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Blake Lee has always been fascinated by the unknown, and space, in its isolating, mysterious vastness, embodies this theme immaculately. The open void, captured so memorably by Stanley Kubrick in '2001: A Space Odyssey', is Blake's far-reaching canvas on 'No Sound In Space', a cinematic meditation on the cosmos that's painted in nuanced, emotionally sincere colors. The Los Angeles-based composer has been contemplating his full-length debut since 2021, using his guitar as a sonic paintbrush rather than find himself snared in its traditional aesthetic constraints. Transforming its characteristics with effects and subtle processes, he layers sustained tones and intimate improvisations, creating richly visual polychromatic utopias teeming with unknown life.

Since 2011, Blake has been most known for being the guitarist and a music director for Lana Del Rey, notching up three songwriting credits on her acclaimed ‘Ultraviolence’ full length. He sees his solo work is a form of escapism, a place where he can experiment and find comfort and catharsis outside of expectations and formal structure. The album was written instinctively, and Blake made sure he didn't force anything, letting go and getting out of his own way, listening intently as sounds and textures materialized organically. "I didn't want to ruin it by being a perfectionist," he laughs. And his collaboration with Kenyan sound artist KMRU, who runs the OFNOT label and contributes to two of the tracks on the album, occurred similarly organically.

Blake was moved to reach out to KMRU when he caught a performance of 'Natur' at Los Angeles' Zebulon in 2022, leading to a prolonged back-and-forth. They didn't meet in person until earlier this year, by which time they'd become firm friends, continuously sharing music and conversation. KMRU had lent a valuable ear to Blake, who sent early playlists of 'NSIS' that, over the months, slowly evolved into the finished album. It's the first release on OFNOT that's not by KMRU himself; the label emerged last year with the release of KMRU's own 'Dissolution Grip', and Blake's debut immediately expands its sonic universe. Alongside the playlists, Blake also provided KMRU with the tracks' raw stems, which KMRU began to edit and expand in his Berlin studio. 'Miura' and 'Waiting' are the result of this process, two sublime abstractions that augment Blake's dreamlike, euphoric tones with KMRU's pebbly distortions and booming low-end rumbles. And this same playful sense of freeness seeps into Blake's other compositions.

On the misty 'In A Cloud', he surrounds cascading string tones with soft-focus pads that swell until they're like crashing waves, and on the two 'Echoplexx' pieces, he uses delay and reverb to smudge his sounds until they're viscous residue, the harmonies obscured by whooshes of white noise and distant chimes. The mood is quieted somewhat on 'Moving Air', as Blake's swirling tones form half-heard lullabies, coalescing into a dense, melancholy crescendo, and he fills out the sound with reverberant airport recordings on 'Pan Am', letting pitchy My Bloody Valentine-esque drones warble beneath the transitory chatter. Each track melts into the next, forming a billowing, cryptic narrative that leaves more questions than answers. Blake is constantly searching, and fills his unoccupied space with warmth, perception and sensitivity.

Blake Lee has always been fascinated by the unknown, and space, in its isolating, mysterious vastness, embodies this theme immaculately. The open void, captured so memorably by Stanley Kubrick in '2001: A Space Odyssey', is Blake's far-reaching canvas on 'No Sound In Space', a cinematic meditation on the cosmos that's painted in nuanced, emotionally sincere colors. The Los Angeles-based composer has been contemplating his full-length debut since 2021, using his guitar as a sonic paintbrush rather than find himself snared in its traditional aesthetic constraints. Transforming its characteristics with effects and subtle processes, he layers sustained tones and intimate improvisations, creating richly visual polychromatic utopias teeming with unknown life.

Since 2011, Blake has been most known for being the guitarist and a music director for Lana Del Rey, notching up three songwriting credits on her acclaimed ‘Ultraviolence’ full length. He sees his solo work is a form of escapism, a place where he can experiment and find comfort and catharsis outside of expectations and formal structure. The album was written instinctively, and Blake made sure he didn't force anything, letting go and getting out of his own way, listening intently as sounds and textures materialized organically. "I didn't want to ruin it by being a perfectionist," he laughs. And his collaboration with Kenyan sound artist KMRU, who runs the OFNOT label and contributes to two of the tracks on the album, occurred similarly organically.

Blake was moved to reach out to KMRU when he caught a performance of 'Natur' at Los Angeles' Zebulon in 2022, leading to a prolonged back-and-forth. They didn't meet in person until earlier this year, by which time they'd become firm friends, continuously sharing music and conversation. KMRU had lent a valuable ear to Blake, who sent early playlists of 'NSIS' that, over the months, slowly evolved into the finished album. It's the first release on OFNOT that's not by KMRU himself; the label emerged last year with the release of KMRU's own 'Dissolution Grip', and Blake's debut immediately expands its sonic universe. Alongside the playlists, Blake also provided KMRU with the tracks' raw stems, which KMRU began to edit and expand in his Berlin studio. 'Miura' and 'Waiting' are the result of this process, two sublime abstractions that augment Blake's dreamlike, euphoric tones with KMRU's pebbly distortions and booming low-end rumbles. And this same playful sense of freeness seeps into Blake's other compositions.

On the misty 'In A Cloud', he surrounds cascading string tones with soft-focus pads that swell until they're like crashing waves, and on the two 'Echoplexx' pieces, he uses delay and reverb to smudge his sounds until they're viscous residue, the harmonies obscured by whooshes of white noise and distant chimes. The mood is quieted somewhat on 'Moving Air', as Blake's swirling tones form half-heard lullabies, coalescing into a dense, melancholy crescendo, and he fills out the sound with reverberant airport recordings on 'Pan Am', letting pitchy My Bloody Valentine-esque drones warble beneath the transitory chatter. Each track melts into the next, forming a billowing, cryptic narrative that leaves more questions than answers. Blake is constantly searching, and fills his unoccupied space with warmth, perception and sensitivity.

Virtuoso producers, DJ's, multi-instrumentalists and brothers Emanuel and Gerardo Cedillo, aka Soul Of Hex, present a sumptuous EP of essential house cuts on the lauded Mexican imprint Kilometro 4.5 featuring A-list appearances from Kuniyuki and "Mad" Mike Banks. This four-track record swells with life, soul and ideas; encompassing a heady mix of jazz, electro, soul, gospel and funk all channeled through a classic house lens.

Amandra, half head honcho behind Ahrpe Records, goes for subtly evolving and droning atmospheres. With releases spanning electronic genres and record labels: Nous klaer Audio, AD 93, Tikita or Semantica, just to name a few; the French producer ba with coherence his own vision of acid and tribal rhythms that can be presented with either bright and soft feelings or through a
Brera Som Som EP

As always with Amandra, there is a blend of poetic and soft hidden touch given to the music through carefully crafted personal Som is a 4 tracker EP, recorded back when he lived in Warsaw Poland, showcasing the artists ability to navigate through nich double 12 package cherry topped with four intelligent and eclectic remixes from artists with their own unique identity: Shieldin Brainwaltzera.

Amandra on disc 1
Brera Som Som
I want my music to breathe dirty so its alive to my ears, trying to stay away from surgical, clean, electronic music. The Prophet recorded by hand, with assumed offbeat imperfections, as always. I wanted to get a naive Asian mood out of it, just to try and c track. I tend to think a lot about my tracks and their meaning more in terms of feelings, art and techniques than in terms of dee
dance floors or whatever. Brera Som Som is a try at using the chiaroscuro technique depicted in classical paintings for instance interesting focus on some very specific elements.

Cyborg Pelikana
Recorded out of a jam on a Soma Pulsar 23 and some heavy distorted synths, it ended up sounding like no other recordings bit different as I wanted to have a more composed like approach here.

Fanfaron
Here is a try at going jungle... with a Moog DFAM and a 303 processed through a Sherman Filterbank.

Prorokini
This one belongs to a phase where I was exploring the sampling side of electronic music. Until that moment I was building 100 based on raw drum machines and some processing, then started feeling how it would feel to sample some raw external beats and process them my way. I didnt pursue that sampling lead much afterward because it felt like a boring approach to me that
stood out anyway, like this one, which Im very proud of. The synths are clearly programmed on the Prophet 08, it cant go any Instruments than that, if you like them, go grab that synth

Remixers on disc 2
Cyborg Pelikana Shielding Remix
I liked the dry and direct qualities of the original track and wanted to maintain that feeling while collaging it using my own proc Recorded in my old home studio in Stockholm.

Brera Som Som Brainwaltzera Remix
no comment.
Fanfaron Whylie Remix
The remix was made using resampling techniques, the rhythmic noises were transformed into driving percussive layers pushi character. A more emotional overlay was added to the track based on the sentimental and personal approach I built through.

Brera Som Som Martinou Remix
Interpreting Amandras work has been on my bucket list for a while. Theres something in it that is innately humanizing and raw capture in my remix. The melody line from the remix is just a snapshot of a small part of the full original track, but it stuck with my improvisation to what you see before you today. With this remix I wanted to make something that would swell slowly and ring o
All original tracks written and produced by Amandra.
Remixes written and produced by Brainwaltzera, Whylie, Martinou and Shielding.
Mastered by Amandra.
Artwork by Neurotypique.

The small but already well-formed Stereo:type label has got a trip of new EPs all dropping this summer. UK producer Risk Assessment is behind them all and each one explores a classic disco sound with some modern dance floor weight. 'She's On The Floor' is a celebrity and feel-good jam with heart-swelling strings. 'Rhyme' cuts up a classic vocal sample and layers it over some house-leaning beats while 'Delicious' is a wig-out lead by its shimmering synth stabs. Last but not least is the breezy and sunny 'Let's Do It'.

Red Vinyl. Listening to Fashion Club's self-produced second album A Love You Cannot Shake feels like being caught in the crossfire of a profound beam of light. You can't help but feel both enlivened and exposed as its aberrant synth lines, artful strings and disfigured guitars swell into larger-than-life crescendos, which evoke a divine yet probing spotlight. Pascal Stevenson, the Los Angeles-based musician behind Fashion Club, likens the experience of hearing A Love You Cannot Shake to staring into the sun, and though the record wasn't written with religion in mind, its heavenly sonics and emotional sagacity also make it feel like a prophetic encounter. The album was shaped by Stevenson's gender transition and sobriety journey and parses her fluid emotions surrounding these events and other personal trials and tribulations. But as much as it's a dialogue between Stevenson's current and former selves, it's also an invitation for listeners to join her in the work of discarding bitterness and re-centering hope, especially when such efforts feel futile. Musically, A Love You Cannot Shake is an unshackling of expectations, as Stevenson's previous stint as bassist in the L.A. post-punk outfit Moaning and her first record as Fashion Club, 2022's Scrutiny, didn't necessarily reflect the full range of her taste, which includes ambient, pop, classical and dance music, or embody her sensitive tenderness and femininity. A Love You Cannot Shake also thrives on a fluid sonic palette. The album's magnetic immersiveness hinges on its strange dynamic shifts, jagged production and ambitious song structures with parts that don't repeat_choices influenced by her love of left-field electro-pop and her classical music background. While Stevenson handled most of the instrumentals on Scrutiny, this LP is much more collaborative, featuring an array of contributors who lent strings, piano, pedal steel and more. Plus, this album boasts country harmonies from Perfume Genius ("Forget"), high-pitched coos from Jay Som ("Ghost") and gauzy whispers from Julie Byrne ("Rotten Mind"). Stevenson's vocal evolution is also on display with this record, embracing a softer delivery that's more reflective of her personality and identity.

2024 Repress

All in that stark contrast between ethereal spaciousness and steely, martial rhythms out the industrial spectrum, 'Far Field' takes us on a voyage across the board, from breaks-heavy machine stunts to washed-out tapestries, via EBM-laced detours and junglistic maneuvers. Investigating the nexus zone between dance functionality and limitless escapology, it extrapolates both artists' blends to further immersive, hypnotic effect. Taking over the A side, .VRIL gets the ball rolling with 'Lost Together', which sets the tone on a low-slung, nostalgia-drenched note; combining the syncopated swagger of downtempo techno with ambient-oid stasis and static-filled opacity. Like watching an all-metal sun sinking past the blazing skyline. Revving up the engines, 'Fnord' feat. RAeYN conjures up a way more muscular arsenal of big-room-ready wares, from aggro snare salvos to anthemic synth kinetics, through that replicant-hunting kinda vibe. One to have the Saturn rings go hula hoop, with all woofers and brains in the vicinity melting in XTC. Shutting the A side off, 'We Believe' returns to a lighter, more vaporous mindset but sure implements that signature heavy swing of .VRIL, flush with textured kicks and FX-soaked arps. True monster prog swell. Flip it over and there's HVL dishing out a textbook example of his vortical electronic furls with the title-track, 'Far Field' - an oneiric drift that slowly rises from its heavy-lidded slumber, ascending towards bleepin' n bloopin' experimental effervescence as bars fly by. A number bound to hack your body and mind into two distinct facets, and while one dances its way frantically across the ever buzzing space/time continuum, the other shall reach a state of healing calm and transcending ubiquity. Smoothly shuttling us off to the upper layers of the ionosphere, 'Lancet Mxi' clenches it on a trippy note, taxiing us midway zero-G UK bass territories and eerie ambient abstraction. HVL's total, widescreen vision at its most unhindered, all set at expanding your mind to yet uncharted horizons of sound and closing the gap between two distant, estranged galaxies. A fractured headspace to both dance and dream to. *Dressed in a fine piece of artwork courtesy of Daniel M. Diaz, 'RYCL021' comes pressed on 180g audiophile black vinyl for optimal playing and listening experience.

Oliver Coates' Throb, shiver, arrow of time is a portal into somatic chiaroscuro, aglow with the embers of imperfect memories and smudged with the plumes of internal echoes, which augment in vast, mercurial dimensions. For his third album on RVNG Intl., the British cellist, composer and producer offers a capsule of personal resonance and remembrance, assembled over the past six years. Throb, shiver, arrow of time traces the familiar metallic anatomy and viscous string modulations of his 2020 release skins n slime, while recentering his inner compulsions following a procession of lauded score writing projects, including the films Aftersun (Charlotte Wells, 2022), The Stranger (Thomas M Wright, 2022) and Occupied City (Steve McQueen, 2023). While working on Aftersun, Wells asked Coates how music could signal that someone is going on a trawl through their memory_a question that has stayed with him ever since and fosters a heartbeat running through the record. Throb, shiver, arrow of time is "all about inaccurate transmissions from our memories, overlaid with emotions from other sources," says Coates. The release is imbued with the ache and glow of recollections mulched together, where the guttural dissonance of misremembering is shrouded by strange orbs of sentiment. At the record's inner core is "Shopping centre curfew," a swift yet cavernous track that emerged five years ago when two real world events, both occurring in South London during the pandemic lockdowns, became fused in a dream: the demolition of Elephant and Castle shopping center, and the discussion of a curfew as a real possibility for all men following a violent crime. A strange simultaneity occurred with this piece of music and Coates built the album out from there, a sense of temporal entropy refracting shimmers of lurking convulsions into lucid sonic topologies. The ten compositions of Throb, shiver, arrow of time find weightless melodies soaring across after-image gradients, magnified and compressed. Misted tones within "Please be normal" and "90" soften drone-soaked shudders of inner acoustics messing up. Vocal invocations appear from long-term collaborators Malibu and chrysanthemum bear, as well as drifting synth radiance from Faten Kanaan. Throb, shiver, arrow of time furthers Coates' reach in collapsing the digital into the analogue and vice versa, allowing serendipity to reorganize the material and push out against the confines of flatness. This sculptural approach to sound is deeply influenced by the intricate installations of artist Sarah Sze, whose permutations of visual matter with its own after-image form kaleidoscopic epitaphs for ephemera and emotion. Coates' thinking about Sze's work and processes flowed together with his own playing and editing techniques, superimposing the textural relief of a live take back into a composition, and allowing the sound to succumb to a dream of itself. As Coates expands, "The cello is a kind of melancholic instrument with a light ethereal spirit. When the sound is flattened into digital processes, with shifted frequencies and time stretching I'm trying to give it even more of those qualities. Sometimes I'm distancing myself from it, so it becomes a piece of discarded debris that has soul in it, a down-sampling. Or other times, it's trying to maximize the present tense in the act of playing, and collapse that vivid color into a burnished, photocopied kind of sound. So the music acts like weather, weathering the listener, or as flames licking at the sides of objects." As the record unfurls, the compositions swell in duration, until the granular glimmers of its finale "Make it happen" persist in almost violent delight. "There's a feeling of not wanting to let this album go, trying to defy the extinguishing sound at the end of the music, trying to push the colors beyond the confines of the structure, to defeat the silence." In the scramble to resist denouement, Coates suspends the arrow of time in its eternal flight, just for a moment, to reveal the solace of the dust settling in the afterglow. Oliver Coates' Throb, shiver, arrow of time will be released on vinyl, Japanese import CD, and digital editions on October 18, 2024. On behalf of Oliver and RVNG Intl., a portion of the proceeds from this release will benefit The Traditional Music and Song Association of Scotland, an organization fostering opportunities for people of all ages to participate in the traditional music and culture of Scotland.

Forgetting You Is Like Breathing Water, the self-titled debut from the duo of trumpeter Will Evans and guitarist, synthesist, producer and multi-instrumentalist Theo Trump, arrives like a vault revelation. It feels like a decades-old yet newly unearthed masterwork of gorgeous ambient improvisation, the sort of thing scholars live to research and shepherd into deluxe reissue.

The patient, crystalline chords that swell and resonate like a series of confessions; the textured brass murmurs that suggest a ’60s or ’70s Fire Music master at their most poignant. Provocative found-sound experiments threading arcane religious recordings through dystopian soundscapes. Ear-shattering free-noise tumult. Where and when did this music come from? Who are these voices?

As it turns out, Forgetting You Is Like Breathing Water springs from an engrossing human story, though it isn’t necessarily the one you’d expect. This work of stunning maturity is in fact an entrance by two little-known explorers in their early 20s, who grew up together in Virginia, in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It documents one of those perfect, sparkling moments in post-adolescence when big decisions and responsibilities are right around the corner, but for a spell, two young artists are able to create among the comforts and nostalgia of their shared past.

It also represents a reunion of sorts, as Evans and Trump connected as toddlers, became inseparable as boys, then pursued independent lives and creative paths as young adults. “Theo is my oldest friend,” Evans says, “and I feel like that’s what this band is — us meeting right in the middle of our interests.”

Now, having conjured this magic, they’ve detached once again: Evans, whose other works include the indie/avant-jazz unit Angelica X, is currently based in New York City. Trump recently moved to England, where he’d participated in his family’s theatre company, to go to school and further his solo ambient project. “This album didn’t start out as something super ambitious,” Evans explains. “It was more just an excuse to spend time together again and make music.”

***

In conversation, Evans and Trump are a delight, especially for cynics who might think that Gen-Z is only capable of doomscrolling. They come across as kindly young intellectuals who grew up using the internet as it was intended, for exposure to ideas and art across genres and generations. Trump points to indie-folk and the oracular post-rock of late Talk Talk, Bark Psychosis and Gastr del Sol. Pressed for his guitar heroes, he cites Bill Orcutt, Mary Halvorson and Marc Ribot, and mentions his devotion to alt-country. Heyday electro-industrial stuff like Skinny Puppy and Nine Inch Nails also meant a lot to him.

Evans is equally intrepid, though his background has a greater jazz focus. Ambrose Akinmusire, among today’s most thoughtfully commanding trumpeters, is a favorite. As for the soulful murmur he offers throughout Forgetting You, Pharoah Sanders’ wistful and lyrical contributions to Floating Points’ work is a touchstone.

The two grew up down the street from each other in the northern Piedmont town of Batesville, Virginia. Their families were friends, holidays were celebrated together and they became the most loyal of pals. As children they had a pretend band.

Then life unfolded, they attended different schools and their paths diverged. Evans discovered John Coltrane and became a jazz obsessive, as Trump found punk and hardcore and later began making ambient music. As a dedicated jazz trumpeter, Evans studied formally and widely; Trump was an autodidact, teaching himself guitar and absorbing synthesis and production techniques. The late teens and very early 20s brought moves away from home and back to home, as well as plenty of listening and learning. The Covid pandemic meant an opportunity to reconnect on long walks. Through it all, together and apart, they remained reverent of each other.

By early 2023, they found themselves living again among the Blue Ridge Mountains. In the evening, after giving trumpet lessons in Charlottesville, Evans would make the eerily beautiful trek “over the mountain” to Trump’s home in Staunton, Virginia. They’d talk and eat and begin to improvise, deep into the night. Evans played trumpet and sometimes drums. (Given the wee-hours recording schedule, the neighbors didn’t appreciate the latter.) Trump plugged a rickety, junk-store Telecaster-style guitar into a cheap solid-state amp and explored open tunings; he also layered on lap steel, electric bass, synths and electronics.

They locked in and relished each other’s gifts. In Trump, those include patience and intentionality and sonic decision-making; for Evans, a distinctive trumpet sound that both musicians think of as a singer’s voice. “Will’s playing is so thoughtful and well placed,” Trump says. “My goal from a producer’s mindset is that the trumpet will occupy the space that vocals would take.”

Often, they got lost in the best way. “The thing I look for most when I’m playing is that feeling of disappearing into what you’re doing,” Evans says. “Usually when that happens, the music is good.”

By the same token, they didn’t pursue free improvisation as an ethic, or as a pure process. Their goal was something closer to spontaneous composition. “We were trying to make good songs,” Evans says simply. Later, Trump did brilliant post-production work, expanding a modest setup into an enthralling soundworld. Under his judicious editorship, music that was wholly improvised sounds at times like a carefully composed new-music commission.

The results speak for themselves. “A Happy Death” summons up a swath of American desolation through the viewfinder of Wim Wenders. “Flesh of Lost Summers” and “Partings” are highlights from an essential ECM LP that never was. “A Collapse of Horses” infuses those seminal post-rock influences with the plod of doom metal or slowcore. The album’s final track, “The Mountains Are a Dream That Calls to Me,” was in fact the first thing the duo recorded, as an evocation of those twilit drives across the Blue Ridge Mountains. “Looking back at what we chose to name the songs,” Evans says, “and some of the sounds and how they make me feel, there is an air of impermanence and loss to this album.”

“I’m excited for everything that’s to come,” he adds, “but I recently thought, ‘Damn — that’s not going to happen again.’ It was a privilege for us to have that time together.”

Once billed as "Europe's First Lady of Jazz," Rita Reys was a legend overseas during the second half of the 20th century, and certainly one of the top European jazz singers. Jazz Pictures at an Exhibition showcases a 1961 concert featuring Rita with the Pim Jacobs Trio (also including Pim's brother Ruud on bass), plus drum legend Kenny Clarke. This was the only time ever Reys and Clarke recorded together.

Repress Collecting

Back with Ep 2, Dj Swella delivering more of that nice warm grooving house cuts from down-under on his own local Pleasure Trax imprint. DJ-friendly chord-driven tracks with a seductive vibe and some catchy vocal samples on this Australian label. Recommended & Limited supplies!

DREAMLESS VEIL make their debut with the new album, Every Limb of the Flood. The band, featuring members of INTER ARMA, ARTIFICIAL BRAIN, and PSYCROPTIC manifest terrifying Blackened Extreme Metal and offer one of the year's most haunting releases. Every Limb of the Flood is a concept album. Through tracks such as "A Generation of Eyes", "Saturnism", and "Cyanide Mine" Vocalist Mike Paparo and co. task the listener to consider what it would be like for an individual to fully disappear. DREAMLESS VEIL delves into this murk through 8 tracks - dramatic swells, melodic crescendos, and abrasive blast-beat poundings make way to more introspective moments ultimately resulting in pure horror. Paparo explores the concept of corporeal disintegration with pained shrieks and disembodied bellows, resulting in one of the most unchained performances of his storied career. Lyrics for the record show, but don't tell. DREAMLESS VEIL's concept alludes to misery leading to grotesquery - The opener "Dim Golden Rave" throws the listener into an ambiguous time and place: "Grief, spiritless, collapses against the filth-ridden street". The second track, "A Generation of Eyes" follows this narrative by invoking Neil Young, quoting him to the extent of "rust never sleeps." What ensues is a grief so powerful it decomposes from within. The end result manifests in the album closer "Dreamless" - the body is now fully discarded, hinting at a possible enlightenment through a horrible, gruesome process. Sonically, Every Limb of the Flood is a caustic, corrosive journey. Critically acclaimed drummer David Haley flexes some of his most creative drum work to date, dragging the listener through wild tempo changes, breakneck speeds that come to sudden halts, while guitarist Dan Gargiulo (ARTIFICIAL BRAIN) interweaves disorienting guitar madness. Recorded by Brett Bamberger (REVOCATION) Every Limb of the Flood was mixed by Gargiulo and mastered by Colin Marston (Gorguts, Krallice, and more.)

Though she was Stax Records' Queen of Soul (and Otis Redding was her king), there was much more to Carla Thomas. In 1967, even while being promoted by the name of her most recent album, The Queen Alone, she was expanding her sound, developing a cabaret act that showcased a mix of genres and styles and that was built around her beautiful voice. She was exploring new vistas when these two sides were recorded.
Isaac Hayes wrote "Loneliness". Carla's suave delivery evokes Diana Ross, and the shiny brass horns call out a Burt Bacharach arrangement as much as Stax. This is Carla with a nice polish on the groove.
Labelmate and friend Deanie Parker wrote "If It's Not Asking Too Much". A sparer presentation, the organ drives the tango rhythm and also—a second keyboard, I think—swells behind Carla, everything entwining and deepening the song's brooding tone. This is the kind of side that can both start your night or finish it.
Carla Thomas has got it all.

Mermaid Chunky. It's all in a name, sometimes. The danceable, costumed, curiosity rich duo of artists Freya Tate and Moina Moin are as imaginative as they profess. Or, to get more to the point, as we all need them to be. Freya and Moina are two visual artists and musicians from Stroud and South London, places where they importantly found communities (Stroud's SVA and the capital's Total Refreshment Centre) of like minded people just as willing to chase down an idea to its possibly illogical conclusion. And it is in the collective and the idea of participation that Mermaid Chunky really clicks. This is a party, a collective dance, made all the better with more: people, ideas, layers, kick drums, recorders, saxophones, frogs. To wit, the album's first track and first single, "Céilí," named after a traditional Scottish or Irish social gathering and dance, which builds from a simple recorder line into a swelling, warm burst of major chord dance music. Goosebumps or check your pulse. Further down the rabbit hole, "Chaperone" is almost boardwalk electro, like Fischerspooner on a ferris wheel; "Frogsporn" and "Nature Girl" are mucky, trippy dirges filled with stalactites of synth and squelch; "Tiny Gymnast" is a kaleidoscopic waltz into the night. Hold onto your seats, ladies and gentlemen. You might be wondering how we, DFA Records, all the way over in cynical Brooklyn, entered the picture. There was a day a few years ago, sun shining in full Springtime splendor, when James heard something while waiting for a coffee down the street from the office. It sounded simple yet deceptively complex: a dance track, but one where the one - that anchoring first beat in a measure - could be heard a thousand different ways. Frustrated and interested, he Shazamd the song, playing at the shop from an episode of Zakia's Questing show on NTS, and brought it back to the office, where we all listened to it about fifty times. (The song was "Friends," from Mermaid Chunky's VEST EP, released in 2020. It led to an invitation to open for LCD at Brixton Academy in 2022. Mermaid Chunky has also played live alongside The Comet Is Coming, Alabastair Deplume, Snapped Ankles, and many others.) Thus began our search for Mermaid Chunky. A quest it has been and a quest it will always be.

Solomun & CASSIM remix two of the track rake from Radio Slave’s Venti album released earlier this year

Diynamic boss and Ibiza titan Solomun remixes Radio Slave ‘The Lunatics’ on Rekids, following the original’s inclusion in Matt Edwards’ acclaimed ‘Venti’ album in May. The original, a rework itself, reimagined the 1981 Fun Boy Three track ‘The Lunatics Have Taken Over The Asylum’, with Edwards’ ode to the band’s late lead vocalist and The Specials frontman Terry Hall winning support from Saoirse, Erol Alkan, Jennifer Cardini, Laurent Garnier, Paul Woolford, and Honey Dijon.
Solomun’s remix of ‘The Lunatics’ is sparkling aural nostalgia executed with total joy. Crisp 80s drums, Stranger Things-esque Jupiter 8 synth swells, the vocoded titular vocal, and a gloriously rich sliding bassline combine to drag the listener back to 1983 in the best possible way. As the track builds, rousing guitars join the ensemble, completing what is a hypnotic, melodic trip to the 80s via what’s set to be a 2024 anthem.

CASSIMM’s remix of Radio Slave vs Audion’s ‘Mouth To Mouth’ continues the story of Matthew Dear’s classic, which Radio Slave revived and reinvented as part of his 2024 LP, ‘Venti’.
Radio Slave’s hi-NRG disco cover of Audion’s minimal/maximal 2006 and era-defining anthem has dominated dancefloors since it emerged as a single in late 2023, with the likes of Erol Alkan, Job Jobse, Sean Johnston, Jennifer Cardini and Eats Everything continuing to play it today and the latter awarding it an Essential New Tune whilst sitting in for Pete Tong on BBC Radio 1.
Now, recent Rekids alum CASSIMM continues his huge run of form with a chunky, main-room house interpretation that shows just why his recent release, ‘House of Moves,’ won DJ support from the likes of Tong, Arielle Free, Paul Woolford, Honey Dijon, and Jennifer Loveless.
CASSIMS’s remix of Radio Slave vs Audion quickly follows Lindstrom and Solomun’s remixes of the ‘Venti’ LP’s tracks, which have seen support from the likes of Ivan Smagghe, Chloé Caillet, Nightmares On Wax, and more.

Honour's debut album is a ligament stretching from Lagos to London and to New York, curling across the diaspora and brushing the darker hues of blues, hip-hop, free jazz, ambient, gospel with Christian mythology and Yoruba folklore. As cinematic as it is painterly, Alàáfíà is a meditation on themes of life, death and love that pulls inspiration from the unexpected poetic profundity of casual conversations, field recordings, literature, ephemera, or personal archives. The result is an impressionistic vision in Black and Blur that both exhausts and implicates language_substantiating a mythos proposed by Fred Moten that sublimates boundaries between everywhere and nowhere; history and the present; the individual and the universal. Alàáfíà delineates a gothic landscape cut by overdriven beats, swooping orchestral blasts, choral bursts and ear- splitting fuzz, where the fleshly and spiritual realms commune. Dedicated to Honour's late grandmother, the title track began to take form after their last embrace and remains steeped in her influence and spirit_a tape-saturated composition that starts in Lagos and ends in London's smoke-stained cityscape, the song's dream-like quality developed out of the artist's grief and PTSD coping with this loss. Beneath the stretched guitar drones and stuttering loops, their grandmother's shared faith bubbles to the surface. "When Angels Speak of Love," borrows its title from two works by Sun Ra and bell hooks, respectively. Sculpting echoes of praise music into disorienting spirals perforated with syrupy DJ Screw-inspired breaks and sharp splinters of melancholic guitar, "When Angels Speak of Love" engages a conceptual dialogue with the spirits of both late thinkers, folding them into Honour's pantheon of ancestral guides. The album's ninth track, "Giz Aard ($uckets)," is a dirge of regimented drums which anchor this somber melody as it whirls into a blizzard of heartache, uncertain if its consequence will be death or eternal joy. The album's sole lyrical offering, "Pistol Poem (Lead Belly)," begins with a darkly humorous bar, "He went thru hell and back/ came back/ 2 get the strap," that swells into a haunting allegory based on the life of Philip "Hot Sauce" Champion. A modern take on the Blues, Honour's lyrics reify the artist's status as a student of both literature and popular culture, crossbreeding the artist's clever wordplay with additional references to Richard Pryor, Robert Johnson, Kelly Rowland & Bryon Gysin. Setting core principles of hip-hop, R&B, jazz and gospel music to atemporal soundscapes and compositions, Honour crafts a record that marinates in its own knotty contradictions. The ghosts that sit on the artist's shoulders have never been more tangible than with this emotive debut.

Slush Records are back for their second outing, remastering and rereleasing Sedona’s highly sought-after 1995 track, ‘Pulsation’. A portal to the underground of the ‘90s, Sedona’s original mixes and the remix from Robert Vaughan, fuse progressive house, trance and breakbeat, each oscillating to their own unique frequency. Not stopping there, Slush Records enlist the expertise of Seoul-born, Amsterdam-based Naone for a mesmerising new remix that harnesses all of that early ‘90s energy, with a fresh dynamism.

The story of Sedona begins with Dale Charles and Benny Blanco. As a touring DJ and buyer at Boston Beat Records in the mid ‘90s, Dale Charles was in diggers paradise. Freestyle was big business at the time and as a progressive house and breaks DJ, Dale couldn’t help but notice how good the drum programming was on some of the tracks. He spent endless hours trawling through the shops near 10,000 freestyle records, hoping to find that elusive secret weapon.

One day Dale found the break he was searching for and took it to Benny’s studio. Benny was an aspiring DJ and, more crucially, a producer with a conveniently concreted basement apartment he was slowly filling with synths, samplers and drum machines. Sampling and chopping up this gem of a break, utilising two TB-303’s that Benny recorded live for the acid lines and creating that signature throbbing arp on a Roland JD-800, the basis of ‘Pulsation’ was born.

The duo created a series of different mixes to tweak the feeling of the track. The ‘Ascending Mix’ and ‘Sinister Mix’ bookend this reissue. The former, a club-focussed cut with subtle to squelching 303 lines, rumbling sub bass frequencies and pulsating arps that anchor the track, as the sacred drum break fires your brain into trance-infused euphoria. The latter, an ominous slice of teleportational ambient electronica, sucking you into a wormhole of galactic synthesis and dream-state harps.

The first of the remixes sees Slush draft in the progressive wizardry of Naone to provide a fresh new take on the track. Leaning into the otherworldly ‘90s atmosphere of the original, Naone radiates the pulsating theme through swelling synth stabs and a driving acid bassline. Switching up the feel with an electro-tinged drum beat, she distorts the acid dials till the track explodes into a dystopian realm of twisted techno.

The second is Robert Vaughan’s ‘Test Tube’ mix from the original 12 Inch. A no-nonsense prog headspinner, that garnered plays from the likes of Sasha and Digweed. An acclaimed DJ and producer across the ‘90s, with releases on the likes of Space Records and Metropolis, Vaughan injected the track with added breakbeat energy and swirling, tripped-out breakdowns to masterful effect.

A timeless dancefloor classic, expertly remastered and reissued with a remix that both honours and updates the original.

ercury Rev take you on a swan dive into the mystic: a rapture of ballad-dreams and emotional memoir at the crossroads of The Dharma Bums, Pet Sounds and Side Three of Electric Ladyland. A profound, transcendant trip from the psychedelic explorers who brought you Deserter's Songs.
David Fricke In upstate New York, deep in the seam between the Catskills mountains and the Hudson Valley, a richly swelling, spellbound sound emerges, eddying and flowing like the local Esopus Creek, or in the slipstream of the grander Hudson river, carrying the flotsam and jetsam of our hopes, dreams, fears. A sound composed of organic and electronic; guitars, keys, brass, strings, woodwind, drums - and a voice of incantations, tapping streams of consciousness that similarly eddy and flow.
Spiritually, literally, psycho-geographically: where else does Mercury Rev’s ninth album Born Horses spring from? This cascade of gleaming, glistening psych-jazz-folk-baroque-ambient quest that searches its soul but can never truly know the answer? A sound and vision linked to their exalted past whilst quite unlike anything they have created before?
The answer is somewhere between the homes of founder members Jonathan Donahue (the hamlet of Mt Tremper) and Grasshopper (the town of Kingston), in their veins and brains of their now-legendary tapping of musical cosmology, and the vital presence of new permanent member Marion Genser (keys), plus long-term ally Jesse Chandler (keys) and guests Jeff Lipstein (drums), Martin Keith (double bass) and Jim Burgess (trumpet). A place that feeds off the levitating mood of their last album, 2019’s expansive tribute Bobbie Gentry's The Delta Sweete Revisited, and the instrumental psych explorations under the names of Harmony Rockets and Mercury Rev’s Clear Light Ensemble, and the spiritual guidance of avant-garde artist Tony Conrad and Beat poet Robert Creeley, to whom Born Horses is
dedicated.

Belarusian post-punk / synth pop group Molchat Doma have always exuded the kind of brutalist aesthetic of the architecture that adorns their album art. It's cold, gray, imposing, industrial and yet there are human hearts beating within those foundations. In the wake of their breakthrough success in 2020, the trio endured a polarity of experiences, from the nadir of an uprooted life and forced relocation away from their native Minsk to the apex of headlining massive shows across the world. It was in this headspace that the band settled into their new home of Los Angeles to finish writing their fourth album Belaya Polosa, a testament to change in difficult times, a love letter to the digital pulse of the `90s, and a technicolor reinvention of the band's somber dancefloor anthems. From the opening synth swell and drum machine throb of "Ty Zhe Ne Znaesh' Kto Ya," to the goth / post-punk austerity of "Son", to the swirling electronic textures mixed with reverb-drenched guitar flourishes, expansive space, and yearning vocals of title track "Belaya Polosa" - that suggests Depeche Mode at their most reflective or The Cure at their most downtrodden - to the sultry and seductive "Chernye Cvety"_ a track reminiscent of Duran Duran's early `90s output in its fusion of dreamy guitars and authoritative mechanized beats _ and the interwoven layers of instrumentation, soaring chorus, and melodic sophistication of "Ya Tak Ustal", it's clear that Molchat Doma are operating on another level. Molchat Doma gained following with earlier albums that sound like third-generation bootlegs of banned recordings from the Eastern Bloc made after a few key entries in the Factory Records catalog were smuggled in from the West. Belaya Polosa propels them into a new direction while retaining their cold minimalist delivery they're known for. The basement grime and dirty tape-head sound of their previous work are now making space for digital luster and shimmering production values. And while Molchat Doma's broadened aural spectrum adds a synesthetic power to Belaya Polosa, the mood remains rooted in stark and unflinching self-reflection. Molchat Doma retain the duality of being both cold and feverish in their delivery while pushing their music into expanded territories through an armory of new textures. The trio continue to harness the sound of harrowing beauty thriving under harsh realities.

Belarusian post-punk / synth pop group Molchat Doma have always exuded the kind of brutalist aesthetic of the architecture that adorns their album art. It's cold, gray, imposing, industrial and yet there are human hearts beating within those foundations. In the wake of their breakthrough success in 2020, the trio endured a polarity of experiences, from the nadir of an uprooted life and forced relocation away from their native Minsk to the apex of headlining massive shows across the world. It was in this headspace that the band settled into their new home of Los Angeles to finish writing their fourth album Belaya Polosa, a testament to change in difficult times, a love letter to the digital pulse of the `90s, and a technicolor reinvention of the band's somber dancefloor anthems. From the opening synth swell and drum machine throb of "Ty Zhe Ne Znaesh' Kto Ya," to the goth / post-punk austerity of "Son", to the swirling electronic textures mixed with reverb-drenched guitar flourishes, expansive space, and yearning vocals of title track "Belaya Polosa" - that suggests Depeche Mode at their most reflective or The Cure at their most downtrodden - to the sultry and seductive "Chernye Cvety"_ a track reminiscent of Duran Duran's early `90s output in its fusion of dreamy guitars and authoritative mechanized beats _ and the interwoven layers of instrumentation, soaring chorus, and melodic sophistication of "Ya Tak Ustal", it's clear that Molchat Doma are operating on another level. Molchat Doma gained following with earlier albums that sound like third-generation bootlegs of banned recordings from the Eastern Bloc made after a few key entries in the Factory Records catalog were smuggled in from the West. Belaya Polosa propels them into a new direction while retaining their cold minimalist delivery they're known for. The basement grime and dirty tape-head sound of their previous work are now making space for digital luster and shimmering production values. And while Molchat Doma's broadened aural spectrum adds a synesthetic power to Belaya Polosa, the mood remains rooted in stark and unflinching self-reflection. Molchat Doma retain the duality of being both cold and feverish in their delivery while pushing their music into expanded territories through an armory of new textures. The trio continue to harness the sound of harrowing beauty thriving under harsh realities.