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"After more than 20 years, Band Of Brothers is still considered one of HBO's most important series. Produced by Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks, the series has won major awards such as the Golden Globe for Best Miniseries and the Emmy Award for Outstanding Miniseries. Band Of Brothers is a war drama miniseries based on historian Stephen E. Ambrose's 1992 non-fiction same titled book. It follows the story of Easy Company of the U.S. Army 101st Airborne Division and their mission in World War II Europe, from Operation Overlord to V-J Day. The score, composed by the late Michael Kamen, is credited as one of the essential elements in creating the realistic atmosphere of the series. Kamen was best known for scoring movies such as Die Hard, Lethal Weapon and X-Men, and received an Academy Award nomination for both Don Juan DeMarco and Robin Hood: Prince Of Thieves. Revisit the Band Of Brothers score with this deluxe reissue on white coloured vinyl, available as a limited edition of 1500 individually numbered copies. The 2LP is housed in a sleeve finished with linen laminate and includes a 4-page booklet with a large cast picture on the inside."

Just Like You is the follow up to Falling In Reverse"s 2013 release Fashionably Late. The album debuted at #2 on the Billboard Top Hard Rock Albums chart, #4 on the Modern Rock Albums chart, and #3 on the Top Independent Albums chart. Falling In Reverse"s first album, The Drug in Me Is You debuted in the Billboard Top 20 in 2011. In 2012, Alternative Press gave Falling In Reverse the title of Artist of the Year while Revolver named Ronnie Radke one of the 100 Greatest Living Rockstars. Additionally, Falling In Reverse/frontman Radke have been on numerous magazine covers worldwide, including Alternative Press, Las Vegas Weekly, Rocksound, Hysteria, and Kerrang!. In 2014, Kerrang! named Ronnie one of the 50 Greatest Living Rockstars in the World, in the company of Lemmy, Slash, Steven Tyler, and Ozzy Osbourne. Reissued on Clear with Neon Pink Splatter vinyl to celebrate the 10th anniversary of it"s release.

Repress!

Echospace Detroit is the label launched by Rod Modell (Deepchord) and Soultek's Steven Hitchell, two leading lights of the minimal dub techno scene. And as with anything Deepchord, the entire release has an air of mystery to it. Previously, as a near-mythical vinyl pressing with minimal packaging and restricted pressings, everything about Vantage Isle was geared toward the underground, or 'those who know.' However, there's nothing but love of craft driving these grooves, and now a lot more people will finally be able to hear this absolutely brilliant collection of spacial dub wonder on CD. Vantage Isle Sessions consists of a whopping 13 takes of the title track, reworked by Modell and Hitchell in various guises (cv313, Deepchord, Echospace, Spacecho), as well as a guest spot (and first ever remix) from Gerard Hanson (Convextion). Across their 13 versions, Modell and Hitchell manage to take the Deepchord template (analog synths, deep bass, gently throbbing beats, bursts of static and noise, and deep, deep chords) into a surprising variety of directions, akin to looking at the same giant glacier from a helicopter from every angle possible: some are beatless and undulating, some are pulsing and dynamic, some are looking up from under the ice and some are towering overhead. The aforementioned Convextion version is revelatory. It's built on cascading and echoing pieces of the original that are layered like shifting sands, for a distinctly dark and shimmering journey to the bottom of the frozen ocean and back. It's remarkable enough to get all these takes on one basic template to sound somewhat different, given that the source material is really just a skeletal array of sound sheets. Vantage Isle Sessions is for anyone looking for the logical successors to the Basic Channel throne, or just looking for something mellow for those steamy late summer nights. A stone-cold classic of the genre. Don't miss it." -Todd Hutlock, Stylus Magazine/Beatz by the Pound

"Steeped in mystery, Detroit musicians Rod Modell and Mike Schommer (aka Deepchord) are legendary for their hard to find twelve-inch dub techno releases. Their sound is heavily influenced by Berlin dub techno producers like Maurizio, Basic Channel, Chain Reaction, Rhythm & Sound, Blue Train and Pole. While the German sound often has a futuristic metallic edge, Deepchord are known more for the rust and grease, which is part and parcel of those metal parts. Static, analog sounds, deep bass thumps and, of course, deep chords blend in a timeless minimal manner. However, the real gems on this disc are the drifty ambient cuts devoid of beats. This is an excellent album that is on par with the classics from a decade ago!" -Exclaim


"In terms of ambient dub, if Basic Channel is the Father (the source, remote and inaccessible and very powerful) and Pole is the Son (dazzling but ultimately stranded halfway between man and the divine), than Rod Modell’s Deepchord and his Echospace label he run with Steve Hitchell is definitely the Holy Spirit." -Popmatters


"Deepchord’s dub-techno stealthily peels away melody, leaving a bare chassis of beats to ghost-ride down Woodward Avenue. Vantage Isle Sessions, which collects remixes of a 2002 Detroit Electronic Music Festival performance, finds the duo swerving through empty, neon-smeared streets, and recalls Berlin’s Chain Reaction label, minus the anemic minimalism." -XLR8R

"The album scales a magnificent peak in “Spacecho Dub II - Extended Mix” when smeary chords ricochet over a massively deep, bass-heavy pulse, and Hanson's light-speed missile of vaporous propulsion (“Convextion Remix”) is beautiful too.
Long may they run." -Textura

‘Vantage Isle’ is a tremendous achievement that will most likely be held up as a high water mark of the genre for years to come." -Resident Advisor

"My favorite mix is by Convextion (his first remix for another artist). Reedy, distant synth tones sound like a science fiction soundtrack overheard rooms away. An undercurrent of echoes, many difficult to describe, drift in a sonic syrup." -Gridface

"Modell’s music always seems to be in this suspended animation, adrift and afloat in a majestic emptiness." -Dusted Mag

CREDITS:
Written & Produced by Deepchord. Redesigned and Reshaped by Convextion (Gerard Hanson) cv313 (Stephen Hitchell) echospace / spacecho (Rod Modell + Stephen Hitchell)
Additional Mastering, Mixing and Engineering by Ron Murphy @ NSC Mastering, Detroit, USA. Side E/F Remastering and Lacquer cutting by Dietrich @ Complete, NYC, USA. (2018)

Es fragt, was es bedeutet, ein Leben zu führen: Wie entscheiden wir, welche Richtung wir einschlagen? Wie bleiben wir dort? Und was passiert, wenn uns der Boden unter den Füßen weggezogen wird? Wieder einmal arbeitet sie mit ihrem Partner und Kollegen Sam Evian in ihrem Heimstudio Flying Cloud zusammen. Hannah Cohens viertes Album „Earthstar Mountain“ ist ein Andenken an Cohens Zeit in den Catskills, entstanden im Zeitraum 2020–2024, als verschwommene, schimmernde Erinnerungen scharf werden und eine Collage aus Echos und akustischen Souvenirs entstehen.

Featuring Mit Beiträgen von Sufjan Stevens, Clairo, Sean Mullins, Liam Kazar, Oliver Hill und anderen ist Earthstar Mountain ein Liebesbrief an die Catskills und an die Vernetzung aller Dinge: an ihre Vergangenheit, Gegenwart, Zukunft und ihr alternatives Selbst, an ihre Freunde – hier und verschwunden – und an den Berg, der durch sie hindurch blickt Fenster.

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.

Bon Iver, Bon Iver is JustinVernon returning to former haunts with a new spirit. The reprises are there - solitude, quietude, hope and desperation compressed - but always a rhythm arises, a pulse vivified by gratitude and grace notes. The winter, the legend, has faded to just that, and this is the new momentary present. "Bon Iver is often equated with just me," says Vernon, "but you are who surrounds you, and for Bon Iver, Bon Iver I wanted to invite those voices as musical catalysts." Thus on the track "Beth/Rest" and throughout the album, we hear the pedal steel of Greg Leisz (LucindaWilliams, Bill Frisell), the uniquely layered low end of Colin Stetson's (TomWaits, Arcade Fire) saxophones, the riffing of Mike Lewis' (Happy Apple, Andrew Bird) altos and tenors, and the lush horns of C.J. Camerieri (RufusWainwright, Sufjan Stevens). Bon Iver regulars Sean Carey, Mike Noyce and Matt McCaughan contributed vocals, drums and production, Rob Moose (Antony and the Johnsons, The National) helped with arranging and added strings, and fellow members of Volcano Choir, Jim Schoenecker and Tom Wincek provided processing. Bon Iver, Bon Iver was recorded and mixed over the course of three years

Roi is the new album from Sultan Stevenson, one of the most compelling voices emerging on the UK and European jazz scenes.Known for his ability to seamlessly merge narrative and accessibility, Stevenson’s music captures listeners both within and outsidethe jazz community. Drawing deep inspiration from legends like McCoy Tyner, Herbie Hancock, Kenny Kirkland, and Geri Allen,Stevenson’s compositions are an exploration of faith, identity, and the complexities of the human experience. His signature style,rooted in quartal harmony, vamps, pedal points, and modality, is elevated by his natural storytelling ability.Stevenson’s sound is unmistakably inclusive, with a humble approach that prioritises dramatic interplay within his trio over overlycomplex musical ideas. His music is captivating and approachable, reflecting his relationship with the Lord and his culturalheritage. Stevenson’s method of creating compositions, often starting with a central motif and building around contrasting melodicideas, highlights his deep understanding of contrast and narrative in music, resulting in compositions that resonate with a widerange of listeners.As a performer, Stevenson is quickly becoming a thrilling force in jazz, translating heritage and spirituality into an evolving andrelevant sound. With El Roi, he continues the journey he began with his debut album Faithful One, which saw each track serve aunique purpose within a larger conceptual narrative. Stevenson’s keen attention to musician selection, including his regularbandmates Jacob Gryn and Joel Waters, alongside collaborations with figures like Denys Baptiste, speaks to his commitment toboth personal and professional growth. His music is not only a reflection of his influences but also of his vision for what modernjazz can communicate to the world today.

In 1991 Coil released the third of their early classic full-length albums “Love’s Secret Domain”, seemingly casting aside the gloom
and funereal beauty of its predecessors in favour of a painstakingly multi-layered hallucinogenic electronic beast, which unlike
some of their fellow ex-industrial contemporaries’ releases of the time wasn’t an attempt at easy accessibility or (the-godsforbid) danceability, but a vibrating psychedelic masterpiece unrivalled in their discography and still a landmark album.
To mark its 30 year anniversary Infinite Fog are beyond proud to present an expanded, fully remastered re-release of this fan
favourite available for the first time ever in its entirety on vinyl with 10 rare and mostly unreleased tracks and alternative
versions from the period added as a bonus to a luxurious 3LP/2CD set.
Love’s Secret Domain contains among its many highlights the Lynchian William Blake tribute of its title track and the
intoxicating single “Windowpane”, original versions of the later Coil live staple “Teenage Lightning” and the majestically warped
classicisms of “Chaostrophy”. Marc Almond guests on the typhonian “Titan Arch” and This Heat’s Charles Hayward provides
some amazing drum stylings.
This album is Coil pushing their sound ideas and probably their sanity to their very limits. Beyond the iconic Steven Stapleton
cover art here reproduced in unseen definition the doors of perception still open wide for both long-term Coil aficionados and
new-comers to this supremely innovative release to explore unknown depths. The long-overdue re-release illustrates how far
ahead of the curve Coil were with the sounds on this album, which still sounds as fresh and mind-blowing as it did back in the
early 90s.

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.

Here is an expanded edition of one of Nurse With Wound's most intense and unique albums, so much so that for long-time fans, it was a strange, chaotic lounge oddity upon its release. For the first time, all four audio sides are complete (originally, there were only three sides).

To top it off, there is a stunning new cover by the great and talented Babs Santini, who is none other than Steven Stapleton using his artist pseudonym, continuing in the luxurious tradition of the "silver collection" at Rotorelief Records.

The album Huffin' Rag Blues by Nurse With Wound is unique in the NWW discography. Stapleton teams up with composer, producer, and multi-instrumentalist Andrew Liles, his co-creator of musical terrorism, to tackle the genres of exotica and lounge, crushed into a joyful cacophonic mess. Longtime NWW friends Colin Potter and Matt Waldron also join in.

Blues, jazz, cop movies, bachelor pads, and TV show music are treated, discarded, then chopped up and recycled into a mix that contains tons of space but also overflows with dynamic tension, hilarious asides, sexually suggestive poetry, and a certain rock & roll abandon. It's a very surprising album for long-time fans, like a soundtrack that could accompany a David Lynch film.

It's brilliant, exasperating, hilarious, and dark enough to earn a spot in any collection that appreciates a bit of weirdness and eccentricity.

Huffin' Rag Blues incorporates more familiar musical elements—including live-played instruments, rhythm, and vocals—than nearly any other Nurse With Wound album to date. As always, the album's main focus is to create environments for lucid dreaming rather than music per se.

On their most explicit venture into music for moving image, Miles Whittaker & Sean Canty rudely fracture piano and vocal recordings by US filmmaker-musician Kristen Pilon in a short-circuiting of style and pattern.

Shredding up definitions of electro-acoustic opera, spectralist chamber musique and concrète rave, Demdike hit square between the eyes/ears of film music vernaculars on a startlingly strong addition to their unique oeuvre, now in its 16th year of elusive psychoacoustic strafes and jump-cuts across putative borders. The 13-part, hour-long album dislodges source material made for the experimental film ‘To Cut and Shoot’, by Kristen Pilon, an NYC-based musician and filmmaker, to farther refract the film’s themes of serendipity and the nature of ghosts and dreams with a flickering flux of sound-imagery and aleatoric weirdness appropriate to her original meditations, but also freely messing with their forms.

Situated just a few miles north of Houston, Cut and Shoot is a relatively insignificant Texas town with an unforgettably bizarre name. Pilon grew up not far from Cut and Shoot, and it's there where she ran into 65-year-old machinist and motorcyclist Robert Lewis Stevenson, better known as Bobbo, who's pictured on the album's cover. The meeting occurred a few months after Pilon recorded her improvisations on piano, strings and voice in the basement cellar of the Halle in Manchester, with Bobbo providing the necessary narrative heft the trio needed to inspire an experimental film and its accompanying soundtrack.

Responding to Kristen’s initial piano and operatic vocal recordings, Demdike return a volley of discrete parts tilting from typically cantankerous mayhem to quieter, more clandestine buzzes sliced with crazed interstices of the imagination, all marbled with the plasmic contrails of the paranormal which have long been peculiar to their work. With a poetic flair reflecting Pilon’s own phrasing and melding of mediums, Demdike unfold and expand her melodic fragments into temporal mazes, variously resembling the most messed-up ends of The Caretaker in ‘A Grave Fall (January)’, but also liable to skew into buckshot club turbulence, as with ‘Belly Up’, or the bittersweet bruk contortions of ‘Twist’.

The storyline wickedly frays and loops into itself with a non-linearity that recalls the mid-to-latter stages of Lynch’s ‘Mulholland Drive’ or waking from a sweaty fever dream only to pitch back into its thorny bush of ghosts, often within the space of one track. It’s testament to the ever-tighter binds of Demdike’s symbiotic vision that the results nevertheless hold a thread of logic that weaves in everything from their Jon Collin jams to reams of mixes and Gruppo edits with an unresolved, open-ended quality that still keeps us on our toes, perhaps more so than ever here.

LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY has had more than its share of out-of-nowhere bands following from the second big bang that was punk rock. The Babylon Dance Band, Circle X, Your Food, Squirrel Bait, Bastro...these are but some of the exceptional music acts originating in Louisville after 1977. Now it"s time for the great secret of the Louisville first-wave punk scene to be revealed: The Endtables. The Endtables were the crazed brainchild of guitarist Alex Durig, brooding chess-master of the amplified freak-out, and singer Steve Rigot, a flamboyant transgender giant from the shores of southern Indiana who reinvented himself as a Warhol Factory superstar. Like Scarlett O"Hara wrapped in a green velvet curtain, Rigot crafted his own glamorous reality from what was available in the blasted cultural landscape of 1970"s Kentucky. Gold spray paint, duct tape, Ace bandages ... a spectacularly other trailblazer who caused folks to toss their received ideas of beauty and go with the new thing instead. The band first took the stage in late 1978 and was finished by the summer of 1980. In the fall of 1979 they recorded six tracks at a Louisville studio, four of which came out on a 7" EP on their own Tuesday Records. The two remaining tracks ("White Glove Test" and "Trick or Treat") were issued as a single on Self Destruct records in 1991. Both records are among the rarest of any American punk release - more sought after than seen, passed on disintegrating cassette tapes and shouted over upon impact. The music of The Endtables is another chapter in pure American weirdness, as jaw-locking today as the day it was recorded. The scent of modern can be detected in Steve Rigot"s remote vocalese, set against Alex Durig"s guitar outbursts, while drummer Steven Jan Humphrey and bassist Albert Durig (age fifteen!) supply frenzied rhythm. The band rocks its fevered vision to a ferocious degree while Rigot grimly rhymes the truths that remained locked out of the public"s pop tastes in "79-"80. Thirty years of rap and roll later, The Endtables seem inevitable.

AM Higgins, the project of American singer-songwriter Annie Meredith Higgins, based in France, blends mystical poetry with influences from Kate Bush, Low, and Fiona Apple. Her new album, The Dream Trap, explores dreamy and deep atmospheres, fusing folk, electronics, and sonic experimentation. Recorded in a barn and a mill converted into a studio, the album captures contrasting dynamics, with arrangements combining organs, drums, synthesizers, and silences. Annie's warm, intimate, yet cosmic voice is at the heart of the project, supported by both organic and electronic instruments. For this album, she reunites with collaborator Casey Foubert (regular contributor to Sufjan Stevens, among others) for production and mixing, with contributions from sound creator Tana Barbier. The Dream Trap, set for release in February 2025 on the We Are Unique! label, promises to be a significant step forward in their musical evolution, both introspective and expansive.

I Was A King. For nearly 20 years they have been a warm beating heart in Norwegian music scene, reliable suppliers of perfect pop and sonic happiness. Led by Anne Lise Frøkedal and Frode Strømstad, they have come with infectious melodic strength and rich harmonies. The formula has been a classic four-piece approach to the music. Their music has been widely acclaimed by critics in Norway, as well as in the US and UK. While perpetuating the legacy of icons like The Byrds, Big Star, Teenage Fanclub and even My Bloody Valentine, they keep playing by their own rules on each release, combining music history with a modern perspective.

"Best Wishes - A Shortcut to I Was a King" collects highlights from their rich catalog, on wich they have collaborated with international figures such as Sufjan Stevens, Robyn Hitchcock and Norman Blake (Teenage Fanclub) to name a few.

After a five-year absence following 2020’s creative elevator-punk explosion Roundelay, Ashley Eriksson, Eli Moore, and Andrew Dorsett of LAKE return with Bucolic Gone, a mature and polished album that is at once groovy, upbeat, meditative, and slow-rolled. As LAKE’s 10th official full-length release, Bucolic Gone is a cohesive work of sophisti-pop that embodies an adult, contemporary sound—intimate, serene, mournful, and hopeful in equal measure.

The multi-instrumental trio is joined by an impressive lineup of collaborators, including guest vocalists Nicholas Krgovich on “Glad Rags” and Daisy Jaberi of Suver with original lyrics on “Love Is Deeper.” Frequent contributors also make appearances: Karl Blau delivers standout shredding on “Ferrari,” Mark Buzard of The Format provides guitar textures across multiple tracks, and New York jazz musician Eric Vanderbuilt-Matthews contributes intricate woodwind arrangements. Steve Moore (Earth, Sunn O))),

First Aid Kit, Sufjan Stevens) adds trombone to “Love Is Deeper,” while legendary Canadian singer Jenn Grant lends her unique vocals to the outro of “Ferrari.” Recorded at The Anacortes Unknown Recording Studio by longtime collaborator Nicholas Wilbur and in the band’s own home studios, Bucolic Gone marks another step forward for Eli Moore in production and mixing. His meticulous attention to arrangement and balance—alongside an arsenal of distorted “whatchamacallits”—creates a rich, layered sound. Celebrating 20 years of ethereal, yearning pop songs, LAKE’s latest effort is their most produced but also most intimate album. Now signed to Don Giovanni Records, the band is ready to continue delivering jams. While the world has changed since LAKE’s last official release, Bucolic Gone shows that time has been on their side.

BENMONT TENCHs neues Album The Melancholy Season ist sein zweites Soloalbum nach vier Jahrzehnten an den Keyboards bei Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. The Melancholy Season erschien bei Dark
Horse Records und ist Tenchs wahrer Einstand als Singer-Songwriter, ohne Kompromisse oder Zweifel. Es
wurde von Jonathan Wilson produziert – einem gefeierten Singer-Songwriter und Tourgitarristen von Roger
Waters, der an karrierebestimmenden Alben für Dawes, Father John Misty und Margo Price gearbeitet hat.
Die Kern-Studioband des Albums bestand unter anderem aus Taylor Goldsmith von Dawes an der Gitarre,
Sebastian Steinberg von Soul Coughing am Bass und Wilson am Schlagzeug, mit Beiträgen von Jenny O.
und Sara Watkins. Tench „könnte nicht glücklicher sein“, ein Zuhause für The Melancholy Season bei
Dark Horse Records gefunden zu haben, und sagt, es sei „ein Label, das mich emotional berührt. Und sie
haben die Musik von George, Cat Stevens, Joe Strummer – das sind Autoren. In dieser Gesellschaft zu
sein, ist perfekt.“