the artists never once recording together in the studio. Berlin based Michael Cashmore worked at home composing the music, playing all of the instruments and adding Marc's vocals from files recorded in London. The resulting album is a glorious union of sensual talents, both in voice and music, complementing the intriguing and evocative poetic texts. The project began after Current 93's David Tibet gave Marc a book of poems by the Baltic German poet Count Stanislaus Eric Stenbock. Marc was instantly attracted to the dark eroticism and the melancholic yearning of the verse and, so, contacted Michael Cashmore, whom he had previously worked with on Current 93's reading of 'Idumea'. He felt Michael would have the right understanding of the verse with his intricate, beautiful musical compositions. From this, the project developed to include many of Marc's favourite poems by some of his favourite 'outsider' poets with common thematic ground.

Spacemen 3 began assembling their third album, 1988's Playing With Fire, at perhaps the freest, most confident point in their career. Recording began with the band road-tested and rugged, even amidst the functional volatility that famously motivated their course. The sessions' first offering came in the form of "Revolution," a single of heroic Stooges-devotion and the most commercially successful release the group had to date. High expectations for the album were soon exceeded, as Playing With Fire would become Spacemen 3's crowning studio achievement and cement their rightful place on the vanguard of otherworldly rock 'n' roll.

An exquisite mix of stuttering tremolo guitars and wistful melodies, Playing With Fire sheds any trappings of revisionism and furnishes a nuanced grade of psychedelia. Epic entries like "Suicide" (named after the notorious NYC band) and the mesmeric "How Does It Feel?" catch Spacemen 3 at their celestial apex, the very point where their collective writing, performance and production would crest and wondrously splinter.

Includes download card and new insert with liner notes by Marc Masters.

'In de verte, dit uitzicht’ is Abel Ghekiere's second album. It is a celebration of beauty and sudden bursts of euphoria and melancholy, hidden in the distinctive soft and fragile sound of Ghekiere's music. Much more personal than on his debut record, he calls out to the world.

Working with voice samples and field recordings, voice and improvisation take centre stage. Sounds from outside are subtly interwoven with instruments, while conversations and memories act as a thread running through the compositions. The music flows into the room, bringing with it remembered places and voices.

The music was recorded very nomadically, in different places, with different people. Most of the parts were written and played by Abel Ghekiere himself but with guest contributions from Vitja Pauwels, Nicolas Rombauts, Leo Adamov, & Jan de Vroede, among others, the record breaks open into a soft sound palette.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Another foggy day in Yorkshire. A steel grey sky. Raindrops tracing one another down the windowpane. Kirk Barley sits in his studio and assembles compositions from scraps of found sound and live instrumentation. Melodies swell, withdraw and repeat like waves. Time slows. Accelerates. Slows again. The light bends, tweaked at the edges. Twisted by rhythms that never quite resolve.

Written, recorded and produced by Barley in Yorkshire in early 2024, Lux picks up where 2023 LP Marionette leaves off, conjuring a mystical, reflective space between formal minimalism and sonic imaginaries of northern landscapes.

And yet, where Marionette relied at times on more recognisable field recordings, Lux leans into Barley’s skill as an instrumentalist and sound designer, working from a palette of short samples and utilising a variety of alternate tuning systems to build, layer and coax his compositions into being. Most evident on tracks ‘Vita’, ‘Sprite’ and ‘Descendent’, these tunings create an otherworldly harmonic language that is easier to perceive than describe.

Alongside more familiar instruments of guitar, bass, drums, organ and clarinet, here Barley draws on plastic saxophones and bells, and recordings of glass, wood and metal sound objects to provide the organic matter. Rather than directly representative of the natural world, Lux enters into a dialogue with it which, like the grasses and flowers of the album’s cover, exists somewhere between reality and artifice.

On album opener ‘Cache’, Barley constructs his own sense of time from a recording of an umbrella crank, a sparse and spectral piece which hints at memories embedded in the track’s title. Introspection blossoms into new life on ‘Vita’, crumpling again into the percussive ambience of ‘Verre’. A track that takes its harmonic lead from the clinks of glass, it features Barley’s long-time collaborator Matt Davies on drums, whose nuanced, tonally sensitive playing gives ‘Verre’ a fizzing, ice-like quality.

There are several moments where Lux picks up on themes Barley explored under electronic moniker Church Andrews on recent works with Davies, stretching and distorting temporalities most explicitly on ‘Descendent’, whose ritualistic air unfurls around a pattern in exponential decline.

Embracing the surrealism Barley absorbed over years watching classic film noir and the works of David Lynch and Federico Fellini, Lux wends its way through the enchanted sound worlds of ‘Sprite’ and ‘Balanced’ before arriving at the album’s title track.

An expression of his recent experiments in live, prepared guitar, ‘Lux’ brings the album back to earth, returning us to the room where the rain has stopped, the clouds have parted, and the soft warmth of the spring sun is pouring in through the open window.

London-based vocal and electronic collective NYX have announced their long-anticipated eponymous debut album, to be released digitally and on vinyl on 28th March 2025 via their own label, NYX Collective Records.

Alongside today’s news, they’ve also shared the first single, “Daughters”: a hair-raising, untamed cry that surrenders to the intensity of the human experience. With the lead vocal recorded in a beach-side kitchen in New Zealand, cicadas bleed through the soaring chant and heavy, visceral drums. The track opens soft and earnest, expanding in their rage, resilience, and liberation, transforming pain into a re-wilding of the spirit, a celebration of their collective power.

NYX say of the track: "Daughters” is an initiation into the underworld - an invitation to come face to face with our losses. To look towards the shame, rage, and pain embedded in our bodies, and open through the fear that has closed down our throats. These are our wild voices that want to be heard and loved - by ourselves, by our pack."

NYX is the result of years of collaboration and transformation, reflecting the collective’s signature blend of experimental vocal techniques and electronic alchemy. NYX’s debut album pulses with primal energy and delicate introspection, weaving together the ancient and the futuristic. It’s a spellbinding journey through the human experience, crafted not just to be heard, but also deeply felt.

The album brings together the group's full evolution and experimentation, collaborators on the album include sound designer, composer and NYX string player Alicia Jane Turner, harpist Miriam Adefris, as well as additional drums and production by Memory Play and Sebastian Gainsbourgh (Vessel), artwork by NYX member Shireen Qureshi, co-produced by Marta Salogni and mastered by Heba Kadry.

NYX showcases the choir's far-reaching emotional breadth. The introduction, “Mother”, is inspired by the first chapter of the foundational work of Taoism, Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching. In this, NYX’s opening prayer, the listener finds themselves in a swelling crescendo of NYX’s all-encompassing vocals and synth drones. The album spirals through swirling loops of haunting voices and layered strings that come together like crashing waves, bursting through in feral upheaval. “Through Fire” and “Daughters” erupt into heart-wrenching post-apocalyptic chorus and pounding bass-heavy drums, then slip into a blissful sound bath, “Awe”, whose choir harmonies layered with lush harps radiate pure wonderment, and the closing track, a cover of Suicide’s 1979 “Dream Baby Dream”, dissolves into reverberating echoes. NYX leaves an indelible mark, reminding us of the radical potential of healing and love.

In Greek mythology, NYX is the primordial goddess of the night, born from chaos giving birth to light and day. Inspired by this duality, NYX’s music harnesses the voice as a limitless medium for profound emotion, capturing the vast spectrum of human experience with power and authenticity.

London-based vocal and electronic collective NYX have announced their long-anticipated eponymous debut album, to be released digitally and on vinyl on 28th March 2025 via their own label, NYX Collective Records.

Alongside today’s news, they’ve also shared the first single, “Daughters”: a hair-raising, untamed cry that surrenders to the intensity of the human experience. With the lead vocal recorded in a beach-side kitchen in New Zealand, cicadas bleed through the soaring chant and heavy, visceral drums. The track opens soft and earnest, expanding in their rage, resilience, and liberation, transforming pain into a re-wilding of the spirit, a celebration of their collective power.

NYX say of the track: "Daughters” is an initiation into the underworld - an invitation to come face to face with our losses. To look towards the shame, rage, and pain embedded in our bodies, and open through the fear that has closed down our throats. These are our wild voices that want to be heard and loved - by ourselves, by our pack."

NYX is the result of years of collaboration and transformation, reflecting the collective’s signature blend of experimental vocal techniques and electronic alchemy. NYX’s debut album pulses with primal energy and delicate introspection, weaving together the ancient and the futuristic. It’s a spellbinding journey through the human experience, crafted not just to be heard, but also deeply felt.

The album brings together the group's full evolution and experimentation, collaborators on the album include sound designer, composer and NYX string player Alicia Jane Turner, harpist Miriam Adefris, as well as additional drums and production by Memory Play and Sebastian Gainsbourgh (Vessel), artwork by NYX member Shireen Qureshi, co-produced by Marta Salogni and mastered by Heba Kadry.

NYX showcases the choir's far-reaching emotional breadth. The introduction, “Mother”, is inspired by the first chapter of the foundational work of Taoism, Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching. In this, NYX’s opening prayer, the listener finds themselves in a swelling crescendo of NYX’s all-encompassing vocals and synth drones. The album spirals through swirling loops of haunting voices and layered strings that come together like crashing waves, bursting through in feral upheaval. “Through Fire” and “Daughters” erupt into heart-wrenching post-apocalyptic chorus and pounding bass-heavy drums, then slip into a blissful sound bath, “Awe”, whose choir harmonies layered with lush harps radiate pure wonderment, and the closing track, a cover of Suicide’s 1979 “Dream Baby Dream”, dissolves into reverberating echoes. NYX leaves an indelible mark, reminding us of the radical potential of healing and love.

In Greek mythology, NYX is the primordial goddess of the night, born from chaos giving birth to light and day. Inspired by this duality, NYX’s music harnesses the voice as a limitless medium for profound emotion, capturing the vast spectrum of human experience with power and authenticity.

"Night Sketches" is the follow-up to French pop duet Papooz's first album "Green Juice". The album spawned single release 'Ann Wants To Dance' (alongside a video directed by French artist & musician SoKo), which has since clocked over 12 million streams online and counting.



After selling out both Moth Club & The Sebright Arms, Papooz headlined Scala in London in December 2018. Produced by Adrien Durand of Bon Voyage Organisation, Night Sketches finds Papooz perfecting their gift for wonky, exotic pop balanced with surreal, character-driven lyricism.



"We had this romantic idea of capturing the essence of night life: its stories, its suspicious characters, its highs & lows and put them into pop songs." Whilst Night Sketches continues to keep Papooz' tongue firmly in cheek, there's real precision at play in Armand Cottin and Ulysse Penicaut's assimilation of soft rock, jazz and Brazilian music, leavened with an unmistakably British sense of humour (those lyrics sung in English are not by chance).

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Donny Benét is an adult Entertainer, Hit-Maker, Attentive Lover- and one of Australia’s most acclaimed- and experienced Jazz-Musicians. He has toured Europe- and the UK five times through 2017/2018, playing Festivals & Headline-Shows in 14 different Countries- and will be returning in 2020! The Don’s gigs are rammed with 20-somethings partying like a scene out of Miami Vice.

Recorded in the infamous Donnyland-Studios using the finest Japanese, American & Italian synthesizers, The Don speaks to the heart, promising love as soft as Italian leather. Donny’s immaculate Armani grooves hint at the dancefloor and the bedroom The Don is transportive. ‘Night In Rome’ opens the shutters of your hotel room onto a view of The Colosseum, ‘Reach The Top’ thrusts you on a frenzied race to success through the streets of NYC.

‘Working Out’ urges you to break a sweat wherever you may be. ‘Konichiwa,’ is a song assmooth as the silken tofu from whence the song’s spirit is inspired, and ‘Santorini,’ an ode to love worth fighting for along the crystal-waters of the Aegean Sea.

New album “Mr Experience” due for Release on 22nd May, 2020

Joni Void, the artistic persona of Montréal-based French-British producer Jean Néant (he/them) returns to songcraft on their warmest and most welcoming record yet, where the acclaimed sampledelic sound collagist chills out with an emotionally resonant song cycle tinged by downtempo, lo-fi, avant-pop, and trip-hop. Guests include Haco, Ytamo, Sook-Yin Lee, Pink Navel and N NAO. Every Life Is A Light expands on Void's recent stylistic turn towards more languorous and mellow lo-fi production, foreshadowed by the drifting looseness and ambient bricolage of their preceding experimental sound-art record. This transitional sensibility now shapes more defined song structures and styles, with loops are given time and space to unspool, and rhythms shot through the softer-focus lens of trip-hop and dub. Every Life Is A Light swaps the twitchy insistence of Void's acclaimed early albums for a newfound lightness and suppleness, still imbued with all the restlessness, sonic detailing, and emotional resonance that made their name. The neurotic brokenmachine kinetics of earlier Void, summarized by Sasha Geffen as "drawing despair and wonder from within the vast unfeeling of digital communication" in an 8.0 Pitchfork review, may be chilling out, but Void is becoming an ever better conjurer of hauntological feeling. Every Life Is A Light summons this in a comparatively buoyant, benevolent, head-nodding journey more open to tenderness and modest joys. Perhaps it's the sound of Void at greater peace with themselves and the world, despite the bittersweet cost: even as it channels grief, memorializing comrades and companions recently deceased, this album wants light. Void's raw materials continue to draw heavily from samples (their own Walkman cassette fieldrecordings and songs by others) and from a wide community of musical guests. Vocalists Haco on "Time Zone" and Ytamo on "Cloud Level" help levitate what could be lost tracks from a mid-90s Too Pure Records compilation of skewed-lounge electronica. Canadian musician Sook-Yin Lee sings on lead single "Vertigo," a sinewy 80bpm tape-loop and bassline groove propelled by psychedelically-layered lyrics that eventually turn the song in on itself entirely, like Grace Jones' "Nightclubbing" covered by Animal Collective. One of Void's greatest hip-hop loves is the Ruby Yacht collective; charter member Pink Navel drops some brilliant verses on "Story Board." The album's two minimal tracks, an extended piano loop set to a slow beat and shimmering electronics on "Muffin-A Song For My Cat" and the languid sampled bass riff and breakbeat of "Event Flow," are perhaps most overtly `lofi chill.' Indeed the whole album could be said to sit adjacent to those viral (if not already AI-generated) genre trends, which maybe begs the question on a lot of our minds: can specificity and authenticity of musical materials still be heard, still meaningfully signify substance and difference, still matter? Perhaps a question that fades in comparison to the career break Void could catch by landing on generic streaming playlists. More likely, these tracks remain too off-kilter, too genuinely lo-fi and ineffable, and too disqualified by the status of its peasant rights-holders, to catch the algos. Context remains the poor cousin of content. Meanwhile Void marches on, as a tireless organizer of local music events, bouncing around and often living in DIY venue, depending on the latest apartment eviction. With an ubiquitous polaroid camera in tow, they also document each communal happening with a single shot (and often a blinding flash bulb): a memory and metaphor for lives illuminated preciously, singularly, `imperfectly' in the moment. Dozens of these polaroids adorn the album's back cover and inner sleeve art in grid-like montages, as a fitting analog for the careful construction, grainy intimate materiality, and ephemeral feeling of these songs. Every Life Is A Light is Joni Void's most coherent and congenial record while relinquishing none of their experimentalist acumen as a producer or emotional attunement as a composer. Instead these qualities flourish, on an album that lights a humble flame for the fragile promise of homespun creative collaboration as unalienated labour and therapeutic communion, making an enchantingly idiosyncratic contribution to downtempo sample music along the way. Thanks for listening.

My Boy, the third solo record from New Zealand singer/ songwriter Marlon Williams, announces an artist emerging anew. Gone is the solemn, country-indebted crooner with the velvet voice - in his place comes a playful, shapeshifting creature. Following the release of his second album, 2018's Make Way For Love, Williams' toured the world, playing major festivals and collaborating with Lorde, Yo-Yo Ma and Florence Welch. He also forged a fledgling acting career with roles in films The True History of the Kelly Gang and Netflix series Sweet Tooth, as well as a cameo in Oscar winning film A Star Is Born. My Boy parlays this flush of worldly experience into a vivid record as spirited and kinetic as the unfolding life of its performer. "I've always explored different character elements in my music," says Williams. "And the more I get into acting, the more tricks I'm learning about representation and presentation. To get braver and bolder with exploring shifting contexts and new ways of doing things." As the pandemic paused global travel, Williams found himself at home in New Zealand, reconnecting with family and friends. Soon new demos and lyrical themes emerged: of self-identity and escapism; tribalism and a gnarled family tree; and ruminations on the role of masculinity and mateship. Co-produced with Tom Healy and recorded at Roundhead Studios in New Zealand, My Boy finds Williams' leading a new band through a set of genre-hopping tunes: from the cheery sway of `My Boy' and chugging `80s noir sheen of `Thinking Of Nina', to the charging synth of `River Rival', and the sultry pop jam `Don't Go Back.' All this sonic and emotional whiplash is intentional, and ultimately My Boy sees Williams having fun, even while interrogating the behaviors of himself and those around him.

My Boy, the third solo record from New Zealand singer/ songwriter Marlon Williams, announces an artist emerging anew. Gone is the solemn, country-indebted crooner with the velvet voice - in his place comes a playful, shapeshifting creature. Following the release of his second album, 2018's Make Way For Love, Williams' toured the world, playing major festivals and collaborating with Lorde, Yo-Yo Ma and Florence Welch. He also forged a fledgling acting career with roles in films The True History of the Kelly Gang and Netflix series Sweet Tooth, as well as a cameo in Oscar winning film A Star Is Born. My Boy parlays this flush of worldly experience into a vivid record as spirited and kinetic as the unfolding life of its performer. "I've always explored different character elements in my music," says Williams. "And the more I get into acting, the more tricks I'm learning about representation and presentation. To get braver and bolder with exploring shifting contexts and new ways of doing things." As the pandemic paused global travel, Williams found himself at home in New Zealand, reconnecting with family and friends. Soon new demos and lyrical themes emerged: of self-identity and escapism; tribalism and a gnarled family tree; and ruminations on the role of masculinity and mateship. Co-produced with Tom Healy and recorded at Roundhead Studios in New Zealand, My Boy finds Williams' leading a new band through a set of genre-hopping tunes: from the cheery sway of `My Boy' and chugging `80s noir sheen of `Thinking Of Nina', to the charging synth of `River Rival', and the sultry pop jam `Don't Go Back.' All this sonic and emotional whiplash is intentional, and ultimately My Boy sees Williams having fun, even while interrogating the behaviors of himself and those around him.

And another! One Eye Witness rounds up 4 more acts to deliver the latest instalment of their V/A series, WITNESS07. The EP brings together names from across Europe: here fresh faces — the likes of Bristol’s JoeLy — rub shoulders with more established dancefloor exponents such as SameSame from Germany and Rome’s Christopher Ledger, all utilising the hypnotic tech house aesthetic championed by O.E.W.

Young Adults’ “It’s Only Temporary” kicks the EP into gear, a perky cut loaded with bounce. The The Hague duo employ a rubbery bassline and sound palette with plenty of boing, whilst working in a playful nod to a certain 1997 Loveparade anthem. Christopher Ledger gets classy on “Change That”, its slinky, steady break keeping hips in motion whilst tricky dubwise FX swirl across the stereo field. JoeLy slows things down and reigns it in with “Transitional”: beneath the filter sweeps, a seductive, sliding acid bassline is accompanied by augmented 303 action. As punchy as it is textural, the fittingly titled “Novel End” by SameSame seems draped in gauze — delicate drones wrap the drums in a soft cocoon, offering something a little more cerebral. WITNESS07: A tech house Tour de Europe, brought to you by Amsterdam’s all-seeing eye!

"I imagine that one of the first things I heard in the world was the
explosion of a Russian ammunitions factory on the outskirts of my
hometown. It blew up the night I was born a new GDR-citizen. I´m not
sure I heard a noise when the Wall came down, but it still echoes in my
body. The echo contains many frequencies. Some of them sound like Gabber
playing in my childhood room over the speakers my grandfather once stole
from a Leipzig radio station. Some of them sound like me and my friends
running through the streets. They sound like my mother laughing and
consoling women in the women´s shelter where she worked in 1992. They
sound like birds: my father swears after the Reunification the great
crested grebes on the town lakes lost all fear of humans. Some of them
sound like these recordings."

180G vinyl pressing

After releasing their well-received 7” and 12” singles ‘Night Time’ and ‘Feel It / So Hot’, Isle of Jura is pleased to present Exotic Illusions, the debut album from D.D. Mirage, the Sydney-based duo of Josh Dives and Disky Dee.

Having first played music together during the mid-2010s in the indie-psyche and punky-shoegaze bands King Colour and SCK CHX, the two Australian musicians/DJs came up in the warehouse party scene that fermented in the wake of the Sydney lockout laws. While organising mixed media events under the Yeah Nah Yeah brand, they discovered the joys of disco, dance-punk and the Balearic beat through Pender St Steppers’ DJ mixes and reissue releases and found themselves changing direction in response.

Written and recorded with a range of vintage keyboards and preamps, instruments and digital studio software, Exotic Illusions is a cosmopolitan love letter to the immaculate blend of Italo disco, Neopolitan funk, Nigerian boogie, cosmic house, synth-pop, UK street soul and lovers rock sounds that have inspired D.D. Mirage since they began this iteration of their ever-evolving musical relationship.

“The name Exotic Illusions refers to our fascination with all of this music made in other parts of the world,” they explain. “During lockdown and thereafter, we indulged in these exotic sounds as an antidote to our lack of travel. This fascination continued as the world opened up again, and we started working on tunes together. It’s also a way of acknowledging that we feel like tourists partaking in these styles and established sounds. They aren’t ours and weren’t born out of the place we’re from, but we hope we’ve been able to add something unique to them.”

In recognition of this, rather than just reinterpreting genre motifs through an antipodean lens, D.D. Mirage opened up lines of communication with some of their favourite musicians from the Neapolitan scene, bassist Daniel Monaco (Rush Hour, Periodica Records) and drummer Andrea De Fazio (Parbleu/ Nu Genea), who recorded the rhythm section for ‘So Hot’. They also wrote to the Manchester-based singer/producer Private Joy, who graced ‘Night Time’ with a smoother-than-silk street soul vocal that helped the single secure crucial plays on NTS and BBC Radio 6.

Opening with the tropical melodies, post-disco machine beats and jilted art-punk singalong chants of the title track, Exotic Illusions unfolds as a series of sturdy, internationally-minded dancefloor excursions. ‘Piranesi’ is boogie with a South American shuffle. ‘So Hot’ is Neapolitan funk with a Leichhardt strut, and ‘Antenna’ (featuring Jofi) is D.D. Mirage’s love letter to ‘80s drum machine bossa nova from Brussels.

On ‘Feel It’, the duo hit a sparking groove that reaches into an eternal sunset of the mind before throwing out a bubbly disco-not disco spoken word bounce on ‘Cat’s Cradle’, featuring psychedelic-pop singer Jermango Dreaming. From there, D.D. Mirage bring it home with a cheeky Aussie drawl on ‘Living Upside Down’ and the nocturnal excellence of ‘Night Time’, making a case for themselves as a significant new force from Australian music to the world.
full sleeve artwork from Bradley Pinkerton.