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Prairiewolf make easy listening music for an age of fracture. They almost do it in spite of themselves. No one can seriously question the head music bona fides of the members of this Colorado-based trio.

Guitarist Stefan Beck has already assembled a formidable discography of jewel-toned guitar zone-outs under his Golden Brown moniker. And keyboardist and guitarist Jeremy Erwin and bassist Tyler Wilcox have both made their reputations as chroniclers of the vast world of out-music. Erwin helms the indispensable Heat Warps blog, a performance-by-performance archive of Miles Davis’s labyrinthine electric period. And Wilcox has been covering the ragged edges of psychedelia and experimental rock at Aquarium Drunkard and other publications, not to mention his own virtual basement for heads, the great bootleg blog Doom and Gloom from the Tomb.

These guys come by it honestly. And yet, given their backgrounds, Prairiewolf’s self-titled debut last spring was remarkably free of face-melters, brown acid blowouts, and ascendant spiritual jazz odysseys. Instead, they dropped a record of beautiful, elegant, low-key cosmic groovers that sounded like the piped-in background music to a resort hotel on Jupiter. It was an unlikely psychedelia, brocaded with mid-twentieth century sonic threading from the hi-fi era: vintage synthesizers, smears of spaghetti western, luxe tropical details, the faint schmaltz of space age pop. Imagine something like a Harmonia residency in the airport lounge. And yet somehow it all worked brilliantly. Prairiewolf became last summer’s cool-down standard. After a year woodshedding around Colorado’s Front Range region, the Prairiewolf boys have fired up their trusty Korg SR-120 drum machine for another outstanding collection of suborbital exotica. The appropriately titled Deep Time operates in its own chronology, unspooling at its unhurried pace. All its incongruous period and stylistic references—the new age pulses, Hawaiian steel, shaggy hippie rambles, lysergic guitar spirals, and orchestral synthesizer flourishes—float atop the album’s own singular temporality. Deep Time makes its own time.

From the moment Beck folds his slide guitar, origami-like, into a sound resembling the call of gulls on the tranquil album opener, “Peach Blossom Paradise,” there is a sense of departure from everyday life. The shimmering “Lighthouse” has a similar sunbaked nonchalance, like an afternoon passed day-drinking in a seaside bar. That they named their lush, kaleidoscopic downtempo track “The Meander” pretty much says it all. The ranging, propulsive “Saying Yes to Everything” seems like a nod in the direction of Rose City Band’s brand of wookie krautrock. And the motorik noir of “Demon Cicadas in the Night” also goes hard. Beck and Erwin’s intertwined guitar jam on the eerie album standout “The Cold Curve” evolves into something that sounds like primitive computer music. A genteel bassline from Wilcox on another album highlight, “Revisionist Mystery,” sets the stage for a loopy space jazz turn from guest clarinettist Matt Loewen of Rayonism. The title of post-rock cowboy tune “Another Tomorrow” might refer to the alternative future that so many critics heard in the music of Prairiewolf’s first album. Or it might simply refer to the persistence of time, however deep. Either way,

I’m thankful for the way Prairiewolf make each of their tunes a little oasis or sanctuary, each subsisting according to its own crystalline little logic for a few minutes. It is no simple task to filter out the omnipresent anger and anxiety of everyday life these days. But Prairiewolf are out here making it seem easy.

Brent S. Sirota

Etta James began her career in 1954, showcasing immense talent across blues, jazz, R&B, and rock, establishing her musical legacy.

After Denzel’s debut EP ‘Techniques 4 Life’ last year, the quest for finding those approaches continues. The Helsinki night owl draws from a range of influences here on his sophmore EP ‘Glorified Intake’, taking things into a murkier territory than his previous, made during a transitional period of his life between two cities, H & B.

The first track HKI 13 is an ode to roots. The track is held together by a swerving astral arpeggio combined with chants from a village dance off and stabs that liken to that one Balearic house anthem… The Sun is well on its way below.

Nightrun reduces things to a darker core, howling into the night, embodying a state rather than telling a story. Time goes by, how is it already tomorrow? An after hours tune with a bassline for a hook. Doesn’t get much sleazier than that. Getting down, getting low.
On the flipside, we’ve made it to the beginning of the end, phased out the doubts and gathered up the strength to go on — things are looking brighter. A voice inside your head — trust only yourself.

Finally on the last stretch, light has subsided and darkness has landed once again. We’ve thrown out any notion of what, where and who. Those things don’t matter anymore: we’ve perfected “the state”. It’s go time.

The most famous and highly successful trance compilation worldwide is Talla 2XLC’s Techo Club series that always topped the charts and download shops. After 67 magical episodes in February 2023 Techno Club has celebrated its 25 years anniversary with the ultra large Best of 25 Years 4 CD edition. After 25 magnificent years of DJ battles and exceptional DJ mixes between DJ Talla 2XLC and his brilliant globally known guests including Taucher, Kai Tracid, Tom Wax, Scot Project, Cosmic Gate, Aly & Fila, Jerome Isma-Ae, Alex M.o.r.p.h., Woody van Eyden, Markus Schulz, Allen Watts, Ralphie B, Metta & Glyde amongst many others, trance fans can experience the mouthwatering and highly satisfying recap with the Best of 25 Years shinning edition. Two Mixed CDs perfectly arranged by the trusted hands of Talla 2XLC and the resident Techno Club DJs LXD and Bluefire to keep you dancing 24 hrs and 2 Unmixed CD’s with eternal trance classics for club and radio DJs who wish to educate their audience and incorporate these timeless jewels in their digital collection and DJ sets.

After thousands of requests via Talla 2XLC social media ZYX proudly presents the vinyl edition of Technoclub 25 Years vol.1. In two brilliant vinyls, trance aficionados will enjoy 12 of the most highly requested trance classics from the vaults of the iconic Technoclub compilations.

The 1st vinyl includes the legendary Jam & Spoon Watch Out For Stella Remix of the most significant trance track of all times Age Of Love, then the balearic Ocean To Shore Club mix of the melancholic On The Run by the late legend DJ and producer Tillmann Uhrmacher. Final track in A side the highly energetic Fly Away by Vincent De Moor in the most powerful remix by the German duo Cosmic Gate. On the flip side Jorn van Deynhoven Remixes RAM’s eternal beauty RAMsterdam. The legendary team of Nalin & Kane represented by their remix on Lustral aka Space Brothers blissful and oceanic Everytime. Lastly the well known Sunrise by Ratty aka Scooter side project with the rough tribal main section and the sunkissed feel good breakdown. The 2nd vinyl will bring tears of joy with Talla 2XLC remix on the highly euphoric Sky by Dito. The epic Ronski Speed remix of the countless times remixed trance classic 1998 by Binary Finary and finally the still crowd pleasing Dreams by the Australian Quench. The D side is all about Talla 2XLC productions including his brilliant remake of the fantastic The Meteor, followed by the highly uplifting Xijaro & Pitch remix on Pull, the epic Talla’s co-production with Junk Project. The final track is dedicated to psy-trance community with Zyrus 7 aka Talla 2XLC psy-trance project with the fast moving anthem Lost in Space. The growing fanbase of trance vinyls will adore this great collection of the finest trance anthems from the past, present and future carefully selected by Talla 2XLC and his Technoclub team mates.

When Bob Vylan won the first MOBO award for Best Alternative Music Act in 2022, the punk-grime duo took to the stage and used the platform to speak about how they managed to achieve the impossible as independent artists in a genre-defying space. “We released an album this year that we produced entirely, mixed entirely, recorded entirely, all from my bedroom…so everybody that’s here, bigging up Atlantic and bigging up Warner, fuck that, us man did it ourselves”.

It was an acceptance speech that rattled the room and built anticipation for their next projects.

Humble as the Sun, the forthcoming album from Bob Vylan continues with much of the rage and urgency that they have come to be known and loved for, but this latest project shows that they are now stronger and wiser, bolstered by the wins and learnings that they have fought hard for along the way. The resulting tracklist aims to leave the listener feeling power alongside their anger, and brings a fresh and compelling blend of punk, rock, grime and rap together in an experimental way.

Following on from the last album, Bob Vylan Presents the Price of Life, the message woven throughout Humble as the Sun remains dark in places but is high-energy, defiant and unapologetic in its critique of a broken social and political system that so many have fallen victim to, but feel powerless against.

This album is for the underdogs, the ones who come out swinging and those who refuse to be defeated in the face of injustice, and aims to remind listeners that anger is a fire that can be harnessed and put to use. The album creation started from a conversation with the sun, which is, after all, a big ball of fire that sustains life.

From masculinity to myths about the G Spot, the themes and topics explored on Humble As The Sun make for an often humorously empowering celebration of the peoples ability to endure, overcome and bring about change.

The lyricism on this album is even more layered than their previous projects, still darkly humorous, anti-establishment and unforgiving but at times pauses to deliver much-needed words of afrmation to listeners, “You are loved. You are not alone. You are going through hell but keep going.” Bobby assures the listener, ofering an antidote to the state of the world, aiming to give some power and agency to those who hear it. At a time when so little trust or faith exists between the people and the powers that be, Bob Vylan ofers out a hand in the despondent darkness that has overwhelmed so many in the shadow of a burning planet. They guides the listener to a place where they can see some light and feel empowered to do something, to fight back, to continue pushing forwards despite the challenges faced along the way.

Mixing all of the best quintessentially British - and Jamaican - musical elements from punk to drum and bass, grime and rock, Bob Vylan creates a sound that reflects the state of the nation, at once voicing the frustrations that normal people have, while also highlighting one’s ability to persevere, overcome hardship and to change.

As with most things, this project started with a conversation in the pub between me and Martin.

As we discussed what J-Walk and BiD could do next we chatted about our mutual love of DIY, Post Punk, Reggae, Digital & Dub, how about using that feel as an initial jump off on the next thing and see how you get on? I suggested.
As is his way Martin considered the suggestion, then promptly disappeared, 6 weeks later something landed in my inbox, it was titled Broken Beauty and the music contained embraced all those symbiotic ideals and culture.
Nailed it!
Recorded entirely in Stockport using a mixed kit bag of cheap forgotten keyboards, guitar, bass and effects pedals, this LP takes the J-Walk aesthetic and applies the wider palette of these influences to create something unique, those past and present influences forged together to bring you something truly DIY - instructions below.
How To Make Such A Thing...

Deactivate social media. Ignore the internet, don't answer text messages, avoid other music, the telly and other people. This is a process where it's only you in the room with whatever's in your mind. You will be there for some time and the loneliness can hurt a little.

Forget any predetermined ideas. Forget everything you've ever done before. This is an opportunity to start from scratch, but with years of accumulated knowledge and craftsmanship. Trust yourself.
Be scared. Be excited about not knowing what will happen and what will result.

Don't use midi sequencing, virtual instruments or samples. Just plug a toy instrument into an amp, press a rhythm and play around to see what happens. If it sounds good and fresh then record it. Plug a bass in to jam around and you'll soon hear and feel what sits in the pocket of the beat. Record it as it is. Dirty is real and good. Cleanliness equals sterility. Loop the bassline. Plug a guitar in and do the same.

Don't think when doing any of this. Just experiment with interest and curiosity and the music will take care of itself. You will now have a groove which is also about half a song minimum. Play some keys from the toys on top of what you have. Put 'em through effects pedals. Again, don't overthink it and don't try to get it clean. Add sound effects in right and random places.

There you go. Something you've never made before. But more importantly, it's something you've never heard before.

You don't have to die to be reincarnated.

BROKEN BEAUTY...You can't be either without also having been the other.

Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur's court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word "Camelot" accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of "utopia." In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson's 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python's 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armored knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys's profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy's White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle's extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle's Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one's own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. "Back in Camelot," she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, "I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry." The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping "in the unfinished basement," an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above "sirens and desert deities." If she questions her own agency_whether she is "wishing stones were standing" or just "pissing in the wind"_it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of "multi-felt dimensions" both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of "Camelot," with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to "Some Friends," an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises_"bright and beaming verses" versus hot curses_which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020's achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory "Earthsong," bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to _ a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?) Those whom "Trust" accuses of treacherous oaths spit through "gilded and golden tooth"_cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry_sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in "Louis": "What's that dance / and can it be done? What's that song / and can it be sung?" Answering affirmatively are "Lucky #8," an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the "tidal pools of pain" and the "theory of collapse," and "Full Moon in Leo," which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and "big hair." But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle's confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on "Lucky #8," special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle's beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia's FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad "Blowing Kisses"_Pallett's crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX's The Bear_Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer_and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: "No words to fumble with / I'm not a beggar to language any longer." Such rare moments of speechlessness_"I'm so fucking honoured," she bluntly proclaims_suggest a state "only a god could come up with." (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world_including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth_but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the "charts and diagrams" of "Lucky #8," a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in "Full Moon in Leo," the bloody invocations of the organ-stained "Mary Miracle," and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with "Fractal Canyon"'s repeated, exalted insistence that she's "not alone here." But where is here? The word "utopia" itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek "eutopia," or "good-place"_the facet most remembered today_and "outopia," or "no-place," a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary. Or as fellow Canadian songwriter Neil Young once sang, "Everyone knows this is nowhere." "Can you see how I'd be tempted," Castle asks out of nowhere, held in the mystery, "to pretend I'm not alone and let the memory bend?"

. For Fans Of: The Weather Station, Weyes Blood, Adrianne Lenker, Phoebe Bridgers, Joan Shelley, Lana Del Rey, Cass McCombs, Angel Olsen & Neil Young. Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur’s court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word “Camelot” accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of “utopia.” In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson’s 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python’s 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armoured knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys’s profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy’s White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle’s extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle’s Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one’s own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. “Back in Camelot,” she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, “I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry.” The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping “in the unfinished basement,” an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above “sirens and desert deities.” If she questions her own agency whether she is “wishing stones were standing” or just “pissing in the wind” it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of “multi-felt dimensions” both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of “Camelot,” with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to “Some Friends,” an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises—“bright and beaming verses” versus hot curses which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020’s achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory “Earthsong,” bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to … a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?). Those whom “Trust” accuses of treacherous oaths spit through “gilded and golden tooth” cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in “Louis”: “What’s that dance / and can it be done? What’s that song / and can it be sung?” Answering affirmatively are “Lucky #8,” an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the “tidal pools of pain” and the “theory of collapse,” and “Full Moon in Leo,” which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and “big hair.” But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle’s confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on “Lucky #8,” special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle’s beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia’s FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad “Blowing Kisses” Pallett’s crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX’s The Bear Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: “No words to fumble with / I’m not a beggar to language any longer.” Such rare moments of speechlessness “I’m so fucking honoured,” she bluntly proclaims suggest a state “only a god could come up with.” (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the “charts and diagrams” of “Lucky #8,” a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in “Full Moon in Leo,” the bloody invocations of the organ-stained “Mary Miracle,” and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with “Fractal Canyon”s repeated, exalted insistence that she’s “not alone here.” But where is here? The word “utopia” itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek “eutopia,” or “good-place” the facet most remembered today and “outopia,” or “no-place,” a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary

On How It Ends (?), slinky melodies snake through nocturnal atmospherics, drawing you into a world built on poetic, painterly lyricism. Night Crickets, a long-distance groove affair that materialized during the drawn-out days of lockdown, has emerged once again to soundtrack our waking dreams.

David J (Bauhaus, Love & Rockets), Victor DeLorenzo (Violent Femmes) and multi-instrumentalist Darwin Meiners spearhead a loose collective of like-minded creative souls whom, through sheer tenacity and a burning desire to collaborate and create, transcend the restrictions of space and time. Audio files shared from Los Angeles to Milwaukee, from London to the San Francisco Bay, and the ghosts of Candlestick Park shimmer through the fog, coalescing in a glorious ‘gesamtkunstwerk’ that draws from the past, the present and the imagined future.

Declaring Bauhaus, Love And Rockets, and Violent Femmes iconic, foundational bands in the history of alternative music would receive little pushback from those in the know. San Francisco born artist Darwin Meiners is a fan of all three. A chance meeting with David J grew into a friendship, and Darwin not only became a bandmate, but his manager. After reaching out to Victor DeLorenzo through e-mail, Darwin met the Violent Femmes drummer after their set at Coachella. Soon, after the three collaborated on Darwin’s 2014 release Souvenir.

As the pandemic took hold, Darwin was looking for a new project to occupy the lock down time and approached Victor, who was keen to proceed and suggested that David join as well. The musical trust established between these three was immediate and Night Crickets were born. Within weeks a global process was initiated between them, the recordings eventually forming the album, A Free Society.

Following that release, inspired by how well – and quickly – they all worked together, the trio kept up their collaboration. “We are each free to discover musical connections that could only exist in an ideal creative setting” explains Victor. “We are very lucky to have three musicians who write, sing and play various instruments in one trio… our egos seem to melt into one when we face musical decisions, so our expeditions are always filled with pure discovery, humor and drive!”

How It Ends (?) was crafted with the same collaborative spirit as A Free Society. Each member contributed contributed unique elements to spur their collective creativity—whether a drum pattern, a lyrical concept, or a musical idea—and together, they expanded these initial sparks into the finished work. True to their approach, much of what you hear was captured in the first take, reflecting a genuine, unfiltered moment.

The music on the How It Ends (?) is a true evolution of the debut album. It is deeper and darker. Having said that, the dark tone is alleviated by a healthy measure of the buoyant, bouncy and melodic. “Much of the new material is very psychedelic and the contrast between this heavy, dark psychedelia and the more uplifting pop elements puts me in mind of The Beatles’ ‘Revolver’ album to some degree,” tells David J. “The recording process for the new album was exactly the same as the first in that we all recorded remotely, taking turns to share files and reacting spontaneously to the previous track, overdubbing then passing on once again until we all felt that the track was done.”

“While we didn’t start with a specific theme, the album emerged as a contemplative exploration of endings” says Darwin. “It touches on the loss of individuals, the shifting of ideas, and the fragility of systems. Beneath this sense of darkness and finality, however, there are threads of beauty and glimpses of hope. We invite you to immerse yourself in the album and experience the journey we’ve embarked upon.”

"The true narrative shall forever shroud itself in mystery to the outside world.
It is whispered that man never truly set foot on the moon, but merely touched it.
Just as the tale of this record unfolds, two souls from distant realms brushed ever so close, yet destiny denied them a lasting encounter, not even a fleeting union of Nino's and Ali's wings.
Perhaps, it was fated that the circle of a past life, woven with trust, blooming with flowers, and exchanged glances, must close in the cosmic pursuit of Venus, chasing the Crescent Moon, serenading love to its own Sun."

“A huge thing for this record was to make it feel as close to our live show as possible,” says Tom Sharkett of W.H. Lung’s latest album. “We didn’t want it to sound live but we wanted to capture the excitement of the live performances.”

This is something that has become paramount to the group in recent years as they have undeniably blossomed into one of the most joyous and arresting live bands in the country. “The reason I’m in a band is to play live music,” says singer Joe Evans. “For me, music is live music. That’s what it’s for, to be played with people.”

The five-piece band, also featuring Chris Mulligan, Hannah Peace, and Alex Mercer-Main, decided to try something new on their third album after two incredibly successful collaborations with previous producer Matt Peel. In order to capture the energy, spirit and dynamism of their live shows, they relocated to Sheffield to work with Ross Orton (MIA, Arctic Monkeys, Working Men’s Club) who was able to harness this side of the band to remarkable effect. “Ross is the Sheffield Steve Albini,” says Evans. “He’s the king of not overthinking it and trusting the process of the art of recording songs. He was always there to stop us fucking around with cerebral stuff and get it down.” Sharkett echoes this too: “He was the exact producer we needed without us even realising. His productions and mixes are bombastic, lively and in your face and that’s exactly what we wanted.”

However, while this album is rooted in a sense of capturing a moment and a sparky liveness, that’s not to say it’s a raw or ragged record. It is still a meticulously composed, delicately layered and pristinely produced piece of work that, in true W.H. Lung style, runs the gauntlet from dance to pop to indie while still capturing that distinctly unique quality that is unquestionably their own. “It was a really big thing for me to realise what made us sound like us on this record,” says Sharkett. “I think the album sounds a lot more confident and self assured because of it. Some songs sound just so much like Lung and I’m really proud of that. I’m not sure we’ve done that as consistently across the other records.”

While the band have drilled deeper into finding their own singular identity, it’s not a record resting on its laurels. It’s a significant leap forward, expanding on their solid foundations while also breaking new ground. “The big difference with this record is its directness in every sense,” says Sharkett. “The songwriting is more upfront. Previously we’d focused a lot on vibe and production as opposed to just writing songs. The overall mission here was to revert to a classic songwriting structure and for the production to come afterwards.” And so what you have on this record are deeply considered and well-crafted songs, then recorded with blistering intensity in the moment, and then given a touch of experimentation afterwards. Then throw in Orton’s contributions to the band and it’s proven to be a real winning formula. “He brought a real dose of magic to the songs we’d written,” says Sharkett. “And brought an extra bit of wonk and quirkiness each time.”

The band’s ability to write more traditional and conventional songs is clearly a skill they’ve taken to with ease, at times there’s an almost Springsteen-like quality – but if he'd ever had an ecstasy period – to tracks such as ‘Thinner Wine’ and ‘Bloom and Fade’. While ‘How to Walk’ was constructed with one thing only in mind: that it would absolutely slay on stage. “I can’t wait to play this live,” says Evans. “We wanted a song to represent our live set, a new big one, and this is it.” Once again it leans towards the anthemic, with its driving, propulsive charge complete with incandescent synths and vocal melodies so irresistible you can already hear them being sung in unison by a crowd.

It’s an incredibly difficult feat to pull off a record that is more rooted in traditional songcraft while also capturing the power of a live performance, as well as pushing sonics into experimental new directions while working with a brand new collaborator. But here the band has managed to do just that. And the album’s closing song ‘I Will Set Fire To The House’ is a perfect example of such a thing. It’s a song that feels immaculately constructed but also very much alive and of the moment as its radiating synths engulf from the off, and Evans’ vocal is silky but powerful and in perfect symbiosis with Peace’s. It’s a song that captures the endless joys of music playing long into the night. “It may be a bit of a bloody bombastic way to end an album saying ‘and we’ll dance into the sunrise’,” says Evans. “But fuck it.”

MORE PRESS ON ‘VANITIES’ (MELO131)

"Vanities artily refines an exhilarating brand of up-front electro-dance" MOJO ⅘

'Idiosyncratic yet euphoric electronic pop on triumphant second LP' 9/10 Uncut

''One of the most effective alternative pop albums of the year'' 4/5 Record Collector
'Dance music for the modern age' - The Times (4*)

Drei Jahre nach dem fesselnden Long Player Debüt ,Highly Refined Pirates" stellte die hochgradig stylische Seattler Indie Pop Band MINUS THE BEAR ihren mit beachtlichen Störimpulsen durchsetzten Prog Pop auf ihrem zweiten selbstmörderischem Album ,Menos El Oso" zur Schau. Die Jungs legten hierfür selbst ihre Hände an die Regler und übernahmen die Aufnahmen und Produktion gleich mit. Pendelnd zwischen verschiedensten Stilen, welche von '70s Prog Rockern (YES, RUSH) '80s Prototypen Punks (FUGAZI) bis hin zu '90s Art Rock Mind Fucks wie JAWBOX und JOAN OF ARC reichen, berufen sich MINUS THE BEAR auf eine moderne Liebesaffäre zwischen treibenden Tanz Rhythmen und höchst abgefahrenem Collegerock. Abgemischt wurde das Ganze vom Bandmitglied und angesehenen Studio Freak Matt Bayles (u.a.THE BLOOD BROTHERS, MASTODON, ISIS, PRETTY GIRLS MAKE GRAVES). Auf dem Album finden sich so illustre Gäste wie Judah Nagler & Josh Staples (THE VELVET TEEN), Michael Richardson (THE NEW TRUST) und HEATHER DUBY.

The sophomore effort from Gray/Smith refines their petroleum-based, hard-lullaby sound with a decidedly dusty precision. To call this pair's brand of country-rock détournement "cosmic" would be too breezy: L. Gray and Rob Smith prefer to stare into sunken depths, channeling their recondite affections for lay-by mauve zones and red-dirt guitar wanderings. Formed in the outer-edges of Kings and Richmond counties circa 2020, Gray/Smith is something of an East-Coast involution. L. Gray (guitar and vocals) and Rob Smith (drums, guitar and vocals) are both trusty veterans of "band's bands" like Pigeons (Soft Abuse), No-Neck Blues Band (Revenant, Locust), Rhyton (Thrill Jockey), and The Suntanama (Drag City), freewheeling groups known for mining from polyglot sources: rough-hewn folk and the spiritual avant-garde, bargain-bin hard rock and and collector's-choice psychedelia alike. On their first, self-released LP Gray/Smith, serendipitously recorded at Gary's Electric at the top of 2021, the pair trained their assured chops onto the great American song-form, honing a murky but tight approach that variously cribs "urban cowboy" and finger-picked primitivism. A string of cryptic appearances soon followed, including a short-lived residency at a now-shuttered vodka dive; a micro-tour with Coloradan songstress Josephine Foster; and a series of backyard and barroom gigs sharing stages with compatriots like Stella Kola, Blues Ambush, Samara Lubelski, and Wednesday Knudsen. Heels in the Aisle is the slipshod, burnt-out, mid-'70s unter-prog comedown to their debut's backwoods, bushy-tailed, early-'70s, country-rock meanderings_expect more unrestrained riffs, artful studio wizardry, and worn-down introspection. Joining the ranks of bloodshot-eyed, blues-rock medleys à la Canned Heat's "Parthenogenesis" and Grand Funk's "Into The Sun," "The SDSPS" is the nearly side-length opening cut, an expanded song-cycle condensing and riffing on the themes of their debut. "Help Me" ventriloquizes Pomona College outlaw Kris Kristofferson's slow-roaring ballad of libidinal woe. On the flip side, "Verrazano Tile" and the title track pay heed to lower bays of Staten Island, while their arrangement of the traditional Zimbabwean tune "Guabi Guabi" is a bright Dead/Feat-like jaunt with blissed-out wah-wah pay-off. "Gaslight Boulevard" is lean, mean, and eight-beers-in space rock, and the closing track "Kekule's Ring" is a slack-jawed, wistful crash back down to earth. All this, packaged in a luxe, expertly-printed sleeve photographed by downtown artist Lary 7 and designed by Eric Wrenn (Sophie's Oil of Every Pearl's Un-Insides).

See You At The Maypole, the sixth full-length album in Half Waif"s prolific catalog, is a recognition of personal sadness, and a call to ecstatic togetherness. It"s gathering the colors of our spirit, in all its shades, and making something intricate and remarkable. The ceremonial folk dance performed around a maypole is filled with fauna and flora, with ribbons woven into complex braids incapable of unraveling; these dances are survivals of ancient ritual, honoring the living trees, and the return of Spring and fertility. These patterns -- this dance -- cannot be completed alone, and so, Half Waif welcomes others to join her, a collective of bleeding color. "We are so much stronger for the colorful experiences we go through," she says. "That"s where we find our humanity and find each other." While the seclusion of grief feels infinite, Rose brought the songs to her trusted friend and longtime collaborator of the past decade, Zubin Hensler. The pair worked away from others for Mythopoetics, carefully crafting each note and flourish themselves but something else was needed for See You At The Maypole. To that end, Hensler and Rose welcomed a wealth of players and friends into the world of the record: Jason Burger and Zack Levine on drums and percussion; Josh Marre (Blue Ranger) on guitar; Hannah Epperson and Elena Moon Park on violin; Kristina Teuschler on clarinet; Willem de Koch on trombone; Rebecca El-Saleh on harp; and Spencer Zahn on upright bass. Andrew Sarlo (Big Thief, Bon Iver) lent his deft mixing skills to many of the tracks, including lead single "Figurine." "This wasn"t just my story, I wanted to say. It was every story of loss-the loss of a life, the loss of a dream, the loss of trust and hope and faith. A story of finding a way back again," Rose explains. "My own avenue back to the land of the living was through my relationships with people and with the natural world. It only seemed right that these songs would invite those people in to build the very heart of the sound."

Ever-evolving the mythologies and magic of Dialect's sonic sphere, Andrew PM Hunt returns with Atlas of Green, elegantly molding unexacting details of memory and mistranslation into the framework of the British musician and composer's creative pursuit. The album imagines a young musician named Green working in a future dawning era where lost signals and enduring impulses are unearthed from the sediments of technology and time. Across twelve compositions, Green becomes the compass in an epoch of transition; one shaded with pastoral patinas and studded with the fragments of allegorical ruin. As tattered as it is tender, Atlas of Green is a patchwork of scavenged relics and bygone hues, cast through the iridescent shimmers of a mid-future in flux. Growing up on the Wirral Peninsula in North West England, Hunt was surrounded by stone age landmarks and rock carvings that infused the landscape with legend. It was beside those carvings on a residency at Bidston Artistic Research Center where he began the journey of Atlas of Green, experimenting with tape loops and exploring the center's library of sci-fi. Here Hunt also encountered the work of Italian philosopher Federico Campagna, a writer who believes we're at the end of our current world. This encouraged Hunt's exploration of how the fabric and fantasies of our current era might endure into the future of Green, as they try to make sense of the riddles of the past, utilizing broken electronics and simple acoustic instruments to create new mythic forms. This question of endurance led Hunt to inscribe Atlas of Green with its own lucid markings - sometimes almost anthemic adornments - which unfurl through the album's melancholic air as possible new metaphors for how the human spirit might persist through dark days and regain lost wisdom. As Hunt reflects, "We're not just on an endless procession through constantly better worlds. Our lack of action (on climate and inequality) feels hopeless at times. I find some comfort in the idea that maybe the world needs a new song in order to tell a new story about itself". The image of Green as a journeying adolescent in-between eras developed out of a burgeoning interest in the fantasy writing of Ursula K. Le Guin and Gene Wolfe and occurred at a point in Hunt's life where the question of starting a family was looming. Green became a device for thinking about the future, or futures, putting someone in another world and granting access to a slightly longer timeframe than one's own life. What would this person, in this as-yet-unsung world do with something as powerful as music? As Hunt notes, "I imagined them doing what we've always done with music - using it to build a map of feeling, providing boundaries and tracing the edges of our emotions, defining a space of possibility and giving voice to our intuition. This is an alternative future to the one of endless growth but one which still holds space for hopes and dreams." Mapping new folds in the passage of time, Atlas of Green is traced with an aura of sonic urgency which arises through its process-led construction. Following a series of live shows in early 2023, the record was created with an assemblage of analogue electronics and acoustic instruments, including scratched records and a broken four track, collaging studio work with recorded live recordings featuring work in progress. Where the indeterminate energies of Under~Between (2021) appeared through digital processing, Atlas of Green embraces chance encounters within the malfunctions of physical media and glitching gear. Within these interwoven clusters of organic and blemished sound, Dialect reclaims the joyfulness of the inner amateur and creates a soft landing for new seeds of magical possibility - rooted in the bounds and abundance of realism. "As a planet of people we have to deal one way or another with our finite existence. We have to deal with that loss with hope still in our hearts - our capacity to love cannot be contingent on things lasting forever, and so this image of Green is not a vision of dystopia, nor utopia but an expression of trust and an acceptance of limits."

Jaz Karis is getting ready to take off. The South London singer and songwriter has been making waves with her silky voice and lyrical, candid pen since her first EP back in 2017, building herself up steadily over the years. 2024 will see the long-awaited arrival of Jaz Karis' debut album, Safe Flight, . It's a record that spans a breadth of sonics: slinky Afrobeats, gleaming R&B, warm gospel, shimmering flecks of pop, hiphop, jazz and amapiano, all woven through with the glowing thread of Jaz's signature soulful feeling. "Soul to me is a feeling," she explains, "All I want to do with my music is evoke feelings."

The imagery for this album all pertains to identity and travel - IDs, lanyards, nostalgia-tinged film footage - and in turn, it all alludes to the path that Jaz Karis is on. Safe Flight finds an accomplished, assured artist reflecting on where she's been and ready to step up to the next level: a star on the rise but still deeply down to earth. At once soulful, vibey and poignant, this is an album about embracing possibility, admitting mistakes, and trusting the process. "It's about getting free," Jaz says with a smile, "And it's not that I have it all figured out now or anything, but I'm on this learning curve. There's something exciting about being on the journey."

Nach ”Good Rockin’ Tonight” von 2023: Killer In Stereo ist dies der zweite Teil unserer Serie von remasterten Jerry Lee Lewis Stereo-Mixen. Country Sides: Killer In Stereo gibt einen Vorgeschmack auf
Jerry Lee Lewis späteren Country-Starruhm. Diese Tracks sind seltene Stereo-Mixe seiner Versionen von
Country-Klassikern wie ”Cold, Cold Heart” und ”I Love You Because” sowie alternative Aufnahmen seiner
Country-lastigsten Tracks wie ”How’s My Ex Treating You” und ”One Minute Past Eternity”. Auf dieser
neuen Vinyl-LP, die kürzlich in die Country Music Hall Of Fame aufgenommen wurde, können Sie Jerry
Lee Lewis’ früheste Erkundungen des Genres feiern

Samosa Records dips its toes back into the Afrikano waters with Volume 3 of the Afro themed, genre-busting series and features four deadly tracks from some of Samosa’s most trusted lieutenants.

Breaking the ice as the first track of this exceptional EP is Vincent Galgo and ‘African Rebel’. Mr Galgo has clearly read the brief here – giving us a 125bpm marauder that’s a melting pot of unstoppable horns, furious rhythms and an Afro-pop style bass that is the beating heart of the track.

Track 2 is Samosa regular Frank Virgilio who introduces us to his ‘Mistress’. As a straight up jazz-infused, mid-tempo rhythmic chugger, ‘Mistress’ quickly gets down to the important business of racking up the beats and instrumentation. The generous spread of guitar riffs, assertive bass and organ stabs are expertly lifted by the layered and always rolling drums and bongos induce a trance-like state of mind, so be warned!

On the B-Side Samosa newcomer Casper Leo wears his Tribal heart on his sleeve with the enchanting and utterly captivating jangler - ‘Tom Tom’. You can never have too much Kora guitar and ‘Tom Tom’ has lashings of it, with delicious sprinkles of melodic Marimba – perfect for West African sunsets.

Closing the EP off in style is Afro beats grand master, Lego Edit and the filthy-sexy ‘El Safari’. No other producer can take the essence of the Afro beat structure and bend it to their will like Lego Edit can. Like a late night fist-fight in Club Coco Bongo, ‘El Safari’ punches its way out of the doors. A slinky, wily alley cat of a tune that digs deep with its claws and doesn’t let go and another masterpiece from Lego Edit.

Afrikano Vol.3 has done the impossible and set the bar even higher for this wonderfully diverse Samosa series. We want more. We want ‘4’. With this in your record box, you’ll come with a warning.

Cantoma’s new album, “See In The Sun” feels like the welcome return of an old friend. This sensation perhaps reflecting the recording, which found Phil Mison working with a team of trusted talent. More than 20 singers, players and engineers were involved , including Quinn Lamont Luke , Luna Asteri, Robin Twelftree , Justin Drake , Andre Espeut, Robin Lee, Patrick `Dawes, Gizelle Smith and Audun Waage. Collectively they’ve created 10 tracks - joyful jams between accordion, flute, and kalimba, Reeds, orchestral strings, brass, bongos, and Spanish guitar.

The LP possesses fewer introspective moments than its predecessors. The music, on the whole, is moving its feet. Making its way toward a twilight dance floor. There’s also an emphasis on “proper” songs. Lyrics are sung, and spoken, in English, Spanish and Japanese. Their predominate themes are friendship, togetherness and love.

Unashamedly optimistic in its outlook, “See In The Sun” seems to wish only the very best for everyone. Phil says he never planned it that way, it just happened. Perhaps a consequence of all the friends gathered. However, this message comes at a point when the world is poised, hoping, more than ready for positive change.
Robert Harris - Ban Ban Ton Ton.

Following last year’s Cyber Sunshine single and Vantage Point EP, plus the former’s expansion into a Deluxe Remix Pack EP just this Spring, trusty Dutch trance traders Match Box are miraculously back with their fourth consecutive glistening Goddezz release. This time, it’s a double offering whose boundless celestial charm again centres around the star we owe it all to: think of High En3rgy as the sunset daydream and Clint’s remix the sunrise epiphany.

Spanning 8 minutes and 7 seconds that slip by all too soon, High En3rgy is a lucent, dreamlike journey not easily forgotten. Layering a faintly melancholic and hauntingly simple melody over a nonetheless pulsating bassline, it accomplishes something rare: an emotive marrying of the wistful and the rousing. The effect is a plucky, heartening sound that walks a tightrope between nostalgic reflection and enduring anticipation. It’s delicate yet driving - the gorgeous sonic expression of a sunset daydream that could leave you leaning either way.

Whether you emerge from that musing trance with a lump in your throat or a fire in your belly, Clint’s remix is the impossibly ideal next step. Faithfully refracting its originator’s sound whilst instantly supercharging the mood from spirited to high-spirited, its giddy rhythm and buoyant-turned-bouncy beat inject pure, immediate, perhaps emergency enlivenment. It’s more than fun, playful or invigorating: it’s irresistibly, heroically stirring - and once its sunrise synths come scorching over the horizon, you’re passing through gleeful exhilaration into sublime elation, with no hope of holding back any tears.