Suche:still going

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.

Googling “paradise house”, the first results to pop up are an endless list of European b&b’s with whitewashed lime façades, all of them promising “…an unmatched travel experience a few steps from the sea”. Next, a little further down, are the institutional websites of a few select semi-luxury retirement homes (no photos shown, but lots of stock images of smiling nurses with reassuring looks). To find the “paradise house” we’re after, we have to scroll even further down. Much further down.

It feels like yesterday, and at the same time it seems like a million years ago. The Eighties had just ended, and it was still unclear what to expect from the Nineties. Mobile phones that were not the size of a briefcase and did not cost as much as a car? A frightening economic crisis? The guitar-rock revival?! Certainly, the best place to observe that moment of transition was the dancefloor. Truly epochal transformations were happening there. From America, within a short distance one from the other, two revolutionary new musical styles had arrived: the first one sounded a bit like an “on a budget” version of the best Seventies disco-music – Philly sound made with a set of piano-bar keyboards! – the other was even more sparse, futuristic and extraterrestrial. It was a music with a quite distinct “physical” component, which at the same time, to be fully grasped, seemed to call for the knotty theories of certain French post-modern philosophers: Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, Paul Virilio... Both those genres – we would learn shortly after – were born in the black communities of Chicago and Detroit, although listening to those vinyl 12” (often wrapped in generic white covers, and with little indication in the label) you could not easily guess whether behind them there was a black boy from somewhere in the Usa, or a girl from Berlin, or a pale kid from a Cornish coastal town.

Quickly, similar sounds began to show up from all corners of Europe. A thousand variations of the same intuition: leaner, less lean, happier, slightly less intoxicated, more broken, slower, faster, much faster... Boom! From the dancefloors – the London ones at least, whose chronicles we eagerly read every month in the pages of The Face and i-D – came tales of a new generation of clubbers who had completely stopped “dressing up” to go dancing; of hot tempered hooligans bursting into tears and hugging everyone under the strobe lights as the notes of Strings of Life rose up through the fumes of dry ice (certain “smiling” pills were also involved, sure). At this point, however, we must move on to Switzerland.

In Switzerland, in the quiet and diligent town of Lugano, between the 1980s and 1990s there was a club called “Morandi”. Its hot night was on Wednesdays, when the audience also came from Milan, Como, Varese and Zurich. Legend goes that, one night, none less than Prince and Sheila E were spotted hiding among the sofas, on a day-off of the Italian dates of the Nude Tour… The Wednesday resident and superstar was an Italian dj with an exotic name: Don Carlos. The soundtrack he devised was a mixture of Chicago, Detroit, the most progressive R&B and certain forgotten classics of old disco music: practically, what the Paradise Garage in New York might have sounded like had it not closed in 1987. In between, Don Carlos also managed to squeeze in some tracks he had worked on in his studio on Lago Maggiore. One in particular: a track that was rather slow compared to the BPM in fashion at the time, but which was a perfect bridge between house and R&B. The title was Alone: Don Carlos would explain years later that it had to be intended both in the English meaning of “by itself” and like the Italian word meaning “halo”. That wasn’t the only double entendre about the song, anyway. Its own very deep nature was, indeed, double. On the one hand, Alone was built around an angelic keyboard pattern and a romantic piano riff that took you straight to heaven; on the other, it showcased enough electronic squelches (plus a sax part that sounded like it had been dissolved by acid rain) to pigeonhole the tune into the “junk modernity” section, aka the hallmark of all the most innovative sounds of the time: music that sounded like it was hand-crafted from the scraps of glittering overground pop.

No one knows who was the first to call it “paradise house”, nor when it happened. Alternative definitions on the same topic one happened to hear included “ambient house”, “dream house”, “Mediterranean progressive”… but of course none were as good (and alluring) as “paradise house”. What is certain is that such inclination for sounds that were in equal measure angelic and neurotic, romantic and unaffective, quickly became the trademark of the second generation of Italian house. Music that seemed shyly equidistant from all the rhythmic and electronic revolutions that had happened up to that moment (“Music perfectly adept at going nowhere slowly” as noted by English journalist Craig McLean in a legendary field report for Blah Blah Blah magazine). Music that to a inattentive ear might have sounded as anonymous as a snapshot of a random group of passers-by at 10AM in the centre of any major city, but perfectly described the (slow) awakening in the real world after the universal love binge of the so-called Second Summer of Love.

For a brief but unforgettable season, in Italy “paradise house” was the official soundtrack of interminable weekends spent inside the car, darting from one club to another, cutting the peninsula from North to centre, from East to West coast in pursuit of the latest after-hours disco, trading kilometres per hour with beats per minute: practically, a new New Year’s Eve every Friday and Saturday night. This too was no small transformation, as well as a shock for an adult Italy that was encountering for the first time – thanks to its sons and daughters – the wild side of industrial modernity. The clubbers of the so-called “fuoriorario” scene were the balls gone mad in the pinball machine most feared by newspapers, magazines and TV pundits. What they did each and every weekend, apart from going crazy to the sound of the current white labels, was linking distant geographical points and non-places (thank you Marc Augé!) – old dance halls, farmhouses and business centres – transformed for one night into house music heaven. As Marco D’Eramo wrote in his 1995 essay on Chicago, Il maiale e il grattacielo: “Four-wheeled capitalism distorts our age-old image of the city, it allows the suburbs to be connected to each other, whereas before they were connected only by the centre (…) It makes possible a metropolitan area without a metropolis, without a city centre, without downtown. The periphery is no longer a periphery of any centre, but is self-centred”.

“Paradise house” perfectly understood all of this and turned it into a sort of cyber-blues that didn’t even need words, and unexpectedly brought back a drop of melancholic (post?)-humanity within a world that by then – as we would wholly realise in the decades to come – was fully inhuman and heartless. A world where we were all alone, and surrounded by a sinister yellowish halo, like a neon at the end of its life cycle. But, for one night at least, happy."

"Daft Punk brought me here, he brought me Daft Punk"

Just knowing that this slice of hyper-rare disco dynamite was crafted by Thomas Bangalter's dad should be enough for you to buy this on sight, if only to understand a little bit more about Thomas and Daft Punk's background. But this is so much more than a Daft Punk family curio.

Born Bangalter in 1947, Daniel Vangarde is a French songwriter and producer. In 1975, Vangarde founded his label, Zagora Records, who we have worked closely with on this lovingly curated reissue. For years, Vangarde wrote and produced songs that remained underground, under several pseudonyms and for various artists. Dubbed "the secret father of French disco" this here groove-fulled firecracker - using his Who’s Who moniker - is for disco-funk, library music and cosmic beat lovers.

The intense, evocative opener "Palace Palace" positively throbs with raw energy and sounds, honestly, like something off Daft Punk's Discovery. The title refers to the fashionable Parisian club Le Palace, essentially the Parisian Studio 54. "I’d been to a nightclub in New York, a big ring where people were roller skating with a whistle. The atmosphere was great. The music was all disco. I made this song when I came back. A vocoder transformed my voice. Back then, it wasn’t used much." The track rides a killer groove and is deceptively complex, with layers of fantastic percussion and ace synth work going on all over it. Listed to on repeat, it's brilliance is simply undeniable.

The louche, slo-mo heater "Hypno Dance" is, in Be With's opinion, *the* deadly dancefloor track. A svelte slice of ace space disco again geared towards the roller skating dance mania of the day. So deep, so disco, so instrumental. An unreal track and, as the title hints at, totally hypnotic. The side closes with the somewhat throwaway "Popeden" - it's a jaunty number that you're probably best skipping, in all honesty. Have we ever steered you wrong?

The B-Side opens with the frankly enormous "Roll Jacky Roll" is another thrilling, high class roller-rink jam with beautiful melodies that's adored the world over. The wonky, abstract "Ad Libitum 80" is a super dope, swirling, staccato electro-funk bounce which sounds light years ahead of its time. This might be the real lowkey sleeper gem on this record. CHECK! This remarkable LP rounds out with the huge "Dancin' Machine". It's got sleek drums that emit an absolutely ace swagger and elements of Italo synth funk feels. A relaxed, slow rhythm throughout ensures you can't help but get your funk on when this crashes soundsystems. We'll leave the final word on this to Daniel: "It amuses me to think that my son Thomas was influenced by "Dancin’ Machine" for "Around The World", he says. Both songs being based on an hypnotic repetitive refrain. Both songs being, of course, timeless pieces of Euro genius.

Who's Who really is a fantastic late-70s-early 80s roller disco-funk essential. The audio has been carefully remastered by Be With regular Simon Francis, ensuring it sounds better than ever. Cicely Balston's expert skills have made sure nothing is lost in the cut whilst the records have been pressed to the highest possible standard at Record Industry in Holland.

When it came to the sleeve for this we were presented with an unusual problem: we usually have to rely on an original sleeve as the starting point for the restoration, but instead we were able to scan the original 35mm transparency of the front cover photo. The problem is that with a modern scanner the results were far sharper than when they made the original sleeve. We’ve played around with the exposure and the colour grading but we’re sorry to say that our version of the front cover still ended up looking too good! Don’t hate us.

13 years in the making, Mr Bongo proudly presents a new compilation of beloved Brazilian disco and boogie finds from the legendary London disco connoisseurs, Horse Meat Disco. A labour of love, it showcases a tantalising cross-section of disco, funk, boogie, samba and MPB, from past to present. Unearthing tracks from the seemingly endless gold mine of Brazilian gems, the compilation features legends such as Jorge Ben, Gretchen, Marcos Valle and Robson Jorge & Lincoln Olivetti, alongside unsung heroes including Zé Carlos and Carlos Bivar.

Over 20 years ago, the Horse Meat Disco crew (James Hillard, Severino Panzetta, Jim Stanton and Luke Howard) began their weekly residency at Eagle London back in 2003. That same year, Luke made his first visit to Brazil, beginning a musical love affair that is still going strong.

“I had always wanted to go to Brazil since I was a kid, and when I finally had the opportunity to go with Princess Julia, I was just blown away. I’ve visited Rio every year since 2003, and in that time, I’ve learned Portuguese and tried to discover as much as I can about Brazilian music and popular culture. I learned to dance samba with the Paraiso School of Samba in London and paraded three times at Rio Carnival. Brazilian music was a brand-new world for me to explore and get excited about—a whole universe of genius musicians, singers, and styles.”

9 years later, Mr Bongo invited Luke down to their Brighton HQ for a listening session of some of his favourite Brazilian boogie and disco 7" finds. A compilation was green-lit, but multiple licensing delays and the release of other HMD compilations meant that it lay dormant for years.

Fast forward to 2024, and with the help of esteemed, Rio-based record collector Tee Cardaci, along with suggestions from HMD’s James Hillard, the dream of an HMD Brazilian compilation finally materialised. It’s a carefully curated collection that includes the electronic-boogie/italo-disco-esque 1984 groover 'Venha (Remix)' by the singer Źe Carlos, two cuts by Luiza Maura taken from her sought-after Deixa Girar 7", and Gretchen's sultry 'Ela Tem Raça, Charme, Talento E Gostosura' written by Jorge Ben.

At its core, this compilation captures the excitement and sense of discovery that won over Horse Meat Disco’s heart more than 20 years ago. A vibrant mix of feel-good flavours, it homes in on a sun-soaked strand of disco and boogie that has been enriched with the spirit of a nation where music serves as a central pillar of life.

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.

"Tonky" ist Lonnie Holleys fünftes Studioalbum und enthält Gastauftritte von Isaac Brock, Angel Bat Dawid, Billy Woods, Alabaster de Plume, Mary Lattimore und anderen. Bei der Leadsingle "Protest With Love" ist Jacknife Lee, der auch das gefeierte Vorgängeralbum "Oh Me Oh My" produziert hat, als Bassist, Keyboarder, Synthesizer, Schlagzeuger, Programmierer, Flötist, Percussionist und Sänger zu hören. Weitere Mitwirkende sind The Legendary Ingramettes am Gesang, Kelly Pratt an den Bläsern und Flöten, Jordan Katz an den Bläsern und natürlich Holley am Gesang. Holley fordert die Zuhörer auf, "mit Liebe zu protestieren" und "die Liebe zu deiner Waffe zu machen". Es gibt Dichter wie die große Mary Oliver, die vorschlagen, dass die Hauptfunktion des Menschen, wenn er sich durch die Welt bewegt, solange er Leben und die Fähigkeit hat, sich durch die Welt zu bewegen, darin besteht, dem Aufmerksamkeit zu schenken, was andere törichterweise als klein oder alltäglich bezeichnen mögen. Das Gehirn und das Herz sind beides Gefäße, die so viel Platz haben, wie man ihnen zugestehen möchte, und zu leben bedeutet, Sammlungen von gefundenen Zuneigungen zu schaffen. Die Geräusche der geliebten und vertrauten Häuser, die Bewegungen der Bäume und der Menschen unter ihnen, die Art und Weise, wie jemand, den man verehrt, einen ein paar Sekunden lang umarmt, bevor er sich aus der Umarmung löst und in einer überfüllten Fußgängerzone verschwindet. Wenn wir unser Leben, unser Schaffen und unsere Liebe auf diese Weise betrachten, bedeutet das, dass wir, zumindest für einige von uns, durch die Aussicht auf das, was als Nächstes kommt, vorwärts getrieben werden können. Welchen Moment wir festhalten und in unsere überquellenden Taschen stecken können. Die Arbeit von Lonnie Holley ist ein Werk dieser Art von Anhäufung und genauer Aufmerksamkeit. Das Vergnügen, einen Klang zu finden und ihn gegen einen anderen gefundenen Klang und einen weiteren zu pressen, bis der Hörer, bevor er es merkt, von einer Klangsinfonie überflutet wird, die sich anfühlt, als würde sie sich zusammenfügen, während sie über einen hinwegspült. "Tonky" ist ein Album, das seinen Namen von einem Spitznamen aus der Kindheit hat, der Holley anhaftete, als er einen Teil seiner Kindheit in einem Honky Tonk verbrachte. Lonnie Holleys Leben des Überlebens und der Ausdauer erforderte - und erfordert zweifellos immer noch - eine Art Erfindung. Eine Erfindung, die auch in Holleys Liedern reichhaltig und präsent ist, die auf "Tonky" voll und eindringlich sind, einem Album, das mit seinem längsten Lied beginnt, einem neunminütigen, erschöpfenden Marathon eines Stücks namens "Seeds", das mit einem einzigen spärlichen Klang beginnt und sich dann ausdehnt. Gesänge, schwache Tasten, Streicher und als Krönung Holleys Stimme, die nicht singt, sondern klar und deutlich von der Arbeit auf der Erde erzählt, als er jung war, und von der Gewalt, die er dabei ertragen musste, als er blutig und mit Schmerzen von Schlägen ins Bett ging. Der Song weitet sich zu einer Metapher über den Ort aus, über das Versagen des Zuhauses oder eines Ortes, der einen beschützen soll, der nicht das hält, was er zu sein vorgibt, selbst wenn man unermüdlich daran arbeitet, daran arbeitet, daran arbeitet, etwas Sinnvolles daraus zu machen. "Seeds" gibt nicht nur den Ton für ein Album an, das sich um Wiedergeburt, Erneuerung und die Grenzen von Hoffnung und Glaube dreht, sondern unterstreicht auch, was Holleys größte Stärke als Musiker ist, nämlich sein Engagement für Fülle und Großzügigkeit. Er ist ein unglaublich begabter Geschichtenerzähler, der sich der mündlichen Tradition verschrieben hat, so dass viele Hörer völlig zufrieden wären, wenn sie zu Füßen einer Lonnie-Holley-Platte säßen und seinen robusten, ausladenden Erzählungen lauschen könnten. Aber "Tonky" ist ein Album, das sowohl klanglich als auch in Bezug auf die vielen verschiedenen Künstler, die auf dem Album vertreten sind, einen Platz bietet, an dem sie sich zu Hause fühlen können, ganz gleich, wie sie die Zeit verbringen, die sie für einen Song brauchen.

Orange Vinyl. Benefits return with the their highly anticipated second album, "Constant Noise" Due out 21st March via Invada Records,"Constant Noise" follows the band's debut album `NAILS' which earned widespread press and radio support and appeared in album of the year lists inc. Louder Than War (#1), BBC 6Music, NME, The Quietus,The Line Of Best Fit and more. After a succession of different line-ups, Benefits have now settled as a two-piece made up of Hall and electronic virtuoso Robbie Major. "We're still angry" says Hall, "just angry in a different way to before. If the previous record was black and white, we wanted this to be technicolour." The first taste of this new musical direction came in the form of "Land Of The Tyrants", which saw the band delving into bass-heavy, dance inflected rhythms and subtle industrial undercurrents. Follow-up single `Relentless' featured The Libertines' Peter Doherty and saw the band move further into ambient electronic atmospherics. Doherty is just one of the collaborators on the new record, Zera Tonin, the singer of queerpop-electro duo Arch Femmesis, Neil Cooper of Therapy?, and Middlesborough rapper Shakk all make cameos. In addition to the guest musicians, the album also features production from James Welsh (Phantasy Sound), and James Adrian Brown (ex-Pulled Apart By Horses)who helped to guide the new direction. The result is an album that gleans as much from the likes of Underworld and Leftfield as it does the likes of The Streets or Beastie Boys in their pomp, or even the 90s / early 00s Indie Sleaze-era. Orange vinyl comes with full album download (inc. two tracks not on vinyl)

Also known as "Portland's Pillar Of Soul", Ural Thomas is a widely esteemed Portland based r&b singer-songwriter and musician, active since the 1950s. Still going strong over almost three-quarter century's worth of performing and releasing, Thomas' breathtaking oeuvre comes to a recent head on this latest LP+7" via Cairo, 'Nat Ural'. Eschewing his latest incarnation with backing The Pain (making up Ural Thomas and the Pain), which was formed after a long hiatus, we return to Thomas' solo sensibility here. A new LP backed up by a sneaky extra 7", Thomas' distinctive, homely brand of strutting vocal soul is once more put on display here.

Known as one of the leading voices in the European roots scene, Ina's explosive live
performances and powerful, honey- dripping vocals have captivated audiences for
over a decade. With this new release, she takes listeners on an emotional and groovy
journey of rediscovery and resilience.
Recorded in Helsinki with a team of Finnish musicians and produced by Michael Bleu
and Ina, After Dark Hour is steeped in Retro Soul, Funk, Motown-inspired grooves, and
R&B. The energy of live performance was a driving force behind the album's creation.
"I wanted to make songs that would be fun to play live, songs that would make people
leave my shows sweaty and smiling,"
The title track, After Dark Hour, was the spark that reignited her creativity after over a
year of writer's block. "I was going through it--what I call the postpandemic blues. I
couldn't get myself to write songs or even listen to music. Then one day, I wrote the
title song, and it was like magic. It was such a relief to know I still had it in me after a
year of not having it. After dark hour represents the first moment you see the light
coming through the blinds you've been keeping shut. It's the feeling
that things are finally getting better."
The album takes listeners through an eclectic mix of soul sounds, from sultry power
ballads to James Brown- style funk explosions, tender sweet soul, and uptempo
Motown grooves. The lush production includes cinematic strings, bold horns, and
gospel-like backing vocals, all serving as a backdrop to Ina's signature vocals.
Ina has been performing since she was 17, dedicating her career to crafting music
that blends classic soul with her unique voice and vision. With After Dark Hour, she
delivers an album that invites listeners to dance through life's darkest moments.

Ajay Saggar is BHAJAN BHOY. "With BHAJAN BHOY, Saggar synthesizes all of the stylistic approaches he’s explored over the years, swirling them into an intoxicating musical blend, with an earthy spirituality. Even the project’s name reflects the dual aspects of Saggar’s upbringing coming together in harmony. In Hindi, a “bhajan” is a devotional song, sung in the mandir, or temple, while “bhoy” is a Scottish and Irish derivation for a young man. There’s a searching quality to Bhajan Bhoy, as if Saggar is still hunting for transcendence with each track, whether through an expansive drone, an orchestral facility on the piano, or an electronics-augmented raga that threatens to dip into noise” (Erick Bradshaw / writer and WFMU DJ). This album presents a rich and varied set of compositions that showcase Saggar’s skills as an incredibly talented and accomplished composer and musician. With each and every Bhajan Bhoy LP, you are are carried to a higher place. With ‘Bhoy On The Wire’, the 35 minutes laid out unfolds like a cosmic tapestry, an extraordinary exploration that shimmers and reverberates with newfound vibrancy. The songs were broadcast as part of a session on Steve Barker’s “On The Wire” radio show in April 2024. They were a gift to Steve and his team for 40 years of broadcasting. “On The Wire” is simply the greatest radio show in the world. As Ajay explains in his own words : “In September 1984, I started a degree course at the University of Lancaster. On a wet and soggy Sunday afternoon towards the end of September, I sat in my room staring out at the grey Lancashire landscape, and decided to alleviate the boredom by seeing if there was anything to listen to on the radio. Most of the stations I tuned into were as dull as the weather outside. However, as I neared the end of the FM dial (and was about to give up hope), I chanced upon a station where I was taken by the music being played. That show was “On The Wire”, introduced by Steve Barker. From there on in, every Sunday, between 2-5pm, I tuned into Radio Lancashire to listen. Steve’s shows had an incredible and wide reaching selection of music and genres, that thrilled your ears and left you wanting more. Tied to that, his deep knowledge of the material he played helped the listener dig into the sounds even more, and also left you in admiration of this trait. In 1985, I started putting on DIY shows in Lancaster (inviting the likes of Bog-Shed, bIG fLAME, The Membranes, The Wedding Present, etc etc) and Steve was kind enough to mention the shows on-air, which helped in getting people from different parts of the county to come to the shows. At the tail-end of 1985, he invited me to the studio to come and hang out. When in 1988, the group I was in, Dandelion Adventure, released our first (demo) cassette, it was Steve, who not only played tracks off it, but invited the group to the studio for an interview. Now if you’re a young band, that is a massive thrill! And in 1990, when Dandelion Adventure did a John Peel session, I actually used “On The Wire” jingles (that Steve had put on a cassette and given to me a few years before) on the track “All the World’s A Lounge”. Since then, the show has been a mainstay for me, and so many others around the world, to get turned onto incredible sounds from around the world. And over the course of 40 years, Steve has always supported my music. These six tracks are a 40th birthday gift to the “On The Wire” team (Steve, Michael “Fenny” Fenton (an absolutely critical part of the show), and Jim Ingham (engineer who keeps the technical side of things going)) for sharing so much amazing music, and making the world a better place. They were originally broadcast as an exclusive session in April 2024 on “On The Wire", and are here for your listening pleasure. Music like shower”. Artwork by Jake Blanchard

Recorded in 1958, this album showcases Chet Baker’s undeniable charm as both a singer and trumpeter, embodying the essence of cool jazz. Accompanied by an elegant trio featuring Kenny Drew on piano, George Morrow on bass, and Philly Joe Jones on drums, Baker revisits standards with disarming grace. His soft, melancholic voice shines on tracks like “Do It the Hard Way” and “Everything Happens to Me,” where each note feels suspended in time. His airy trumpet subtly converses with Drew’s piano, creating moments of pure musical poetry. A must-listen for fans of intimate and refined jazz.

Baby Rose makes healing music for the aimless and heartbroken. The Grammy-nominated singer/songwriter and producer's uniquely rich voice naturally lends itself to her powerful, smoke-filled ballads lamenting lost loves and broken futures. "I make music to help myself get through things," she says. The piercing honesty and vulnerability she brings to her lyrics in turn helps others process their feelings and find a place of healing. For Rose, it's a journey that's still ongoing. "If I'm going to leave anything behind, it's going to be getting people back to themselves," she says. "As I get back to myself, it's a constant reset: Remember who you are, remember who you want to be." You can hear the impact of this approach in Baby Rose's upcoming second album, Through and Through. Take the hypnotic "Fight Club." Over the track's simmering baseline and crashing cymbals, she declares, "I don't need no one else to show me the way." She describes the song as a "breaking of the shell. It encourages me to just go for it and not care about what anyone else thinks." Therein lies Baby Rose's strength: a determination to live, love, and create on her own terms. "I'm not just a singer with a unique voice," she says. "I'm somebody that has something to say." In the years since releasing her last album, To Myself, Rose has been painstakingly piecing together its sequel. Started almost immediately after its release, her new body of work finds her in a state of musical and personal transition. It's a subtle merging of new sounds_stirring rock, upbeat r&b, psychedelic funk, pop, and soulful ballads_, all mastered through analog tape to make the music feel warmer and all-encompassing. It's also a journey inward as she battles past fear and self-doubt to finally discover_and love_who she is, where she is. Finishing an album with such peace and firm resolution is a first for Rose, but she makes it clear: She's nowhere near done writing her story. "I think as long as I'm being raw and trying to push past my comfort zone, it will feel rewarding," she says. "I don't want to be the type that doesn't take risks because I'm afraid. I have to trust that as long as the music is honest and innovative, it'll be timeless."

Red Marbled Vinyl. Play Dirty is the fourth studio album by British heavy metal band Girlschool released in 1983 and produced by Noddy Holder and Jim Lea from the hard rock band Slade. It has very polished sound, filled with keyboards, choruses andmelodies, containing covers of the Slade songs ,High & Dry" and ,Burning in the Heat" and of T.Rex's ,20th Century Boy". Drummer Denise Dufort rated the album as her favourite of all the band`s career saying it had a more mature sound to it and comparing it to Def Leppard. Girlschool are thelongest-running all-female rock band, still active after more than 40 years. During their career they travelled the world, playing in many rock and metal festivals and co-headlining or supporting important heavy metal bands. They maintain a worldwide cult following, and are an inspiration for many female rock musicians.

Red Vinyl. Play Dirty is the fourth studio album by British heavy metal band Girlschool released in 1983 and produced by Noddy Holder and Jim Lea from the hard rock band Slade. It has very polished sound, filled with keyboards, choruses andmelodies, containing covers of the Slade songs ,High & Dry" and ,Burning in the Heat" and of T.Rex's ,20th Century Boy". Drummer Denise Dufort rated the album as her favourite of all the band`s career saying it had a more mature sound to it and comparing it to Def Leppard. Girlschool are thelongest-running all-female rock band, still active after more than 40 years. During their career they travelled the world, playing in many rock and metal festivals and co-headlining or supporting important heavy metal bands. They maintain a worldwide cult following, and are an inspiration for many female rock musicians.

Loyle Carner will release his highly anticipated sophomore record, 'Not Waving, But Drowning' on 19 April via AMF Records.

'Not Waving, But Drowning' follows Loyle's BRIT (Best Male, Best Newcomer) and Mercury Prize nominated, top 20 debut 'Yesterday's Gone'. The bedrock of honest and raw sentimentality that you heard on 'Yesterday's Gone' left an inextinguishable mark on music in general and UK Hip Hop in particular, standing out as an ageless, bulletproof debut.

'Not Waving, But Drowning', Loyle's new album, gives yet more evidence - as if it were needed - of his razor-sharp flow and his unique storytelling ability. Yes, he can rap, but he allies that with the sensitivity of a poet, the observational skills of a novelist, and warmth of your best friend. The album opens with 'Dear Jean', a letter to his mother in which he's telling her that he has found the love of his life, 'a woman from the skies', and he's moving out.

It goes without saying that Loyle's music is hard to categorise, but what is even more impressive is that for someone who grew up listening to Mos Def, Biggie Smalls, Roots Manuva, and Wu Tang Clan, he doesn't sound like any of them. Although he might from time to time give lyrical nods to them, he's no imitator.

Loyle loves cooking. There are two tracks on this album named after chefs. The British-Israeli chef Yotam Ottolenghi, and the now deceased Italian chef Antonio Carluccio. 'Ottolenghi' the first single from the album was featured on the BBC Radio 1 B-list, BBC 6 Music A-list and has already been streamed over 5 million times.

Loyle refers to real life for everything, the title of 'Yesterday's Gone' came from a song of his step father, the title of his new album 'Not Waving, But Drowning' comes from a poem by his grandfather, which in turn came from a Stevie Smith poem. What you hear on the track 'Krispy' is real. He is pouring his heart out to his best friend Rebel Kleff after their relationship went downhill, he invites him on the track to say his piece but he doesn't turn up, so we get a flugel solo instead.

Loyle also has his own personal black consciousness movement. When he refers to his 'fathers' in the track 'Looking Back' he really is referring to two fathers. His biological father, a black man who he knows, but knows very little of, and his step father, a poet and musician who happens to be a white man but died a sudden unexpected death from epilepsy (SUDEP). With no real emotional ties to his biological father, but a deep connection with a deceased step-father, where does a young child turn He succinctly captures many of the great, unspoken, cultural and historical paradoxes of multicultural Britain on 'Looking Back'.

An album like this is hard to find. It is for those who like their Hip Hop to have soul, and their soul to have spirit. This is because it works on so many levels, but it is reflecting the personality of its creator. There are a host of collaborators here, Jorja Smith, Rebel Kleff, Kiko Bun, Kwes, Jordan Rakei, Sampha, Tom Misch and more, but none are overpowering. They blend righteously into place.
Loyle is not bitter with people who have let him down, or a society that lets so many down, but the combination of anger and love he has gives his voice the perfect blend of strength and vulnerability. This might be a coming of age album, but it's also a coming of ageless album. Loyle's 2019 Spring tour - which includes London's Roundhouse - sold out within 20 minutes of being on sale.

Not Waving, But Drowning



A rapper that raps about family is hard to find. The boys in the 'hood' tend not to be that interested in how much a 'brother' loves his mother, or how much he misses his dad, or even how much he misses his best friend. The boys in the 'hood' tend to be obsessed with the size of their cars, girls, bank accounts, and other personal 'possessions'. Loyle Carner's Mercury and BRIT Prize nominated debut 'Yesterday's Gone' (Released 2017), made it clear that he wasn't that kind of rapper. In fact, every time I talk to him about his work we talk about the world, and we tended to confuse ourselves by calling his work rap, poems, or songs, sometimes in the same sentence. They are in truth all of these things.



Here's some poetry.



Honestly I need them.

I hate them but I grieve them

I think I've finally found the reason

Trust

Like the fire needs the air.

I won't burn unless you're there.





'Not Waving, But Drowning', Loyle's forthcoming new album, gives us yet more evidence, (if it were needed), that he still has what rappers call, flow, but he hasn't lost any of his story telling qualities. Yes, the boy can rap, but a rapper with the sensitivity of a true poet, the observational skills of a novelist, and warmth of your best friend. The album opens with 'Dear Jean', a letter to his mother in which he's telling her that he has found the love of his life, (a woman from the skies), and he's moving out. He really loves the woman from the skies, but he still loves his mum, and so he reassures her that there is no competition, and tells her that 'She's not behind me or behind you, but beside we and beside two', his words. Or to put it another way, moving out without moving out. My words.



It goes without saying that Loyle's music is hard to categorise, but what is even more impressive is that for someone who grew up listening to Mos Def, Biggie Smalls, Roots Manuva, and Wu Tang Clan, he doesn't sound like any of them. Although he might from time to time give lyrical nods to them, he's no imitator. He says finding his own voice was something he always found easy. Although young, (in terms of a musical career), he has confidence in his own words and his own voice, and has never been tempted to sound like he's been hanging out in the USA, or rolling in 'Grime' on the mean streets of East London. And so when it comes to the creative process he doesn't simply find a beat to jump on and ride. Beats are important, but they are tenderly layered with samples, keyboards, or live drums, all imaginatively assembled for the laying on of words. Some tracks start with the idea, some with poetry, and some with a verse from a singer or some other melodic inspiration, but there is no formula.



Here's some poetry.



Don't hold any memories of us

Rather hold you everyday until the memories are dust

Yo we only caught the train

Cos you know I hate the bus





A prolific reader, who has dyslexia is hard to find. Add ADHD (Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder) to that and life should become even more difficult. To deal with your difficulties you devise coping strategies, which can differ from person to person. Loyle loves cooking. There are two tracks on this album named after chefs. The British-Israeli chef Ottolenghi, and the now deceased Italian chef Antonio Carluccio. Loyle describes himself as 'weird' because he is happy to read a cookbook as if he was reading a novel or a book of poetry. He has opened a cookery school for young adults not just because he loves food and wants to make more of it, but because it is one of the few things that can focus the ADHD mind. And when it comes to his other love, football, his approach is the same. Focus. He wanted to be a striker he says, up front scoring goals, but found his best position was in midfield because he was able to focus, check options, and see passes ahead of time, providing passes for other players just when they needed them. He says, 'You don't grow out of ADHD, you grow into it.' Loyle is also working with Levi's® on their music project where he is mentoring young musicians over a six month period, culminating at Liverpool Sound City festival.



More poetry.



When the going is tough

I wait till it falls on deaf ears

Hearsay

Without the boundaries of love



He also said, 'Ask most people and they will say that they love their mothers, but most are not going to rap about her'. On his first album Loyle's mum Jean wrote about the 'scribble of a boy' that growing up would take things apart to see how they worked. On this album she speaks with pride about a man who has found his place in the world.



Yes, poetry.



I'm still looking for the answers

Trying to find the right questions

Still waiting for my fathers

But can't break them in to sections



This poetry is serious. Loyle has his own personal black consciousness movement. He told me that he always felt safe at home, and being the darkest one in the family never meant a thing, but then when he had to face the outside world he felt hostility. It shook him up. Now he had to start asking questions, but what were the questions. This is serious. When he refers to his 'fathers' in the verse above taken from the track 'Looking Back' he really is referring to two fathers. His biological father, a black man who he knows, but knows very little of, and his step father, a poet and musician who happens to be a white man but died a sudden unexpected death from epilepsy (SUDEP). So to whom would a young black (or mixed race) kid turn He succinctly captures many of the great, unspoken, cultural and historical paradoxes of multicultural Britain when he says, 'My great grandfather could of owned my other one.' We are a people descended from enslaved people on one hand, and enslavers on the other, something we are still struggling to come to terms with, and this can be apparent in one family. A big book could have told you that, but here we get it in one line on the track, Looking Back.





Loyle refers to real life for everything. The album is peppered with captured moments that he records on his phone. These moments can range from conversations with taxi drivers, to capturing the moment when England scores a goal in the world cup. The title of 'Yesterday's Gone' came from a song of his step father, the title of his new album 'Not Waving but Drowning' comes from a poem by his grandfather, which in turn came from a Stevie Smith poem. What you hear on the track 'Krispy' is real. He is pouring his heart out to his best friend after their relationship went downhill, he invites him on the track to say his piece but he doesn't turn up, so we get a flugel solo instead. Yes people, this is real.



An album like this is hard to find. It is for those who like their Hip Hop to have soul, and their soul to have spirit, this is an album for those who have, (I'm sorry, I'm going to say it), emotional intelligence. This is because it works on so many levels, but it is reflecting the personality of its creator. There are a host of collaborators here, Jorja Smith, Rebel Kleff, Kiko Bun, Jordan Rakei, Sampha, Tom Misch and more, but none are overpowering. They blend righteously into place. Loyle is not bitter with people who have let him down, or the society that has let him down, but the combination of anger and love he has gives his voice the perfect blend of strength and vulnerability. This might be a coming of age album, but it's also a coming of ageless album. His first album worked, and this second album is a continuation of that work. Not creating a form, but being formless, as someone like Bruce Lee once said.

And here's some poetry from mum.



We talked long in to the darkest hours

Until we saw the burnished sky

And our eyes stung

As our words blurred and became thoughts

As we were silenced by the dawn

We clung to each other like sailors in a storm

As part of maintaining The Black Dog's back catalogue, Dust Science has now re-issued the 2010 album, "Further Vexations". It's a real successor to Radio Scarecrow, moving forward with the dark tone and concepts.

Further Vexations picks up from what was started in Radio Scarecrow, moving beyond the world of open secrets and the bemusing transmissions of number stations, to exploring the dark cynicism of Orwellian practices carried out by our Govern-
ments, institutions and corporations.

Martin Dust from tBd explained, “Our main concern was and still is the amount of personal freedoms being surrendered under the banner of "for your own safety" – CCTV, Biometrics and the World Wide Databases being the latest inventions to save us from ourselves. What is it going to take for people to wake up? How much further can the people that we’ve put into power go before something finally snaps? We've had enough now! We believe that people have become lazy and accepting of "beige" political parties who have realised if they stand for nothing, people will fall for anything.”

10 years on, the references to George Orwell's 1984 appear to be a little naive and wholly inadequate. From billion-dollar corporate entities openly mishandling our data for profit to highly-targeted and manipulative political propaganda campaigns, the misuse of our data and communications is far more sophisticated and devious than originally envisaged.

The stark omens of Further Vexations are now more prophetic than ever.

Volume 1 of this expertly curated project of 90s Italian House - put together by Don Carlos.

If Paradise was half as nice… by Fabio De Luca.

Googling “paradise house”, the first results to pop up are an endless list of European b&b’s with whitewashed lime façades, all of them promising “…an unmatched travel experience a few steps from the sea”. Next, a little further down, are the institutional websites of a few select semi-luxury retirement homes (no photos shown, but lots of stock images of smiling nurses with reassuring looks). To find the “paradise house” we’re after, we have to scroll even further down. Much further down.

It feels like yesterday, and at the same time it seems like a million years ago. The Eighties had just ended, and it was still unclear what to expect from the Nineties. Mobile phones that were not the size of a briefcase and did not cost as much as a car? A frightening economic crisis? The guitar-rock revival?! Certainly, the best place to observe that moment of transition was the dancefloor. Truly epochal transformations were happening there. From America, within a short distance one from the other, two revolutionary new musical styles had arrived: the first one sounded a bit like an “on a budget” version of the best Seventies disco-music – Philly sound made with a set of piano-bar keyboards! – the other was even more sparse, futuristic and extraterrestrial. It was a music with a quite distinct “physical” component, which at the same time, to be fully grasped, seemed to call for the knotty theories of certain French post-modern philosophers: Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, Paul Virilio... Both those genres – we would learn shortly after – were born in the black communities of Chicago and Detroit, although listening to those vinyl 12” (often wrapped in generic white covers, and with little indication in the label) you could not easily guess whether behind them there was a black boy from somewhere in the Usa, or a girl from Berlin, or a pale kid from a Cornish coastal town.

Quickly, similar sounds began to show up from all corners of Europe. A thousand variations of the same intuition: leaner, less lean, happier, slightly less intoxicated, more broken, slower, faster, much faster... Boom! From the dancefloors – the London ones at least, whose chronicles we eagerly read every month in the pages of The Face and i-D – came tales of a new generation of clubbers who had completely stopped “dressing up” to go dancing; of hot tempered hooligans bursting into tears and hugging everyone under the strobe lights as the notes of Strings of Life rose up through the fumes of dry ice (certain “smiling” pills were also involved, sure). At this point, however, we must move on to Switzerland.

In Switzerland, in the quiet and diligent town of Lugano, between the 1980s and 1990s there was a club called “Morandi”. Its hot night was on Wednesdays, when the audience also came from Milan, Como, Varese and Zurich. Legend goes that, one night, none less than Prince and Sheila E were spotted hiding among the sofas, on a day-off of the Italian dates of the Nude Tour… The Wednesday resident and superstar was an Italian dj with an exotic name: Don Carlos. The soundtrack he devised was a mixture of Chicago, Detroit, the most progressive R&B and certain forgotten classics of old disco music: practically, what the Paradise Garage in New York might have sounded like had it not closed in 1987. In between, Don Carlos also managed to squeeze in some tracks he had worked on in his studio on Lago Maggiore. One in particular: a track that was rather slow compared to the BPM in fashion at the time, but which was a perfect bridge between house and R&B. The title was Alone: Don Carlos would explain years later that it had to be intended both in the English meaning of “by itself” and like the Italian word meaning “halo”. That wasn’t the only double entendre about the song, anyway. Its own very deep nature was, indeed, double. On the one hand, Alone was built around an angelic keyboard pattern and a romantic piano riff that took you straight to heaven; on the other, it showcased enough electronic squelches (plus a sax part that sounded like it had been dissolved by acid rain) to pigeonhole the tune into the “junk modernity” section, aka the hallmark of all the most innovative sounds of the time: music that sounded like it was hand-crafted from the scraps of glittering overground pop.

No one knows who was the first to call it “paradise house”, nor when it happened. Alternative definitions on the same topic one happened to hear included “ambient house”, “dream house”, “Mediterranean progressive”… but of course none were as good (and alluring) as “paradise house”. What is certain is that such inclination for sounds that were in equal measure angelic and neurotic, romantic and unaffective, quickly became the trademark of the second generation of Italian house. Music that seemed shyly equidistant from all the rhythmic and electronic revolutions that had happened up to that moment (“Music perfectly adept at going nowhere slowly” as noted by English journalist Craig McLean in a legendary field report for Blah Blah Blah magazine). Music that to a inattentive ear might have sounded as anonymous as a snapshot of a random group of passers-by at 10AM in the centre of any major city, but perfectly described the (slow) awakening in the real world after the universal love binge of the so-called Second Summer of Love.

For a brief but unforgettable season, in Italy “paradise house” was the official soundtrack of interminable weekends spent inside the car, darting from one club to another, cutting the peninsula from North to centre, from East to West coast in pursuit of the latest after-hours disco, trading kilometres per hour with beats per minute: practically, a new New Year’s Eve every Friday and Saturday night. This too was no small transformation, as well as a shock for an adult Italy that was encountering for the first time – thanks to its sons and daughters – the wild side of industrial modernity. The clubbers of the so-called “fuoriorario” scene were the balls gone mad in the pinball machine most feared by newspapers, magazines and TV pundits. What they did each and every weekend, apart from going crazy to the sound of the current white labels, was linking distant geographical points and non-places (thank you Marc Augé!) – old dance halls, farmhouses and business centres – transformed for one night into house music heaven. As Marco D’Eramo wrote in his 1995 essay on Chicago, Il maiale e il grattacielo: “Four-wheeled capitalism distorts our age-old image of the city, it allows the suburbs to be connected to each other, whereas before they were connected only by the centre (…) It makes possible a metropolitan area without a metropolis, without a city centre, without downtown. The periphery is no longer a periphery of any centre, but is self-centred”.

“Paradise house” perfectly understood all of this and turned it into a sort of cyber-blues that didn’t even need words, and unexpectedly brought back a drop of melancholic (post?)-humanity within a world that by then – as we would wholly realise in the decades to come – was fully inhuman and heartless. A world where we were all alone, and surrounded by a sinister yellowish halo, like a neon at the end of its life cycle. But, for one night at least, happy.

The duality of "man" is a subject that has been explored in art for centuries, from writings of the Bible to Descartes, all the way up to filmmakers like Lynch, Cronenberg, & Carpenter. Who is your "true self" & what do they want? With their sixth studio album "Wish Defense" (again for longtime home Trouble In Mind Records), Chicago trio FACS take a good, long look in the mirror to face themselves. The return of original member Jonathan Van Herik - who stepped away from the group just before their debut album "Negative Houses" was released in 2018 - replacing longtime bassist Alianna Kalaba brings renewed vigor & a marked angularity from the band's more recent output. The songs still hit hard, but the approach is sideways - the roles have changed since Van Herik's original tenure & his previous time with Case & powerhouse drummer Noah Leger in Disappears; now on bass, Van Herik was originally the group's guitar player and features on the debut, while current guitarist Brian Case played bass. This role reversal has helped the band's dynamic, offering up a different musical perspective than before, now revisiting the trio's long-going collaboration with some distance and time. Case notes that the lyrics on "Wish Defense" revolve around doppelgängers or "doubles", tackling the idea of facing yourself and observing your ideas and motivations. Look no further than the album's title track; "Enter the mirror / Double walker / An intimate / Wish defense / Is it real? / You beside me / The detail / Terrifying / Abject self / Your grief / A public / Performance". Case lays out the entire album's theme in one stanza; Are your actions & emotions your true self? Or are they a performative aspect of that "other" person you put forward? Case says that ultimately the sentiment is "_don't let the bastards get you down, there's something beyond this moment, like hope - but not in the naive belief that ultimately people are good". "Wish Defense"s artwork is also a subtle reference to "Negative Houses"' art, returning to that album's black & white starkness & minimalism. The album's checkerboards everywhere are offset reflections of themselves, mirrored with the album's lyrics printed front & center on the cover. Everything is out in the open. A final note; "Wish Defense" is the last album engineered by Steve Albini. Two days were recorded at Electrical Audio in early May of 2024 before Steve's untimely passing, with renowned engineer & friend Sanford Parker stepping in to finish the session 24 hours later, tracking the last bits of vocals and overdubs. Longtime collaborator John Congleton mixed the album as Albini would have; in Electrical Audio's A room, off the tape, using Albini's notes about the session.

The duality of "man" is a subject that has been explored in art for centuries, from writings of the Bible to Descartes, all the way up to filmmakers like Lynch, Cronenberg, & Carpenter. Who is your "true self" & what do they want? With their sixth studio album "Wish Defense" (again for longtime home Trouble In Mind Records), Chicago trio FACS take a good, long look in the mirror to face themselves. The return of original member Jonathan Van Herik - who stepped away from the group just before their debut album "Negative Houses" was released in 2018 - replacing longtime bassist Alianna Kalaba brings renewed vigor & a marked angularity from the band's more recent output. The songs still hit hard, but the approach is sideways - the roles have changed since Van Herik's original tenure & his previous time with Case & powerhouse drummer Noah Leger in Disappears; now on bass, Van Herik was originally the group's guitar player and features on the debut, while current guitarist Brian Case played bass. This role reversal has helped the band's dynamic, offering up a different musical perspective than before, now revisiting the trio's long-going collaboration with some distance and time. Case notes that the lyrics on "Wish Defense" revolve around doppelgängers or "doubles", tackling the idea of facing yourself and observing your ideas and motivations. Look no further than the album's title track; "Enter the mirror / Double walker / An intimate / Wish defense / Is it real? / You beside me / The detail / Terrifying / Abject self / Your grief / A public / Performance". Case lays out the entire album's theme in one stanza; Are your actions & emotions your true self? Or are they a performative aspect of that "other" person you put forward? Case says that ultimately the sentiment is "_don't let the bastards get you down, there's something beyond this moment, like hope - but not in the naive belief that ultimately people are good". "Wish Defense"s artwork is also a subtle reference to "Negative Houses"' art, returning to that album's black & white starkness & minimalism. The album's checkerboards everywhere are offset reflections of themselves, mirrored with the album's lyrics printed front & center on the cover. Everything is out in the open. A final note; "Wish Defense" is the last album engineered by Steve Albini. Two days were recorded at Electrical Audio in early May of 2024 before Steve's untimely passing, with renowned engineer & friend Sanford Parker stepping in to finish the session 24 hours later, tracking the last bits of vocals and overdubs. Longtime collaborator John Congleton mixed the album as Albini would have; in Electrical Audio's A room, off the tape, using Albini's notes about the session.