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OOOOH! by Alex Bad Baby Lukashevsky with Cocoa Corner (2025)

Celebrated veteran of Toronto’s music scene, known for his boundary-pushing approach to folk and avant-garde music, twists rock music into strange and brilliant new shapes with the help of young jazz players, U.S. Girls, and his own immensely talented son.



OOOOH! is hard on the outside and soft on the inside. Made in the spirit of unity,
humanity, and poetry — disobediently renouncing the glory of personal triumph for the
generosity of an honest experiment. On the last track of the album you’ll hear “Or do you only ever never want to make a single enemy? / That’s not freedom or humility / It’s nothing, honestly.” Oooh, that's a bad baby!

A celebrated Toronto songwriter and performer, Alex Lukashevsky has always been disobedient. Which simply means, nothing is off the table when he’s looking for his
poetic voice; when trying to find the realest I of the teller. As he sings on the lead track “that musician that’s dead” The musician is radical/ it’s the world that’s demented/ listening with their eyes, the music looks dented/ they’re over-represented.
OOOOH! was recorded in January 2024 at Sound Department in Toronto, engineered by Patrick Lefler (ROY), mixed by Grammy-nominated producer Matt Smith. All the songs were tracked live off the floor in two days, with one extra day for recording vocals, to keep the recording fully alive and breathing. As leader of Deep Dark United, as a solo performer, and a sideman in Brodie Wests’ Eucalyptus and Luka Kuplowsky’s Ryokan Band, Alex has been an outsized influence on the Toronto music scene that spawned acts like Broken Social Scene and Owen Pallett. (Pallett, who has toured with Lukashevsky, went so far as to record an entire album’s worth of Alex’s songs, backed
by a full orchestra.)

Lukashevsky has approached each of his albums and projects as something completely new, using only the musical boundaries he creates with each song. Even when he
has recorded songs with nothing but his voice and his own acoustic guitar accompaniment, the results are never “stripped down” or “back to basics,”
Gong! How do you get to heaven / have fun! have fun!
It’s cool to approach music as a game of “spot the influence”; Burt Bacharach-meets-Black Flag; Lana Del Rey-meets-LCD Soundsystem etc. Glorified mash-ups are promising because of their conversational nature. But they can turn us into hyperboreans; blowing cold air beyond ourselves while doing what we can to remain warm. To devise a game or a narrative is to have a winner and a loser, but we all know that just as you win/ so you lose. And does anything really change? Alex Lukashevsky and Cocoa Corner are more at ease drawing blind contours or playing an old game like consequences. They let things add up without knowing particularly how. Cognition is recognition.

Lukashevsky, in addition to writing all the songs, plays guitar and sings on OOOOH!, doing both in ways that are soulful and spikey at the same time. Joining him on guitar and vocals is his oldest child, Charlie Lukashevsky, who, at 23, is already a talented performer and songwriter in his own right. Cocoa Corner also includes Aidan McConnell, an in-demand drummer and composer, Jack Johnston, a jazz bassist and Barry Harris acolyte, and percussionist Evan Cartwright (The Weather Station, U.S. Girls, Cola, Tasseomancy), who plays steel pan and marching drum.

Working with his son and with other younger musicians is central to the album’s
unpredictable aesthetic. It reinvigorated the sound in unexpected ways. Lukashevsky says, “I had to reconsider my own instincts. I had to deal with being 99 years old.”
In addition to these performers, the album includes a tasty contribution from Meg
Remy, the visionary musician and producer who is the leader of the critically acclaimed
project U.S. Girls. Remy duets with Lukashevsky on the imagistic and sprawling album
closer “things keep happening.”
About that album title: OOOOH! is taken straight from “that musician that’s dead” an
arch and unhinged comment on the exertion required to navigate a lifetime of music making.
Lukashevsky’s delivery of that one emotive word is a kind of cultural posture, but also a
hundred percent primitive expression. The impact is never less than visceral. His vocal
delivery ranges through rich baritone blues to keening falsettos to a kind of sprechstimme that periodically steps out from the music to grab the listener’s shirt. He
doesn’t sound too nice, but he is sincere. When life gives you lemons lament.
For OOOOH! his first official full-length album since 2012’s Too Late Blues, (a collection of knotty-yet-effervescent tunes built upon the enchantingly serpentine harmonies of Lukashevsky and his vocal collaborators, Felicity Williams (Bahamas, Bernice) and Daniela Gesundheit (Snowblink, HYDRA)), Alex has once again broken apart and rebuilt his own approach to music. Or rather (because that sounds too over-determined), he
has allowed his music to build itself into strange new shapes that only fleetingly and
coincidentally, but happily, resemble anything that might be called rock and roll. There is some editorializing within the song’s lyrics— Lukashevsky even cheekily contributes to the “spot the influence” game with the line “Muddy Waters, Rite of Spring!” a funny preemptive strike against anyone already reaching for some variation of avant-blues to describe what the song is up to here. In fact there are many names checked on this record (literally and in spirit); they are the lily pads that trace the path of this expression! Palestrina, Peter Pears and Benjamin Brittain, Andrés Segovia, Stravinsky, Lotte Lenya, Alice Coltrane, Skip James, Chuck Berry, D’Gary, Betty Carter, Mukhtiyar Ali, Chuck D, Yoko Ono, Hailu Mergia, David Bowie, Jane Siberry. rhythm is a skeleton mansion / haunted by melody / feckless prodigy / the world is under a spell / cast by some demon angel / Practice day and night / Try as hard as hell / no one can sing that well Musicians are often worried by the way in which they are prepared to fail rather
than how they would like to succeed; it’s such a deep concern that it tempers their creativity and shackles their process. Current cultural proclivities, tend to comfort a certain kind of artistic failure and abnegate another kind. How many testimonials, full of heartfelt care and investment, have you heard for Taylor Swift, and yet a craftsman like Chris Weisman is often dismissed easily as though he’s doing something anti-social. what’s throwing itself in my ears and my eyes / arrogant devil ad hominem christ.
The music you will hear on this recording veers off in multiple directions at once,
and features a rock and roll spirit with a divergent heart. This is no sclerotic clomp of the Average Rock Song, but in fact a flood of humanity in all its darkness and moodiness and unpredictability. If most performers make songs that are like sports cars or pickup trucks to drive around, Lukashevsky has built something more akin to a rowboat in a tree: it’s weird and beautiful.

The anticipation is there in Elizabeth Stokes’ solo guitar riff under the opening lines of “I’m Not Getting Excited”: a frenetic, driving force daring a packed Auckland Town Hall to do exactly the opposite of what the track title suggests.

As the opener of The Beths’ Auckland, New Zealand, 2020 expands to include the full band, the crowd screeches and bellows. It’s a collective exhalation, in one of the few countries where live music is still possible.

The album title, and film of the same name, deliberately include the date and location, lead guitarist Jonathan Pearce says. “That’s the sensational part of what we actually did.” In a mid-pandemic world, playing to a heaving, enraptured home crowd feels miraculous.

In March 2020, everything seemed on track for another huge year for The Beths. Home after an 18-month northern hemisphere tour, they had just finished recording sophomore album Jump Rope Gazers and were primed for more extensive touring. But within days, New Zealand’s lockdown split the band between three separate houses. All touring was cancelled.

“It was existentially bad,” Stokes says. As well as worrying about economic survival, they lost something crucial to the band’s identity: live performance. “It's a huge part of how we see ourselves... What does it mean, if we can't play live?”

The band found an outlet through live-streaming, returning to the do-it-yourself mentality of their early days to connect with a global audience. The album and film have their genesis in that urge to share the now-rare experience of a live show, as widely as possible.

The fuzzy-round-the-edges live-streams pointed the way aesthetically. Native birds, wonkily crafted by the band from tissue paper and wire, festoon the venue’s cavernous ceiling while house plants soften and disguise the imposing pipes of an organ. The presence of the film crew isn’t disguised: much of the camerawork is handheld; full of fast zooms and pans.

With much of the material still fresh, the band was less focused on re-invention than playing “a good, fast rock show”, Pearce says. The tempo is up on crowd favourites “Whatever” and “Future Me Hates Me” (released as a live single on its third anniversary) as both band and audience feed off the mutual energy in the room.

Certain songs have taken on special resonance post-Covid. Pearce has found “Out Of Sight”, a tender rumination on long-distance relationships, hits particularly hard with live audiences.

Album closer “River Run” visibly brings Stokes to tears as a mix of achievement and relief kicks in. “You can finally relax at that point … You play the last note, breathe out a sigh and look up - and you’re in a giant room full of people happy and smiling.”

Jessica93, prodigal bastard of our glorious french squat scene, relocated on Born Bad : this is no picnic. Geoffroy Laporte, alone against all odds, alternates bass and guitar to build harsh loops with a drum machine spitting pre-Gulf War patterns. That’s where it gets tricky : every musical posse claims him. Grunge, sure, but Jessica doesn’t indulge in necrophilia. His circuit is punk, he doesn’t dress the part though. Cold wave, the atmosphere fits somehow, but the gear does not. The self-confident rock horde saw him playing with hair in his eyes… but he never joined the Party. Metal had something to say but sadly, nobody listened. Maybe it's time to give it a rest and let Jessica93 cook his great misery broth on her own, called « 666 tours de périph’ » (666 laps on the beltway). Witnessing Jessica93 live makes you dread that he'll get up the next morning, drive 200 miles and one nap later kick it again, when it takes us a good week to recover from the bad half of that same evening. Like so many other unknown soldiers during our very own world war of music, he patrols small venues relentlessly.



At the heart of this cultural pentacle painted by french weirdos Bryan's Magic Tears, and Carine Krinator, Jessica93 has built a sound validated by years of chosen vagrancy, birthing bands with joyously stupid monikers, in the humid jungle of small labels. Jessica93's debut album had a track celebrating Omar Little, HBO’s gay bandit from Baltimore. This story begins on the beltway, where Florence Rey, accidental copkiller turned to political icon of the 90’s. Geoffroy offers his brilliant analysis : " C’est la police qui nous tire d’ssus / C’est mon trou d’balle qui leur chie d’ssus « (Police shoots us down / my dripping asshole gets the job done).



A previous album was haunted by bedbugs, this one is essentially about love, a delicious scourge just as hard to eradicate. Two black diamonds peek out of the LP : ’’La colline du crack’’, heartbreak song about the ultimate temptation of violent delights, located on crackhead central in Paris. The brilliant chorus, ‘Take my hand and come with me to Crack Hill’ will put an end to the rumours, almost everything was really false. And Bébé Requin, alternative obituary that’ll make you shiver, where our nice couple states ‘’on kiffe la drogue dure et les ptits chiens’ (‘we love hard drugs and little dogs’). And that is the reason we face the wall of sound jostled by unnecessary shoulder thrusts: those nice fat chunks of charcoal poetry, hidden under light sarcasm.



The rest of the record demonstrates the know-how acquired in loop-by-loop construction of ruins that are pleasant to squat in together. There’s your classic doom delicatessen, with bits of heavy metal inside, crafted with the manic care typical of hard wankers. Arthur Satàn, who produced and mixed the album at home in Bordeaux, helped him get his head out of the reverb safe house. And Jessica93 took the opportunity to switch to the dark side of the language : french at last. Worth the wait ! Sing along : « nique sa mère / nique sa grosse mère » (translate that yourself).

Wenn sie nicht gerade aus dem Fenster auf die stürmische Skyline von Manhattan blickte, verbrachte Margo Guryan ihre dreißiger Jahre damit, Ohrwürmer für Leute wie Bobbie Gentry, Jackie DeShannon, Claudine Longet, Carmen McCrae und Julie London bei CBS's April Blackwood Music zu schreiben. Guryans zeitlose Gedanken über Liebe, Sonntage, Erdbeben, Weinen und Jungs namens Timothy haben unzählige Filme und virale Videos unterlegt. Meisterwerke aus früheren Zeiten. 28 ihrer Songwriting-Demos aus den 60er und 70er Jahren sind auf dieser 25-jährigen Jubiläums-Doppelalbum-Edition.

In Guadeloupe, many people think that jazz and ka music are like a ring and a finger. To some extent, the same could be said about so called Latin music and the music played in the French West Indies.

Both aesthetics were born in the Caribbean and bear so many connections that they can easily be considered cousins. In constant dialogue, there are lots of examples of their fruitful alliance and have been for a while. The English country dance that used to be practiced in European lounges came to be called kadrille in Martinique and contradanza in Cuba. They both featured additional percussion instruments inherited from the transatlantic deportation. Drawing from shared feelings about the same traumatized identity – later to be creolized – it would be hard not to assume that they were meant to inspire each other. The golden age of the orchestras that graced the Pigalle nights during the interwar period further proves the point. As soon as the 1930s, Havana-born Don Barreto naturally mixed danzón and biguine music in a combo based at Melody's Bar. In the following decade, Félix Valvert, a conductor who was born and raised in Basse-Terre in Guadelupe, also worked wonders in Montparnasse with La Coupole, which was an orchestra made up of eclectic musicians. Afro- Caribbean performers of various origins were often hired on rhythm and brass sections in jazz bands, which used to enliven the typical French balls of the capital. In the 1930s and onwards, Rico’s Creole Band was one of them.



Martinican violinist-clarinettist Ernest Léardée, who would become the king of biguine music as well as the main figure of French Uncle Ben's TV commercials (a dark stigma of post-colonial stereotypes), had musicians from the whole Caribbean sphere play at his Bal Blomet – and they all enchanted "ces Zazous-là" (according the words of Léardée's biguine-calypso piece). In les Antilles (French for French West Indies), music history started to speed up in the 1950s, when trade expanded and radio stations grew bigger. The Guadelupean and Martiniquais youth tuned in their old galena radio sets to South American and Caribbean music. As for the women traders, les pacotilleuses, they bought and sold goods across different islands (the "passing of items through various hands" was thought to be most pleasurable) and brought back countless sounds in their luggage. Such was the case of Madame Balthazar, who once returned from Puerto Rico with the first 45rpm and 33rpm to ever enter Martinique.

Out of this adventure was created the famous Martinican label La Maison des Merengues, a music business she opened and undertook with her husband and which proved to be a major landmark. At the end of the 1950s, in Puerto Rico, Marius Cultier competed in the Piano International Contest playing a version of Monk's Round 'Midnight. He won the first prize and this distinction foreshadowed everything that was to come. Cultier, the heretic Monk of jazz, was quickly praised for writing superb melodies, always tinged with a twist that conferred a unique sound to his music. It didn't take long for the gifted self-taught musician to get to play with Los Cubanos, making a name for himself thanks to his impressive maestria on merengues.

The rest is history. Besides, in the late 1950s, Frantz Charles-Denis, born into the upper middle class in Saint-Pierre and better known by his first name Francisco, went back home after working at La Cabane Cubaine – a club located rue Fontaine where he had caught the Latin fever. Francisco's music was therefore heavily marked by his Cuban cousins' influence, which gave the combos he led a specific style and also led to renewal. Things were swinging hard in La Savane, located in the main square in Fort-de-France. He set up the Shango club close by and tested out the biguine lélé there, a new music formula spiced up with Latin rhythms. Soon afterwards, fate had him fly to Puerto Rico and Venezuela.

As for percussionist Henri Guédon (percussions were only a part of his many talents), he was born in Fort-de-France in May 22nd 1944, the day marking the celebration of the abolition of slavery. As an old man, he could remember that in " his father's Teppaz, a lot of hectic 6/8 music was constantly playing...". In the opening lines of his Lettre à Dizzy, a small illustrated collection of writings published by Del Arco, he highlighted the huge impact that cubop had on him as a teenage boy, around 1960. He eventually turned out to be the lider maximo in La Contesta, a big band steeped in Latin jazz. He was also the one who originated the word zouk to describe music which brought the sound of the New York barrio to Paris. It was the culmination of a journey that started in Sainte-Marie: "a mythical place for bélé, the equivalent of Cuban guaguancó". In the early 1960s, the tertiary economy developed to the detriment of agriculture. Yet rural life was where roots music emerged in Martinique and in Guadeloupe.

Record companies played a major part in the process of Latin versions sweeping across the islands – before reaching everywhere else. Producer Célini, boss of the great Aux Ondes label, and Marcel Mavounzy, both the head of Émeraude records - a firm which was founded in 1953 - as well as the brother of famous saxophonist Robert Mavounzy, were big names to bear in mind. Although there were many of them - all of whom are featured on this record - Henri Debs was definitely the major figure in the recording adventure. He proved to be so influential that he even got compared to Berry Gordy. In the mid 1950s, when he acquired his first Teppaz, he worked on his first compositions: a bolero and a chachacha. Then, he became the one man who made people discover Caribbean music, from calypso to merengue. He was among the first ones to rush out to San Juan, Puerto Rico, to buy records and distribute them through a store run by one of his brothers in Fort-de-France. He had members of the Fania All Star come and perform there, which he was madly proud about. He was also the first one to pay attention to Haitian music, such as compas direct and various other rhythms which would soon flood the market. As a result, many of the combos hitting his legendary studio would end up boosted by widespread "Afro-Latin" rhythms. However, he never denied his identity: gwo ka drums were given a major role, although they were instruments which had long been banned from the "official" music spheres. The present selection bears witness to such a creative swarming. Here are fourteen tracks of untimely yet unprecedented cross-fertilization: all types of music rooted in the Creole archipelago have found their way, whatsoever, to the tracklisting. Whether originating from the city or being more rural, they all go back to what Edouard Glissant, in an interview about the place of West Indian music in the Afro-American scope, called "the trace of singing, the one which got erased by slavery." "It is so in jazz, but also in reggae, calypso, biguine, salsa... This trace also manifests through the drums, whether Guadelupean, Dominican, Jamaican or Cuban... None of them being quite the same. They all point to the idea of a trace, seeking it out and connecting to each other through it. This is the hallmark of the African diaspora: its ability to create something new, in relation to itself, out of a trace. It may be the memory of a rhythm, the crafting of a drum, a means of expression which doesn't resort to an old language but to the modalities of it." The opening track features one of the emblematic orchestras of this aesthetic identity, criscrossing many music types from the archipelago. The 1974 Ray Barretto guajira – Ray Barretto was a major New York drummer influenced by Charlie Parker and Chano Pozzo – is magnificently performed by Malavoi, a legendary Fayolais group (i.e from Fort-de-France). Additionally, the compilation ends on a piece by Los Martiniqueños de Francisco. It symbolically closes the circle as it is a genuine potomitan of Martinique culture which also functions as a tireless campaigner for Afro-Caribbean music. Practicing the danmyé rounds (a kind of capoeiria) to the rhythm of the bèlè drum, it delivers a terrific Caterete, a kind of champeta of Afro- Colombian obedience which was originally composed by Colombian Fabián Ramón Veloz Fernández for the group Wgenda Kenya. The icing on the cake is Brazilian Marku Ribas, who found refuge in Martinique in the early 1970s, bringing his singing to the last trance-inducing track. These two "versions" convey the whole tone of a selection composed of rarities and classics of the tropicalized genre, swarming with tonic accents and convoluted rhythms. It is the sort of cocktail that the West Indians never failed to spice up with their own ingredients. For instance, the Los Caraïbes cover of Dónde, a famous Cuban theme composed by producer Ernesto Duarte Brito, has a typical violin and features renowned Martinique singer Joby Valente and his piquant voice.



The track used to be – or so we think – their only existing 45rpm. The meaningful Amor en chachachá by L'Ensemble Tropicana, a band which included Haitian musicians among whom was composer and leader Michel Desgrotte, also recalls how Latin music was pervasive in the tropics in the mid-1960s. They were the ones keeping people dancing at Le Cocoteraie in Guadelupe and La Bananeraie in Martinique. Around the same time, another "foreign" band, Congolese Freddy Mars N'Kounkou's Ryco Jazz, achieved some success on both islands by covering Latin jazz classics – such as their adaptation of Wachi Wara, a "soul sauce" by Dizzy Gillespie and Chano Pozo whose interweaving of strings and percussions can have anyone hit the dancefloor. How can you resist Dap Pinian indeed, a powerful guaguancó by Eugene Balthazar, performed by the Tropicana Orchestra and published by the Martinique-founded La Maison des Merengues? It also acts as a symbol of the maelstrom at work. Going by the name Paco et L'orchestre Cachunga, Roger Jaffory used to play guaguancó too: his Fania-inspired Oye mi consejo is one example of his style. Baila!!!!! Dancing was also one of the Kings' focus points. Oriza is a Puerto Rican bomba and a "classic" originally composed by Nuevayorquino trumpeter Ernie Agosto, which reserves major space for brasses, giving it a special sheen.

Emerging from the New York barrios crucible was also La Perfecta, a Martinique group originating from Trinidad, whose name directly references the totemic Eddie Palmieri figure as well as his own band, also called La Perfecta. Here they borrow Toumbadora from Colombian producer and composer Efraín Lancheros and interpret it by emphasizing percussions, which set fire to the track even more than the wind instruments. The same goes for Martinique's Super Jaguars, who use Tatalibaba – a composition by Cuban guitarist Florencio "Picolo" Santana which was made famous by Celia Cruz & La Sonora Matencera – as a pretext for sending their cadences into a frenzy. In a more typically salsa vein, the Super Combo, a famous Guadelupean orchestra from Pointe-Noire that was formed around the Desplan family and had Roger Plonquitte and Elie Bianay on board, adapt Serana, a theme by Roberto Angleró Pepín, a Puerto Rican composer, singer and musician also known for his song Soy Boricua. Here again, their vision comes close to surpassing the original. In the 1970s, L'Ensemble Abricot provided a handful of tracks of different syles, hence reaching the pinnacle of the art of achieving variety and giving pleasure. They played boleros, biguines, compas direct, guaguancó and even a good old boogaloo - the type they wanted to keep close to their hearts for ever, "pour toujours", as they sang along together in one of their songs. Léon Bertide's Martinican ensemble excelled at the boogaloo which had been composed by Puerto Rican saxophonist Hector Santos for the legendary El Gran Combo.



Three years later, in 1972, Henri Guédon, with the help of Paul Rosine on the vibraphone, tackled the Bilongo made famous by Eddie Palmieri. Such a classic!!!!! And so were the Aiglons, the band from Guadelupe: choosing to execute Pensando en tí, a composition by Dominican Aniceto Batista, on a cooler tempo than the original, they noticeably used a wonderfully (un)tuned keyboard in place of the accordion. On the high-value collectible single – the first one released by Les Aiglons under the Duli Disc label – there is a sticker classifying the track under the generic name "Afro". Now that is what we call a symbol. Jacques Denis

"Laurel Hell" ist ein Soundtrack zur Transformation. Eine Landkarte für den Ort, an dem Verletzlichkeit und Widerstandsfähigkeit, Trauer und Freude, Fehler und Transzendenz in unserer Menschlichkeit Platz finden und als würdig angesehen werden können - um letztendlich anerkannt und geliebt zu werden. "I accept it all," verspricht MITSKI. "I forgive it all." Auf "Laurel Hell" festigt MITSKI ihren Ruf als Künstlerin, die die Kraft besitzt, unsere wildesten und zwiespältigsten Erfahrungen in ein heilendes Elixier zu verwandeln. "I wrote what I needed to hear. As I've always done." Nach der Veröffentlichung von "Be The Cowboy", einem der meistgelobten Alben des Jahres 2018, das von Outlets wie Pitchfork (u.a.) zum Album des Jahres gekürt wurde, stieg MITSKI vom Kultliebling zum Indie-Star auf. Mit spürbaren Folgen: Die Schinderei des Tourlebens und die Fallstricke die mit der erhöhten Sichtbarkeit einhergingen, beeinflussten ihre Musik ebenso wie ihren Geist, die sich in der ersten Single "Working For The Knife" niederschlägt. Ein Song, wie ein Prüfstein für das Gesamtgefühl von "Laurel Hell": "I start the day lying and end with the truth / That I'm dying for the knife." "Be The Cowboy" wurde von weiblicher Stärke und Trotz angetrieben, lebte jedoch von seinem Spiel mit Masken. Wie der Berglorbeer bzw. die "laurel hell", nach dem das neue Album benannt ist, kann die öffentliche Wahrnehmung, wie das berauschende Prisma des Internets, eine verlockende Fassade bieten, hinter der sich eine tödliche Falle verbirgt. Die sich immer enger zieht, je mehr man sich anstrengt. "I got to a point, where I just knew that if I kept going this way, I would numb myself to completion." Erschöpft von diesem verzerrten Spiegel und unserer Sucht nach falschen Binaritäten, begann MITSKI, Songs zu schreiben, die die Masken abstreifen und die komplexen und oft widersprüchlichen Realitäten dahinter offenbaren. MITSKI dazu: "I needed love songs about real relationships that are not power struggles to be won or lost. I needed songs that could help me forgive both others and myself. I make mistakes all the time. I don't want to put on a front where I'm a role model, but I'm also not a bad person. I needed to create this space mostly for myself where I sat in that gray area." Die daraus entstanden Songs verkörpern genau diesen Raum. Wie die zweite Single des Albums, "The Only Heartbreaker", die gemeinsam mit Dan Wilson geschrieben wurde und der erste Song dieser Art in ihrer Diskografie ist. "The Only Heartbreaker" verbindet treibenden 80er-Pop mit einem trügerisch einfachen Text, dessen aufrichtiger Refrain ins Ironische kippt, sobald dieser "the person always messing up in the relationship, the designated Bad Guy who gets the blame," beschreibt und sich zugleich fragt, ob "the reason you're always the one making mistakes is because you're the only one trying." MITSKI schrieb viele Songs für "Laurel Hell" während und teilweise vor 2018. Das Album wurde allerdings erst im Mai 2021 final abgemischt. Es ist die längste Zeitspanne, die MITSKI jemals für ein Album gebraucht hat und für die Musikerin inmitten einer radikal veränderten Welt endete. MITSKI nahm "Laurel Hell" mit ihrem langjährigen Produzenten Patrick Hyland in der Zeit der Isolation während der Pandemie auf, als einige der Songs "slowly took on new forms and meanings, like seed to flower." Das Album als Ganzes entwickelte sich "to be more uptempo and dance-y. I needed to create something that was also a pep talk" erklärt MITSKI. Die Spannung, die zwischen ihren raffinierten, aber wehmütigen Texten und dem sprudelnden Pop-Sound der 1980er Jahre entsteht, ist eine dringend benötigte Infusion in Zeiten wie diesen und das Werk einer reifen wie unwiderstehlichen Künstlerin, die auch zu fröhlich ansteckenden Dance-Beats immer noch etwas Profundes beizutragen hat.

'it’s his loosest, dreamiest dispatch yet, an enveloping and atmospheric collection that constantly comes together and breaks apart.'

Maxo releases his new album Mars Is Electric. Earlier this week, Maxo released a third haunting video, directed by Vincent Haycock, from the visual world of ‘Mars’ for the title track. Maxo previewed the album with the release of singles “Human?” and “Donahoo’s Chicken” this spring, which arrived with equally raw, inventive, and unnerving music videos.

Mars Is Electric is Maxo’s first official release since he dropped two critically acclaimed albums in 2023 with Even God Has A Sense of Humor and Debbie’s Son. His fifth full-length album finds the Southern Californian artist self-aware and mature. Having lived the last decade of his musical life intentionally creating specific bodies of work rooted in imagery, observation, and capturing moments, Maxo spent this previous year freely creating without a specific plan, relieved from all obligations and restrictions.

“This is the first time that I really didn’t care, I didn’t approach things so seriously,” the artist shrugs off, meaning that without expectations or specific goals, his creativity flourished. This opening finds the artist having conversations he’s been avoiding, having lived silently in the pain of those topics for the past few years. Exploring uncomfortable themes about personal life, relationships, and family fractures, life before and after the loss of innocence, and an abundance of existential spirals.

The exploration was not only thematic but also musical in nature. During the creation process, Maxo was immersed in a wide array of music from past to present - France Joli, $amaad, Steve Spacek, Cherelle, DJ Quik, Lisha G - influences that seeped their way into these songs. The album opens in a loose, dreamlike state—experimental and searching, mirroring the emotional fog of someone looking for something real to hold onto. But as it progresses, so does Maxo’s energy as he fiercely rides and weaves on songs with a contagious confidence, producing some of his most kinetic and lyrically impressive music to date.

As the work and vision coalesced into a body of work, Maxo found that he was unlocking a creative language with his collaborators that felt wholly new - a new understanding of why and how he was making art for this world. What emerged from this year-long process was a new musical journey and a future where Maxo refuses to be another bad example of what could be, refusing to mind the blueprint set down. Maxo is the sole voice on the album featuring production by lastnamedavid, Quelle Chris, Baird, Groove, and more.

Listen to Mars Is Electric above, see full album details below, and stay tuned for more from Maxo very soon.

Limited 180g black vinyl (500 copies worldwide)
“Marcel Wave combine sharp-eyed Northern lyricism with DIY guitar-janglers rooted in a retro C86 aesthetic. Epic finale ‘Linoleum Floor’...is a gloriously bleak rumination on the horrors of enforced late-night hedonism worthy of prime Pulp” UNCUT
Marcel Wave write eulogies for tragic actresses, ancient riverbeds and concrete obscenity. Their inaugural sonic instalment ‘Something Looming’ is part trades club symphony, part itchy serenade, and part wistful lament. As their heady concoction of ‘Meades meets Pat-E-Smith meets Kirklees Borough Council’ gets prepped to be formally baptised on a dank stage near you, Upset the Rhythm and Feel It Records have dutifully stepped in to deliver its songbook to the masses on both sides of the pond.
Formed when Lindsay Corstorphine and Christopher Murphy of Sauna Youth and brethren Oliver and Patrick Fisher of Cold Pumas were summoned by northern ink-slinger Maike Hale-Jones, Marcel Wave’s debut offering is a walk through a smoke-filled pub with yellowing wallpaper and all eyes on you. It’s a chronicle of the death of the docklands, the decline of industry, of the high street, of civic pride, of civilisations, of hopes and dreams. As Hale-Jones delivers the bad news in her low, West Yorkshire brogue, Corstorphine adds the bells and whistles via the frantic pulsations of a wheezing Hohner organ in tandem with Fisher O’s rasping guitar. MW are completed by the throbbing basslines of Murphy and Fisher P’s fervent rhythms.
The title itself sets the tone for the listener. There’s a sense of foreboding in Hale-Jones’ lyrics which sit at the quintet’s core—elegiac, sardonic and piquant in equal measure. A mixture of narrative epilogues and inward paeans, her words weave tales across a broad thematic church. Crooked tales of urban renewal and the voices left behind are probed in ‘Barrow Boys’ and ‘Stop/Continue’ and are at the fore in ‘Where There’s Muck There’s Brass’ with its refrain lamenting ‘Concrete and slate shine in the rain, cities destroyed, nothing to gain’. In these lyrics, tower blocks loom over terraced houses with the same shadows that the Hollywood sign casts over Peg Entwistle before she takes her tragic leap. ‘Peg’ and ‘Elsie’ are both meditations on two different actresses with different fates crushed by the cut-throat trappings of showbusiness: ‘The mad hopes break, fragile as glass. She traded it all, for the cutting room floor.’ A snaking, existential dread also runs through the album, stated more obliquely in the otherwise poppier interludes of the title track ‘Something Looming’ and album opener ‘Bent Out of Shape’, and present too on the comparatively ramshackle ‘Discount Centre’, where Hale-Jones reports ‘On a mini bus on the outskirts of Enfield, I’m losing all of my spark’. On the album closing weeper ‘Linoleum Floor’, it is laid barer still—a keyboard-led reflection on the deflating nights out of our early-twenties.
Marcel Wave invites the listener to dance to society’s decline, and then to later weep into its lukewarm pint.

Scowl is a band that sounds exactly like their name implies. Venomous, fierce, antagonistic. A sneer not to be crossed. Over the last five years, the Santa Cruz, California, band has firmly planted their flag in the hardcore scene with their vicious sound and ripping live show, sharing stages around the world with Circle Jerks, Touché Amoré, and Limp Bizkit, and filling slots at prominent festivals like Coachella, Sick New World, and Reading and Leeds. But with their new album, Are We All Angels (Dead Oceans), Scowl is aiming to funnel all that aggression through a more expansive version of themselves.Much of Are We All Angels grapples with Scowl's newfound place in the hardcore scene, a community which has both embraced the band and made them something of a lightning rod over the past few years. Standout single "Not Hell, Not Heaven" outright rejects the narratives cast onto them by outsiders. "It's about feeling victimized and being a victim, but not wanting to identify with being a victim," explains vocalist Kat Moss. "It's trying to find grace in the fact that I have my power. I live in my reality. You have to deal with whatever you're dealing with, and it ain't working for me." The band breaks from a sense of disassociation to seek deeper connections on "Fantasy." "It's incredibly challenging to try to balance my love for the scene while also feeling, in some spaces, extremely alienated and hated," Moss says. "`Fantasy' is about feeling like I don't know how to connect with these people anymore, because I have shelled myself away so hard." The album ends in a philosophical place on the closing, titular track, "Are We All Angels," asking questions like, "Is this all there is?" and ultimately putting it on the listener to decide. "It's about the personal struggle between good and evil. It doesn't matter how `good' or `bad' you are, there are systems that will try to rewrite your narrative no matter what you actually do," explains Moss, noting that punctuation on "Are We All Angels" has been deliberately omitted in an attempt to leave the statement open-ended. Are We All Angels is the highly anticipated follow-up to Scowl's debut, 2021's How Flowers Grow, a 16-minute primal scream over punishing riffs. But amidst the pounding chaos, it was the record's sonic outlier, a cleaner interlude called "Seeds to Sow," that, true to its name, planted the seed for what was to come for the band. "It kind of laid out this destiny for us, and I feel like now we're fulfilling that," says drummer Cole Gilbert. The band continued to expand their sound on 2023's widely acclaimed Psychic Dance Routine EP, incorporating more pop hooks and favoring gentler singing over heavy screaming, paving the way for what would come next.Scowl's growth got a huge boost from producer Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight, Code Orange, Balance and Composure), who broadened the band's scope. "Will would say, `Everything you have here is correct, but it's in the wrong place,'" says Gilbert. Moss adds: "Will really helped restructure a lot of the material. Some songs he tore apart to make more space for the really good hooks and choruses." But even through this more eclectic approach, Scowl loses none of their edge, and still manages to convey the anger and frustration that lies underneath. They are deeply committed to carrying the ethos of punk and its sense of community. "Hardcore and punk have sculpted how we operate, what we want to do as a band, and how we participate," says guitarist Malachi Greene. "At our core, we are a punk and a hardcore band, regardless of how the song shifts and changes."

Leng Records proudly presents Everything You’re About to Hear Is True: Volume 1, a compilation carefully curated by Rotation Soundsystem. Brought together by Rotation founders Dean Meredith and Ben Shenton, alongside the Wrekin Havoc trio of Rob J, Stuart Robinson, and Rich Hall, this debut volume captures the collective’s shared vision – shaped by decades of crate-digging.

Founded in 2013, Rotation has grown from a modest gathering in Staffordshire into a thriving community of like-minded music lovers, attracting heads and partygoers from across the UK – and well beyond. What began as an intimate affair has evolved into a full-scale, three-day celebration, now held in a grand yurt and powered by a bespoke six-way sound system. The rig features four Klipschorns, two JBLs with twin 18” and 15” sub reinforcements, compression horns, and an Isonoe 420 mixer.

Meredith explains: “With the help of my brother, Martin, I’m constantly looking at ways to improve the setup. I love the way Larry Levan did that at The Paradise Garage. We have a few things that are custom-made. I want our system to be unique to us.”

According to regular attendee, DJ and writer Steve KIW: “In the right hands, the sound system at Rotation – very much Dean’s labour of love – is untouchable. The comparisons with Mancuso’s Loft come easily because they are deserved. There isn’t a bad spot in the yurt. Wherever you are, it sounds incredible.”

As the dancing continues through the weekend, the DJ line-up has grown to match the occasion. Guests and headliners have included a roll call of legendary selectors: Bill Brewster, Colleen “Cosmo” Murphy, Phil Mison, Nick The Record, Ruf Dug, Mark Seven, and The Idjut Boys — the latter playing a marathon 10-hour set in 2024. The parties have also featured live performances from Emperor Machine, Quinn Lamont Luke, Reuben Vaun Smith, and Orbs of Light.

Presented on gatefold double vinyl, this lovingly assembled collection is the result of decades spent digging through dusty crates, reflecting the selectors’ deep-rooted passion for uncovering rare gems and overlooked treasures. Decidedly European in spirit, the album brings together 14 rarities with standout selections from Belgium, Sweden, Italy, Germany, and France. The vast majority of tracks are true obscurities, and nearly every one is a mid-tempo bumper.

“This has been a long time coming – something we’ve always dreamed of doing. We’re incredibly thankful to Leng Records, who understand our vision and what we’re trying to build. This compilation pulls together some of our favourite tracks from over the years. It’s not just a playlist – it’s a journey, a window into the sound of Rotation,” says Meredith.

A deeply personal journey of an aspiring artist (Solene) navigating the harsh realities of Hollywood. An album that explores the emotional toll of being a hopeless romantic in a city full of predators and narcissists. A raw look at survival — and the trauma that follows. A narrative arc that takes the listener from LA to Las Vegas, only to find the same demons follow: addiction, vices, self-destruction, and the allure of illusion but ultimately setting on a journey of healing: picking oneself up, learning from pain, and choosing hope again and again. A love letter to Jazz, honoring Solene’s roots, with Hip Hop providing the fire and framework, produced by J. Rawls, to create something new: a genre-bending sound that’s soulful, futuristic, and fearless. Midnight Angel is not just an album — it’s a testimony of recovery, and of rebellion.

Wytch Hazel's stellar 2016 debut Prelude confirmed these Lancastrian apprentice wizards to be Britain's most promising new hard rock band. Two years on, that promise comes to abundant fruition on II: Sojourn, an album that moves Wytch Hazel on from the innocence and exuberance of the debut to a darker, more profound and complex place, carefully wrought into optimum shape by the band's singer, guitarist, songwriter and mastermind Colin Hendra. "I'm really into the idea of an album," notes Colin. "I don't do mix-tapes, I don't listen to singles, I'm interested in albums. I want to make a good, listenable, cohesive work, that is the whole thing." Asked what inspirations were brought to bear this time, Colin has good news, and even better taste: "I was listening to plenty of Judas Priest, Thin Lizzy and Wishbone Ash last year," remarks the frontman. "This seems to be more of a hard rock album, where the last one was more rock-folk. It's definitely more rock than folk!" The most crucial influence fully expresses itself via Les Paul guitars in sweet twin harmony through cranked Super Lead Marshalls - "Exactly the same type of amp that Thin Lizzy would have used," beams Colin - a benefit of working in James Atkinson's Hand Of Law Studio, a converted gaolhouse in Leeds. "We knew there would be a lot more great gear, more amps, more options," enthuses Colin of this productive new work environment. "We were more prepared, we planned better. I had a lot more vocals to record on this album, pretty much every song has at least three harmonies, but James is a really chilled out guy, he made it easy for us. I had a very clear idea of how I wanted each song to sound, I thought about every single aspect. I probably over-prepared for this album, and it paid off!" Wytch Hazel's proud, avowed Protestant Christianity continues to set them apart from the occult hocus-pocus of their peers, and the very title Sojourn has a Biblical inspiration: "It's used a lot in the Old Testament, people would travel somewhere to stay for a short period of time," explains Colin, comparing the idea to Wytch Hazel's development since Prelude. "We're going to reside here with this sound for a while, and the next album might not sound the same. Come and have a listen to this aspect of Wytch Hazel - it's a temporary stay. We'll be here for a while, then there will be something else. I'm always writing, it's a constant stream, but I'm always trying to raise the bar, because I don't want the next album to be not as good as the other ones!"

In echter Badflower-Manier kehren die Rocker aus Nashville zurück, um schwierige Themen mit ihrem neuen Album „No Place Like Home“ – dem Nachfolger ihres 2021er-Albums – erträglich zu machen. Frontmann Josh Katz nimmt sich die Zeit, alles richtig zu machen und führt uns durch persönliche Geschichten von Paranoia, Reue und sogar dem Verlust eines Haustiers, die dennoch universell nachvollziehbar und angenehm sind. Die charakteristische Fähigkeit der Band, schwierige Themen mit selbstironischer Entwaffnung zu überziehen, findet sich auch auf diesem Album wunderbar umgesetzt.

2025 Repress

Bar Part Time launches its record label with none other than Toronto UFO hunter, certified bad boy DJ, and good friend Cal-C. Cal comes correct with a ripper of a 4 track EP, Bath Bomb. A deep digger and wild style DJ in his own right, Cal brings you a grip of tracks that a tasteful selector can make use of throughout all points of a night time music party. Title track "Bath Bomb" is a blissed out, downtempo joyride that would make a perfect companion for either sunset or sunrise. "Morning Dew" evokes sounds of all your favorite early 90s Italian records, with a particularly euphoric crescendo. Hey man, did you say this guy was from Toronto or Torino? Either way, molto bene! As we move on, "Blurry Moon" is a slice of dancefloor perfection that sounds like something Jose Padilla would've made if he were from San Pedro instead of San Antonio. And lastly, the aptly named "Wine 69" (nice) is an M1 organ cruiser that's practically begging to be heard in front of an azure sea in balmy temps. Vamos a la playa!

Johnny and Robert began work on the album in the first weeks of the pandemic, wanting to make music that sang of those dangerous, disorienting spring days; when birdsong was brighter –– and the sense of bewilderment more powerful –– than any of us had known before. They drew inspiration in part from The Epic of Gilgamesh, the oldest surviving work of world literature; an epic poem from Ancient Mesopotamia that contains the earliest version of the Flood Myth. To Johnny and Robert, Gilgamesh resonated eerily with the present moment –– and it catalysed their song-writing. For Gilgamesh is a story of friendship, love, loss, grief, bad governance and good dreaming; of natural disaster and environmental crisis. It also contains the first recorded act of human destruction of the natural world: when Gilgamesh and Enkidu travel to the Sacred Cedar Wood, slay the guardian spirit of the forest, and cut down the trees with their axes, thereby bringing catastrophe upon themselves. Johnny and Robert wrote the album between March 2020 and February 2021, during a year in which we all wandered unsure of our path, lost in the cedar wood. The songs were composed in large part as a correspondence, through a back-and-forth of notebook pages, voice-recordings and WhatsApp-messages, at a time when lockdowns made meeting in person impossible. The first eight songs were recorded in an off-grid cottage deep in a Hampshire forest, with the sounds of chainsaws felling trees drifting in through the windows along with the birdsong. The result is an album at once urgent and ancient, which fuses poetry, landscape, myth and music into something unique. These are songs that ring with hope, love and sadness –– and one need not know anything about The Epic of Gilgamesh to be touched by them.

Weisheit, Disziplin und unbändige Kreativität prägen den smarten Electro-Soul von Ellen Beth Abdi. Die renommierte Livemusikerin wird mit ihrem Debütalbum auf dem eigenen Label zur überragenden Solovirtuosin. Poppige Synth-Sounds, sich langsam steigernde Backgroundklänge und feinfühlige Worte von kraftvoller und persönlicher Bedeutung: Manchesters am schlechtesten gehütetes, genreübergreifendes Multiinstrumentalisten-Geheimnis steigt aus dem Schatten ins Licht. Vor fast einem Jahrzehnt wurde ihr aussergewöhnliches Talent entdeckt, was zahlreiche Support-Slots für u.a. Lady Blackbird, Courtney Pine und Angelique Kidjo einleitete. Diese Live-Erfahrung fliesst nun in die Konzerte zur Feier des lang erwarteten Soloreleases von Ellen Beth Abdi ein.

- "Something of a masterclass." - Louder Than War

- "Sharp lyrical insight with a distinctive sonic identity." – Backseat Mafia

This re-issue of World Machine, Level 42's 1985 breakthrough album, is presented with scrupulous attention to the detail of the original UK first pressings and available in audiophile 180g pink vinyl in celebration of the album's 40th anniversary.

By 1985, Level 42 – bassist and vocalist Mark King, keyboard player/vocalist Mike Lindup, guitarist Boon Gould, drummer/lyricist Phil Gould and studio-only keyboard player Wally Badarou – were on the verge of breaking big - After a string of well-received albums, such as their pioneering jazz-funk 1981 debut or the Ken-Scott produced True Colours, the group decided, rather than work up material through jamming, to sit and write some songs for their forthcoming album.

Producing themselves, with assistance from engineer Julian Mendelsohn, this new approach meant that World Machine was the quantum commercial leap they craved. And most of that was due to the album's towering lead single, the pop-funk of "Something About You". With its expensive video seeing the group styled for the 80s, it set radio alight, becoming a Top 10 hit and charting around the world, importantly in the US. Following up with the tender ballad "Leaving Me Now" and then the bouncy funk of the album's title track as singles, the album's success was guaranteed; it reached No 3 in the UK charts and spent an amazing 72 weeks on the listings.

What happens when Bristol's noisiest export BENZO QUEEN decides to fight themselves? You get this split record - a double-headed beast of post-hardcore fury and experimental noise. Side A delivers "NO GODS NO MASTERS NO SLEEVES" - BENZO QUEEN's sophomore album captured raw and bleeding after months of destroying stages with Mclusky and Whores. Twelve tracks of controlled chaos recorded live on New Year's Eve in Bristol - because why not start the year by breaking something? Side B introduces BENZO AND THE QUEENS - this iteration emerged like a bad rash at Bristol's annual Dean Lane Hardcore Funday. Nobody asked for more, so naturally they recorded an EP. Think of it as BENZO QUEEN's evil twin, if evil twins were actually more evil than their evil siblings.

The idea of an acoustic album had long been dismissed by the artist himself. "I"m not a guitarist; I use the guitar to compose", he used to say, reluctant to expose this level of vulnerability. However, in 2023, during the Kyotophonie Festival in Japan, organized by photographer Lucille Reyboz and encouraged by producer Laurent Bizot (No Format!), something changed. Surrounded by the spirituality of a Zen temple and supported by his loyal musicians - Badié Tounkara on ngoni and Mamadou Koné on percussion - Salif agreed to bare himself like never before. The title So Kono, meaning "in the room" in Mandinka, reflects both the simplicity and depth of this album. Recorded in the intimacy of his hotel room, So Kono captures the very essence of Salif Keita: a powerful voice, shaped by trials and travels, elevated by minimalist arrangements. Blending reimagined classics and new compositions, this album resonates as a sincere and timeless work, reaffirming why Salif Keita is considered one of the greatest living singers, across all cultures and continents.

»Even The Horizon Knows Its Bounds« explores sound’s relationship with architecture, inspired by the Naala Badu building at the Art Gallery of NSW. Created from sound prompts responded to by artists like Jim O’Rourke and claire rousay, the work reflects on space, collaboration, and the fluid nature of sonic environments.

I like to think that sound haunts architecture.

It’s one of the truly magical interactions afforded by sound’s immateriality. It’s also something that has captivated us from the earliest times. It’s not difficult to imagine the exhilaration of our early ancestors calling to one another in the dark cathedral like caves which held wonder, and security, for them.

Today the ways in which sound occupies space, the so-called liquid architecture, holds just as much wonder, albeit one that is often dominated by functionality and form. Beyond those constraints however, how sound operates in the material world is something that exists at the fundament of our understanding of music, and moreover within the broad church we know as the canon of sound arts.

Even The Horizon Knows Its Bounds is a record born out of these relations. In a direct sense, the record is the product of an invitation by curator Jonathan Wilson to create a sound environment, reflecting on the Naala Badu building at the Art Gallery Of NSW. The building’s name, which translates from the Gadigal language to ‘seeing water’, was opened in 2022 and this piece was offered as an atmospheric tint to visitors walking through the building throughout the year following its opening.

It’s also a record born out of a recognition for the porousness sound affords, especially as a device for collaborative endeavour. This composition is one born out of generosity and acoustic solidarity. Even The Horizon Knows Its Bounds is comprised not just of my sounds, but also that of an incredible array of artists who have also operated in the orbit of the Art Gallery Of NSW. The players include Amby Downs, Chris Abrahams, Chuck Johnson, Claire Rousay, Dean Hurley, Jim O’Rourke, JW Paton, Madeleine Cocolas, Norman Westberg, Stephen Vitiello and Vanessa Tomlinson.

The piece was constructed around two long form sound prompts that each musician responded and contributed to. These materials there when digested into the final piece you hear. The work could not exist without the substantial offerings these artists made, and I am immensely grateful to each of them.

I’ll finish with a little note that appears on the LP itself.

Place is an evolving, subjective experience of space. Spaces hold the opportunity for place, which we create moment to moment, shaped by our ways of sense-making.

Whilst the architectural and material features of space might remain somewhat constant, the people, objects, atmospheres, and encounters that fill them are forever collapsing into memory.

Lawrence English
Performed by Amby Downs, Chris Abrahams, Chuck Johnson, Claire Rousay, Dean Hurley, Jim O’Rourke, JW Paton, Madeleine Cocolas, Norman Westberg, Stephen Vitiello, Vanessa Tomlinson

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.

Wenn sie nicht gerade aus dem Fenster auf die stürmische Skyline von Manhattan blickte, verbrachte Margo Guryan ihre dreißiger Jahre damit, Ohrwürmer für Leute wie Bobbie Gentry, Jackie DeShannon, Claudine Longet, Carmen McCrae und Julie London bei CBS's April Blackwood Music zu schreiben. Guryans zeitlose Gedanken über Liebe, Sonntage, Erdbeben, Weinen und Jungs namens Timothy haben unzählige Filme und virale Videos unterlegt. Meisterwerke aus früheren Zeiten. 28 ihrer Songwriting-Demos aus den 60er und 70er Jahren sind auf dieser 25-jährigen Jubiläums-Doppelalbum-Edition.

Scowl is a band that sounds exactly like their name implies. Venomous, fierce, antagonistic. A sneer not to be crossed. Over the last five years, the Santa Cruz, California, band has firmly planted their flag in the hardcore scene with their vicious sound and ripping live show, sharing stages around the world with Circle Jerks, Touché Amoré, and Limp Bizkit, and filling slots at prominent festivals like Coachella, Sick New World, and Reading and Leeds. But with their new album, Are We All Angels (Dead Oceans), Scowl is aiming to funnel all that aggression through a more expansive version of themselves. Much of Are We All Angels grapples with Scowl’s newfound place in the hardcore scene, a community which has both embraced the band and made them something of a lightning rod over the past few years. Standout single “Not Hell, Not Heaven” outright rejects the narratives cast onto them by outsiders. “It’s about feeling victimized and being a victim, but not wanting to identify with being a victim,” explains vocalist Kat Moss. “It’s trying to find grace in the fact that I have my power. I live in my reality. You have to deal with whatever you're dealing with, and it ain’t working for me.” The band breaks from a sense of disassociation to seek deeper connections on “Fantasy.” “It’s incredibly challenging to try to balance my love for the scene while also feeling, in some spaces, extremely alienated and hated,” Moss says. “‘Fantasy’ is about feeling like I don't know how to connect with these people anymore, because I have shelled myself away so hard.” The album ends in a philosophical place on the closing, titular track, “Are We All Angels,” asking questions like, “Is this all there is?” and ultimately putting it on the listener to decide. “It’s about the personal struggle between good and evil. It doesn’t matter how ‘good’ or ‘bad’ you are, there are systems that will try to rewrite your narrative no matter what you actually do,” explains Moss, noting that punctuation on “Are We All Angels” has been deliberately omitted in an attempt to leave the statement open-ended. Are We All Angels is the highly anticipated follow-up to Scowl’s debut, 2021’s How Flowers Grow, a 16-minute primal scream over punishing riffs. But amidst the pounding chaos, it was the record’s sonic outlier, a cleaner interlude called “Seeds to Sow,” that, true to its name, planted the seed for what was to come for the band. “It kind of laid out this destiny for us, and I feel like now we’re fulfilling that,” says drummer Cole Gilbert. The band continued to expand their sound on 2023’s widely acclaimed Psychic Dance Routine EP, incorporating more pop hooks and favoring gentler singing over heavy screaming, paving the way for what would come next. Scowl’s growth got a huge boost from producer Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight, Code Orange, Balance and Composure), who broadened the band’s scope. “Will would say, ‘Everything you have here is correct, but it’s in the wrong place,’” says Gilbert. Moss adds: “Will really helped restructure a lot of the material. Some songs he tore apart to make more space for the really good hooks and choruses.” But even through this more eclectic approach, Scowl loses none of their edge, and still manages to convey the anger and frustration that lies underneath. They are deeply committed to carrying the ethos of punk and its sense of community. “Hardcore and punk have sculpted how we operate, what we want to do as a band, and how we participate,” says guitarist Malachi Greene. “At our core, we are a punk and a hardcore band, regardless of how the song shifts and changes.

Scowl is a band that sounds exactly like their name implies. Venomous, fierce, antagonistic. A sneer not to be crossed. Over the last five years, the Santa Cruz, California, band has firmly planted their flag in the hardcore scene with their vicious sound and ripping live show, sharing stages around the world with Circle Jerks, Touché Amoré, and Limp Bizkit, and filling slots at prominent festivals like Coachella, Sick New World, and Reading and Leeds. But with their new album, Are We All Angels (Dead Oceans), Scowl is aiming to funnel all that aggression through a more expansive version of themselves. Much of Are We All Angels grapples with Scowl’s newfound place in the hardcore scene, a community which has both embraced the band and made them something of a lightning rod over the past few years. Standout single “Not Hell, Not Heaven” outright rejects the narratives cast onto them by outsiders. “It’s about feeling victimized and being a victim, but not wanting to identify with being a victim,” explains vocalist Kat Moss. “It’s trying to find grace in the fact that I have my power. I live in my reality. You have to deal with whatever you're dealing with, and it ain’t working for me.” The band breaks from a sense of disassociation to seek deeper connections on “Fantasy.” “It’s incredibly challenging to try to balance my love for the scene while also feeling, in some spaces, extremely alienated and hated,” Moss says. “‘Fantasy’ is about feeling like I don't know how to connect with these people anymore, because I have shelled myself away so hard.” The album ends in a philosophical place on the closing, titular track, “Are We All Angels,” asking questions like, “Is this all there is?” and ultimately putting it on the listener to decide. “It’s about the personal struggle between good and evil. It doesn’t matter how ‘good’ or ‘bad’ you are, there are systems that will try to rewrite your narrative no matter what you actually do,” explains Moss, noting that punctuation on “Are We All Angels” has been deliberately omitted in an attempt to leave the statement open-ended. Are We All Angels is the highly anticipated follow-up to Scowl’s debut, 2021’s How Flowers Grow, a 16-minute primal scream over punishing riffs. But amidst the pounding chaos, it was the record’s sonic outlier, a cleaner interlude called “Seeds to Sow,” that, true to its name, planted the seed for what was to come for the band. “It kind of laid out this destiny for us, and I feel like now we’re fulfilling that,” says drummer Cole Gilbert. The band continued to expand their sound on 2023’s widely acclaimed Psychic Dance Routine EP, incorporating more pop hooks and favoring gentler singing over heavy screaming, paving the way for what would come next. Scowl’s growth got a huge boost from producer Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight, Code Orange, Balance and Composure), who broadened the band’s scope. “Will would say, ‘Everything you have here is correct, but it’s in the wrong place,’” says Gilbert. Moss adds: “Will really helped restructure a lot of the material. Some songs he tore apart to make more space for the really good hooks and choruses.” But even through this more eclectic approach, Scowl loses none of their edge, and still manages to convey the anger and frustration that lies underneath. They are deeply committed to carrying the ethos of punk and its sense of community. “Hardcore and punk have sculpted how we operate, what we want to do as a band, and how we participate,” says guitarist Malachi Greene. “At our core, we are a punk and a hardcore band, regardless of how the song shifts and changes.

Bells Are Ringing is the debut EP by Melbourne Funk 10 piece outfit Mondo Freaks, released following on from the single of the same name and a thrilling Dub Version by Harvey Sutherland.

Mondo Freaks formed originally as a concept band, equipped with an ever-evolving setlist of late '70s and early '80s Funk classics, their journey has seen them invited to be the backing band for the Australian tours of such luminaries as Leroy Burgess (the producer and artist behind Boogie and Disco favourites Black Ivory, Logg, Aleem, Inner Life, and Universal Robot Band) and the iconic Evelyn "Champagne" King. Having performed at the iconic local Meredith Music, Golden Plains and Panama festivals and at numerous residencies Mondo Freaks have carved their mark, returning now to ring in a new era of groove-soaked original music.

The band revolves around the rhythm section of in demand session bassist Luke Hodgson and drummer Graeme Pogson (GL, The Bamboos). Gathering some of the finest musicians from Melbourne's legendary Soul scene, they're accompanied by five incredible vocalists including Jade McRae, Susie Goble, Francisco Tavares, Aaron Mendoza and Jason Heerah.

New tracks on the EP include "Find A Way", which hits straight away with a percussion and synth hook, blending Jade McCrae's vocal delivery with an uplifting message about finding hope in trying times.

Also included is the Harvey Sutherland Vocal Mix of "Bells Are Ringing", which keeps much of the spaced out Larry Levan, Shep Pettibone re-edit approach that was on his much lauded Dub Version.

It's easy to see why his remix skills have been in demand and utilised by Disclosure, Khruangbin, BadBadNotGood, Tycho, Boston Bun, Lucius, Jungle Giants, Genesis Owusu and Franc Moody. On his own releases Sutherland has collaborated with the likes of DāM FunK and Nubya Garcia.Tightening its hold on the dancefloor, the beefed-up rhythm section rolls deep into the nocturnal hours, as mesmerising reverb loops elevate the track skywards.

Luke and Graeme got to know Harvey Sutherland when they played together backing Leroy Burgesson his Australian tour in 2018. After that Luke and Graeme played in Harvey's live band across the world and then contributed his 'BOY' album. "We were thrilled when he turned in his Dub of "Bells"", Luke said. "A kind of 'what would Shep Pettibone or Larry Levan do?' moment. It's like being transported to Compass Point Studios in '81!"

Mondo Freaks make Funk inspired by late '70s / early '80s era as it gently moved beyond Disco. That era has continued to inspire many artists, but what sets Mondo Freaks apart is their live instrumentation plus a focus on vocals and great songwriting, creating something beyond simply instrumental grooves.In the studio and in their full live lineup Mondo Freaks are a formidable ensemble who take their sound beyond mere homage, without a hint of irony or any knowing winks. Mondo Freaks simply breathe life into a timeless sound and make it feel more relevant than ever.

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.

Wellen.Brecher is an electronic band with punk attitude, which has been transcending and subverting electronic music genre boundaries for the past 6 years. After the release of Tierisch Verboten, which can confidently be described as the "soundtrack to inclusion", and a strong second release on our label Killekill, LIEBESERKLARUNG is the band's first full length album. Including a series of first-class remixes.
Refreshingly, the entire release is not based on the corny bad trance traditions loved by contemporary Buffalo shoe wearers. Instead - intentionally or not - it follows a series of almost historical musical quotations from over the last 40 years with each track on the album feeling like a new adventure.
The album opens with TUROFFNER, which has a kind of an Afrika Bambaataa intro, before turning into a wonderfully tresoresque/Detroit techno beast, always commented on or counteracted by the vocals - just like (almost) all the tracks on the album: a new round, a new crazy ride - bumper car lyrics on a powerful stomping reduction of a 90s track.
From here we leap backwards in time into grey West Berlin of the 80s with ROBOT GIRL which shifts and drifts like a bug in buttermilk somewhere between Grauzone and Alan Vega. Next track KAPUTT kicks in with a bang and smashes everything in the best EBM tradition - this could have been played in a techno club in Frankfurt, both in terms of lyrics and sound. Line up for Elektropogo please!
After all the stomping Wellen.Brecher bring in something completely different with VOICE OF A GENERATION: dramatic vocals over delicate breaks which gradually dissolve into arpeggios on a high-quality trance carpet. Challenge complete!
JULIA takes us back to the late eighties in the dark but fun Belgian-Detroit early trance with new beat appeal. TUNNEL TRANCE would have been a good fit for dancing around the Berlin Siegessaule in, let's say, 1998. Relentless 4/4 beats with a hook-line on speed surrounded by acidophilic bows and, on top, the vocal commentary arriving as if from the man behind the glass of the Ferris wheel. In
your mind's eye, you can see fur-shoed gym ravers in bright neon jumping through the Tiergarten like rubber balls. The cover version of the classic TECHNO DJ is an hommage to good old punk - torn apart and reassembled in true Wellen.Brecher style. The closer TIERISCH VERBOTEN brings all the emotion rushing back: fat beats beckon slowly from afar, before the curtain comes up for an epic synth finale.
The harsh, albeit true words really drive you in. It's not necessary, but perhaps it's good to point it out: Inclusion can easily be experienced with music like this. Fuck AfD!

Wellen.Brecher is an electronic band with punk attitude, which has been transcending and subverting electronic music genre boundaries for the past 6 years. After the release of Tierisch Verboten, which can confidently be described as the "soundtrack to inclusion", and a strong second release on our label Killekill, LIEBESERKLARUNG is the band's first full length album. Including a series of first-class remixes.
Refreshingly, the entire release is not based on the corny bad trance traditions loved by contemporary Buffalo shoe wearers. Instead - intentionally or not - it follows a series of almost historical musical quotations from over the last 40 years with each track on the album feeling like a new adventure.
The album opens with TUROFFNER, which has a kind of an Afrika Bambaataa intro, before turning into a wonderfully tresoresque/Detroit techno beast, always commented on or counteracted by the vocals - just like (almost) all the tracks on the album: a new round, a new crazy ride - bumper car lyrics on a powerful stomping reduction of a 90s track.
From here we leap backwards in time into grey West Berlin of the 80s with ROBOT GIRL which shifts and drifts like a bug in buttermilk somewhere between Grauzone and Alan Vega. Next track KAPUTT kicks in with a bang and smashes everything in the best EBM tradition - this could have been played in a techno club in Frankfurt, both in terms of lyrics and sound. Line up for Elektropogo please!
After all the stomping Wellen.Brecher bring in something completely different with VOICE OF A GENERATION: dramatic vocals over delicate breaks which gradually dissolve into arpeggios on a high-quality trance carpet. Challenge complete!
JULIA takes us back to the late eighties in the dark but fun Belgian-Detroit early trance with new beat appeal. TUNNEL TRANCE would have been a good fit for dancing around the Berlin Siegessaule in, let's say, 1998. Relentless 4/4 beats with a hook-line on speed surrounded by acidophilic bows and, on top, the vocal commentary arriving as if from the man behind the glass of the Ferris wheel. In
your mind's eye, you can see fur-shoed gym ravers in bright neon jumping through the Tiergarten like rubber balls. The cover version of the classic TECHNO DJ is an hommage to good old punk - torn apart and reassembled in true Wellen.Brecher style. The closer TIERISCH VERBOTEN brings all the emotion rushing back: fat beats beckon slowly from afar, before the curtain comes up for an epic synth finale.
The harsh, albeit true words really drive you in. It's not necessary, but perhaps it's good to point it out: Inclusion can easily be experienced with music like this. Fuck AfD!

Get ready to jump as Bogwoppa returns with 'SPIKE UP EP' from Secret Squirrel! Packed with throwback breaks and a badboy basslines, This exuberant release channels classic UK vibes with a modern edge into 4 bombastic tracks guaranteed to shake you out of your tree.

Don't miss out - Bogwoppa is back, and it's time to move!

Los Angeles-based experimental jazz collective High Pulp will release
their new album Days in the Desert in peak sweltering summer heat on
July 28
The titular desert is both literal and metaphorical: it's the Mojave Desert that the
band powers through on their many DIY tours around the country, and the band's
founder / drummer Bobby Granfelt perceives the desert as "a spiritual quest" as
well. Amid the trials of our present moment, you must look within, relying solely
on your own instincts to keep moving forward. "You're in the desert and it's a long,
lonesome process and a lot of times you have to check yourself to ask 'Is this
right? Is this good? Is it too out?'" he says.
High Pulp's Days in the Desert makes this vision come true, finding the West
Coast band fully emerging into their own sound. Rooted in the jazz tradition while
also smitten by indie- rock and electronic music, High Pulp was willing to grab
from all these sounds at once to pursue something truly their own. Their third fulllength album (following 2022's promising Anti- debut Pursuit of Ends), Days in the
Desert reveals the band realizing their strengths, deepening their own bonds, and
pushing all these skills into a thrilling new sonic vista all but unimaginable just a
few years before

2025 Cream VINYL REPRESS.

When Alex Stephens (A.K.A. Strawberry Guy) self-released his debut single last year, he was merely doing it out of a love for songwriting. What he wasn't expecting was a million Youtube streams and an avid fanbase. Now, the South-Wales born, Liverpool-based songwriter is ready to release a full EP of his compelling, lushly produced dream-pop.

Born outside Cardiff, Strawberry Guy moved to Liverpool to study music and grow as a writer. 'I knew that it was a very artistic city with all it’s creative history, it seemed like the perfect place to move to.' he says. Whether it's playing keyboards in The Orielles or just being part of the city's growing musical scene, Alex plays music for the love of music, something that heavily translates into his adept songwriting.


The intense emotional feel of the tracks he writes is down to Alex's songwriting process, recording the entire EP in his bedroom & producing it himself. 'I feel that it’s important to me to only write/record when you’re channeling some kind of emotion, so I would only work on it when I was in the right mood to do so.' He answers when asked about the isolated environment into which he put himself for the recording process.

Much of the inspiration for Alex's work comes from experience rather than other artists. 'When something significant happens to me, all I want to do is make music.' In terms of musical touchstones however, there's the obvious dream-pop contemporaries such as Beach House and Weyes Blood, coupled with great songwriters of old like Nat King Cole or Harry Nillson. Sonically, a blend of orchestral & synthesized melodies layer together to act as a platform for his heartfelt lyrics.

Opener 'Without You' is a fine example of this, a break-up song of sorts, with an infectious keyboard melody and swirling synths over which Alex contemplates whether it's even possible to find lasting love. The lyrics 'Do you really have to talk about the things you do with him? Do you really have to talk about your love?' hit particularly heavily.

Contrast this with the final track, the titular 'Taking My Time To Be', a powerful song of self-discovery. Beginning with downtempo piano and drums, the song breaks out into a saxophone and synth solo that wouldn't go amiss on a Badalamenti soundtrack. 'The song is about me learning to be comfortable with myself, but then wondering if I'll be accepted for being myself' Alex imparts. It's a fitting closer to a EP driven by emotion and experience.

Back in December 2016, Jeshi fell asleep whilst driving home from a party at 5am, and he crashed into a park car, only to be woken up by the airbag exploding in his face. This is the inspiration for album two. The new album is a statement of waking up and levelling up from the last period of his life. This is a new era, and full of energy.

SHORT BIOG

Jeshi doesn't run away from fire; he runs with it. The East London artist is on a quest to feel alive in every sense. To him, feeling alive means being present in each experience, no matter how challenging. For Jeshi - who has spent the last few years establishing himself as one of the most exciting voices of his generation - this is what life and art are all about. Chaos, then, is not something to shy away from, but where great ideas are born.
Jeshi's electrifying second album, AIRBAG WOKE ME UP is a collection of moment-capturing songs built to ignite reactions and start conversations. His scene-stealing jaunts to stages worldwide clearly influence its live-wire sound, as Jeshi and his cohorts smash through moods and tempos like kids let loose on funfair dodgems. "I want to make things that have intent and feel like statements," Jeshi declares. His versatile voice is the conductive thread that pulls everything together. "On Universal Credit, my voice was used in one way, whereas on this it's used in ten ways," he notes.
AIRBAG WOKE ME UP is an exploration into what happens when you emerge from tough times, and how they encourage you to view the world a little differently. It's bolder in ambition and built from renewed energy. Chaotic, but in the very best way. "In my head, this is the real arrival chapter," states Jeshi. "The 'I am here, I've arrived' moment."

War Head Constriction, a trio that defined an uncompromising afro psych-rock sound, began by playing shows that combined dark proto-metal influences from Black Sabbath and Deep Purple with afro-rhythmic elements. Their raw energy caught the attention of Afrodisia, a progressive record label, which signed them to release a single in 1973: "Graceful Bird" b/w "Shower of Stone." Unfortunately, the record was too experimental for mainstream audiences and quickly faded, leading to the band's breakup. Despite this, they played their biggest show opening for Fela & the Afrika 70 at the National Stadium in Lagos before disbanding. However, the members quickly moved on, continuing to form new groups.

Amenechi recalls jamming with Soga Benson, his cousin Skid, and Ben Bruce at St. Gregory’s, where they wrote and performed together. Benson, who had previously been in rival groups, became close with Amenechi once he joined Greg’s. Benson, a talented guitarist, joined Ofege for their second and third albums in 1975 and 1977. Despite this, his main group, Grotto, had yet to record. That changed when EMI Records, the leading afro-rock label, took interest in Grotto in 1977.

Odion Iruoje, A&R manager at EMI Nigeria, recalls his first encounter with Grotto, noting their cocky attitude and raw material. He sought to help them find an authentic sound, avoiding the typical influences of British rock or groups like Ofege. Iruoje was passionate about youth bands, seeing them as a fresh opportunity to experiment and create something unique. Despite skepticism from EMI Nigeria about the youth market, Iruoje felt confident that Grotto’s originality would shine through.

While she was waiting for her last album 'Pripyat' to be released, Catalan composer and producer Marina Herlop was restless. She was concerned about her (by then) uncertain music career, and felt emotionally unmoored. "Some days I used to sit on the balcony of my flat to catch some sun," she explains, "I would close my eyes and start visualizing myself as a gardener, pulling out purple weeds from the soil, every bad memory or emotion I wanted to expulse being one of the plants." As the days dragged on, the fantasy deepened, and Herlop discovered that parts of the garden was withering; the energy she had been putting into the non-musical side of her life had seeped into her creative pasture and poisoned it. She knew what she needed to do to overcome the blight: plant some seeds and tend to her art to help it blossom and bloom once again. 'Nekkuja' is a place for Herlop's warmest, sweetest sentiments to rise to the surface and crack through the topsoil. She describes the record as a way for her to seek and affirm inner light, and it's undoubtedly her brightest, poppiest statement to date. The forward-thinking, experimental touches that nourished 'Pripyat' are still present, but blessed with a level of positivity that's rare to find in a scene so entranced by darkness and melancholy. Skittering fragments of ornate acoustic instrumentation provide a serene welcome to 'Busa', punctuated by precise electronic processes that shuttle the sound towards abstraction and fantasy. Herlop's voice grows over the tangle of sounds from a childish giggle into a layered, matted mantra, sounding passionate, hopeful and full of energy. The vitality spills over into 'Cosset', where she wraps powerful motifs around ricocheting beats and dramatic piano rolls. Herlop's garden opens up dramatically on 'Karada' when bucolic field recordings crack like sunlight over harp plucks and willowy vocals. Her voice seems to bend around the whooshing streams and chittering of birds as if she's singing to the manicured land itself - a utopian paradise that Herlop employs as a metaphor for the creative process. In contrast to the view that an artist is an isolated genius or an idol to be worshipped, Herlop believes that the garden helps us see the process as closer to devotion or perseverance. A gardener brings order to the wild chaos of the outdoors, collaborating with nature to arrange something vibrant and enduring. Blending familiar sounds with fanciful concepts, Herlop traces an imaginary garden, imploring us to wander and wonder. And by the album's billowing final track 'Babel', it's flowered into a flush of pruned vocal phrases and delicately groomed orchestral rushes, painted in orange, green, blue and red.

Mount Jacinto is the creative vision of Costa Rican artist Sonya Carmona, formerly a member of Colornoise and Las Robertas. Inspired by the majestic Mount San Jacinto in Palm Springs and the expansive landscapes of Northern California, Sonya sought to embody a sense of freedom and openness in her new musical project.

The band lineup includes Gini Jungi of Annie Taylor on guitar, drummer Adrian Oesch, and a touch of Latin American flair with Peruvian Joel Morales on bass and Mexican Yan-Cey on synthesizer.

In their music, chamber music elements intertwine with gentle bass lines reminiscent of Air’s Moon Safari and melodic compositions rooted in raw alternative rock. Their debut EP, Outward Signs, released in March 2023, explores modern pop-rock psychedelia with a groovy touch of twang.

The album was recorded with JooJoo Ashworth from Froth and mixed by Alex Newport (Bloc Party etc.).
The title track, Silver Lining, is a standout on the album, showcasing the evolution of Mount Jacinto's sound over recent years. Sonya explains:
"This song is my favorite at the moment from the album. I think it kind of represents it well and reflects that there is always a 'Silver Lining' in everything, where something good can come from a difficult or bad situation. It’s very exciting to play it live and marks the evolution of our sound through this last year. It has its own character and creates its own sonic universe. It’s a homage to the synth wave era, a mix between Depeche Mode, Eurythmics, and Lebanon Hanover."

The debut album Silver Lining is more than a collection of songs—it’s a deeply personal journey through love, loss, and self-discovery. Created during a period of transformation in Sonya Carmona's life, it captures raw emotions and the resilience required to find one’s true self. Tracks like Forest delve into the path to self-acceptance and the importance of confronting inner struggles, whileThe Reason explores the inner dialogues we have during pivotal moments. The album blends heartfelt, intimate lyrics with lush, soulful soundscapes.
Musically, Silver Lining combines classic 60s and 70s influences with a modern indie vibe. It reflects the profound changes Carmona has experienced, offering listeners a moving musical journey.

"_Syd Barrett fronting Queens Of The Stone Age- surefooted, inventive and buzzing with surprises." - The Guardian "A refreshingly bold alt-rock sound." Alfitude NJ White - aka WHITEY - explodes out of the shadows with the announcement of his highly anticipated double LP MENTAL RADIO, out on 3rd October 2024. Pulling in influences from across decades of sound and putting it through the Whitey blender to create something musically fresh, MENTAL RADIO is an album that in turn is furious, raw, amused, politically razor sharp and poignant... a satirical take on 21st Century life, a musical pop art collage. As an individual, Whitey prefers to speak via his work, and has eluded all interviews for well over a decade - leading one journalist to describe him as 'the musical equivalent of Bigfoot'. Despite this elusive stance, his music continues to rack up many millions of plays and draw fans from all ages across the globe. Across a string of acclaimed albums, Whitey's music has made its mark, from rock'n'roll clubs to electronic dance floors, fashion catwalks to movie soundtracks, television to computer games, from Breaking Bad and the Sopranos to Grand Theft Auto. Whitey has built a strange home in the shadows between mainstream entertainment and the vanishing underground, an outsider who celebrates his outsider ethos in his work- and yet whose music is embraced by both popular and alternative culture. Whitey is a prominent spokesperson for independent music - his viral letter about 'fair fees for artists' was shared 500,000+ times; and made Newsweek, The Times, BBC Worldwide and the front editorial of Music Week. Whitey's back catalogue has previously received praise from the likes of The Independent, The Guardian, Record Collector, Uncut and Rock Sound to name a few. Available as a Double Vinyl LP, CD and cassette through NO! LABEL, published globally by Mute Song and repped for live by William Morris Entertainment- this is set to be a benchmark album of 2024. Housed in a Gatefold Sleeve (Gloss Finish plus Silver Foil Trim) Including two Printed Inner Sleeves (Gloss Finish).

Horrible Occurrences is the title of the new Advance Base album, and there is truth in advertising. In these songs_all centered around a fictional town called Richmond and featuring an interlinked cast of characters_you will hear stories of death and disappearance, climactic confrontations and unsolved mysteries. "Richmond is just this place where all the bad memories live," Owen Ashworth explains, and nearly 30 years into his songwriting career, none of his records have packed quite the emotional intensity of this one. And yet something alchemical happens in the telling of these tales. Like a masterful short story collection, Horrible Occurrences is inspiring and alive, idiosyncratic and electric, pulling you closer with each word. In the six years since his last full-length collection of originals, 2018's Animal Companionship, Ashworth gathered ideas from performing live and traveling around the country, returning to cities that he once called home and revisiting old ghosts, memories, and fragments of unfinished ideas. Blending truth and fiction into a dreamlike composite, the songs convey the winding path our memory takes as the years go by, giving voice to a subconscious that is still unpacking old memories for new wisdom. Drawing inspiration from the otherworldly loneliness depicted on '80s masterpieces like Arthur Russell's World of Echo and Bruce Springsteen's Nebraska, the music never crowds Ashworth's detailed storytelling but it also never feels auxiliary. These are beautiful songs, but they stick with you for their ability to strike dissonant, unforgettable emotional chords. It is this pervasive empathy in Ashworth's songwriting_along with his writerly gift for clear settings and complex characters_that has made him a guiding light for so many independent artists. The things that happen throughout Horrible Occurrences are what we tend to call "unspeakable"_events that draw gut-level responses just from acknowledging that they could happen. But part of the triumph of the record is how simply and generously Ashworth finds the language to share them. For the characters in these songs who make it out okay, these are the types of memories they will be tossing and turning their whole lives, waiting for quiet moments to confide them among the people they trust. For the rest of us, they are signs of life along the highway on a dark, snowy night: reminders that, as isolated as we may feel, we are not alone on the road.