Suche:swel

The Birmingham master, Mick Harris, arrives with his first vinyl installment of his "Culvert Dub Sessions" series. Mick has taken to the studio desk with his live hands on mixing approach and conjured up 8 tracks of classic, deep, slow rolling dub techno in the traditions of the greats. Think heavy nautical dub outs, windswept delays, low ends to make you seasick, high freqs cutting through the scenery, this is Harris at his finest. No holds barred, sincere electronics from the gut in pure form. A perfect soundtrack for a chilly fall sunset on the river bank.

A hill repeating its own name.

Ben Beinn — mountain mountain — an imagined summit, recursive and unstable.

Poole’s new album Ben Beinn follows 2024’s In a River Shadow, and deepens his exploration of environment, voice, and abstraction. If the previous record moved with flowing water and submerged hymns, Ben Beinn climbs into elemental instability: passing storms, coded skies, and sodden ground.

Across ten tracks, Poole entangles the Celtic New Age sound world — traditional instrumentation (flute, low whistle, bagpipe, piano, strings) — with synthesis, environmental recordings, and abstracted voice. The sound palette is tactile — marked by microtonal harmony, swelling dissonance, and a breathy naïvety. Voices in Gaelic, Norwegian, and English surface and dissolve, stretched beyond recognition — more weather than word.

The album’s title refers to a tautological hill — Ben Beinn, or “mountain mountain” — a recursive site where motifs surface, fracture, and re-emerge. On 365 Days of Rain, rainfall data becomes a rhythmic lattice that slips from metrical order. 1000 opens the record in cinematic emergence: mountain icicles and frozen streams swell into strings and breathy melodic weight. Pulling from the connective folktales of hill and mountain trolls — “Dance for a thousand years,” Poole writes, “for jeg har sovet tidlig så lenge.”

Recorded in Scotland between 2024–2025, Ben Beinn draws from environmental recordings of frozen hill passes, storm drains, and peat bogs using contact mics and hydrophones. Rather than simply reflecting place, these recordings press against it — layering the sonic materiality of landscape with synthesis and song. An inflection point between fabrication — folk music as performed identity, a carrier of story — and its obfuscation through digital networks, where tradition is refracted into plural forms.

Musical reference points include the emotionally saturated textures of Inoyama Land, the folk-electronic hybrids of Eli Storbekken, the hyperrealist collage practices of Noah Creshevsky, and the disquieting sonic simulations of James Ferraro. While Ferraro captures the uncanny surfaces of networked life, Ben Beinn turns inward — toward a located listening, shaped by weather, memory, and terrain.

The second in a triptych that began with In a River Shadow, Ben Beinn continues Poole’s excavation of environmental and folk material through contemporary methods. If the first record submerged itself in flowing water and submerged hymns, this one is shaped by the slow pressures of land and sky — a music of erosion, recurrence, and elemental presence.

MUCH LOVED LOW ALBUM BACK IN PRINT ON VINYL…NB NEW PRICE.NON -RETURNABLE.

The second Albini recorded and engineered Low album, Things We Lost in the Fire features such hits as Sunflower and Laser Beam.

#14 on Pitchfork 30 Best Dream Pop Albums.

#117 Pitchfork Top 200 Albums of the 2000s.

#93 The Guardian 100 Best Albums of the 21st Century list.

#36 NME Top 50 Darkest Ever Albums.

“Measuring out grief and resilience with a steady hand, these are the best songs of Low's quiet career.” Mojo 9/10

“Low's original stark minimalism has gradually given way to a broader sonic range, without sacrificing their strangely accessible otherness.” Wire

“Low have always sought to make music that can both swell the heart like a gospel tune and capture the amplified absence of a funeral parlour. It's difficult to imagine a more perfect expression of their vision than this.” NME

There’s a lot for MAYDAY PARADE to celebrate these days. The T allahassee, Florida-formed quintet recently
wrapped a career-defining tour marking two decades together, one that saw more than 70,000 fans pack sold-out venues to celebrate their storied catalog. They performed a triumphant main-stage set at the 30th anniversary of the V ans W arped T our, a full-circle moment for a band that made their name selling self-released CDs in those same sweltering parking lots nearly 20 years ago. Their landmark debut LP, A Lesson In Romantics, turned 18, still beloved for its iconic singles like the platinum-certified “Jamie All Over” and gold-certified “Miserable At Best.” And the group released Sweet, the first in a self-released three-album series that reaffirmed just how vital and creatively energized Mayday Parade still remains. Now, on Sad, the second installment in that trilogy, the band continue diving deeper into the emotional nuance that’s defined their most captivating albums, blending aching sentimentality with melodic urgency as only they can. Once again produced by longtime collaborators Zack Odom and Kenneth Mount, Sad sees Mayday Parade stripping back some of the tempo that colored Sweet in favor of more deliberate grooves, more introspection, and a sharpened focus on mood and space.

Identified Patient returns to Dekmantel for a third time with his Reset EP. The future-facing four tracker is another mutant fusion of bass and techno with low-end power with cerebral sound designs.

Job Veerman debuted on the Dekmantel UFO Series in 2019, returned in 2020 and has lit up the festival several times with transportative sets that balance power with precision. Like his productions on the Nerve Collect label, he co-runs with Gamma Intel, they are leftfield explorations of genre and tempo that find strange sensuality in often abstract ideas. Once again here, the Dutchman draws on eclectic influences to craft music that sounds like no one else but remains anchored by magnetic rhythms.

Opener 'Light' kicks off with a fuzzy synth line that slithers between syncopated drums. Whispered vocals drift through the mix as lurching basslines swell and collapse beneath them. The groove disassembles and reassembles in waves, propelled forward by bursts of glitchy, off-kilter percussion that's unsteady yet seductive. 'Scales' is a slow, menacing descent into rhythmic darkness. It sounds both ancient and futuristic with ghoulish vocalisations and filtered synths flickering like a badly wired circuit. There's a rave tension lurking throughout, but always in the shadows.

'Internal Pace' drives on but rides fluid, wobbly bass while tightly looped hits build the pressure. Layers of static and subtle distortion add grit to this unrelenting heads-down roller. Finally, 'Return' is a kinetic, razor-edged ride where jungle breaks collide serpentine melodies. Ethereal female coos drift in and out, brushing against spat-out vocal fragments so that tension crackles throughout this hallucinogenic trip.

With Reset, Identified Patient reaffirms his status as a singular voice who twists sound into evocative new worlds.

The latest release from Berlin-based label PÚCA sounds is a double side fully equipped for the dancefloor, leaving room to explore across both tracks. Cola Ren’s remix of title track King Puck comes smooth and dubby into the chug, swelling with harmony between original percussions spun with Cola’s unmistakable touch.

Bleating is pushed through a late 90s/00s hall of mirrors, rolling with high energy glimmer in the hands of Tornado Wallace. Some ways towards spacey and ultra-danceable, this is a liquid gem of a B-side made to measure as it complements both tracks.

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.

Leila Gamal’s ‘Abaleeh Abalingi’

At the height of Pan-Arabism, when the United Arab Republic fused Egypt and Syria in a fleeting but bold experiment, a new wave of popular music was emerging—vibrant, infectious, and universally danceable. Among its lesser-known stars was actress Leila Gamal, whose voice—delicate yet rich with longing—embodied the golden era of Egyptian cinema. Born in Alexandria to Syrian roots, Gamal’s vocals were a magnetic blend of sweetness and passion, with a timeless allure that echoed the silver-screen sweethearts of her time.

Abaleeh Abalingi pulses with the hypnotic drive of funky organ riffs, reminiscent of the blind visionary Ammar El Sheriyi, creating a sound both cinematic and undeniably catchy. The delicate lyrics by Khairi Fouad place the track firmly in the lineage of the Middle East’s most iconic pop divas, from Angham to Nawal El-Zoughbi who he subsequently wrote for. This reissue, lovingly remastered, brings this long-lost gem back to life, where it belongs—spinning on turntables, teasing dance floors, and transporting listeners to Egypt in the late sixties.


Adel Osman’s “Oriental Eyes”

Oriental Eyes captures the essence of the 60s Egyptian Franco-Arab movement, blending Western (often jazz) influences with Arabic melodies to mesh mystique with sensuality. Osman’s commanding yet delicate vocals deliver the bilingual lyrics with captivating sincerity, his voice effortlessly gliding over the swells of the arrangement. The trumpet, possibly connecting him to Zaki Osman of Salah Ragab’s legendary Cairo Jazz Band, adds a layer of flair, enriching the track’s Tarantino-esque eclecticism. Now remastered, ‘Oriental Eyes’ is not only a nostalgic gem but a timeless reminder of the boundary-defying spirit that defined the 1960s musical landscape.

Given the ongoing war efforts against Israel, this record wasn’t pressed by Sono Cairo till much later in 1975 once Egypt had recaptured the Sinai and restored national pride. Sono Cairo (Sawt el-Qahira) was the first Arab-owned and by far the largest record label in the Middle East, amassing an unmatched catalogue of music. With exclusive rights over much of Umm Kulthum’s works, Sono Cairo played a crucial role in disseminating the sounds of Arab Nationalism and projecting Egypt’s soft power across the region.

Muhammad Al-Najjar
London, April 2025

credits
Audio restoration and vinyl mastering: Colin Young
Lacquer cut: Timmion cutting lab
Sleeve and label artwork: Grotezk Studio
Under License of Sono Cairo

Star Feminine Band, hardest working women in Beninese show business, are releasing their third album on Born Bad, who went all out for their first. Some get malaria at the sight of that sticky world label : rest assured, the world is all they deserve after nine years of hard work. These eight young women, from a village that even Beninese can't quite place, started out in hard mode.

They had to convince themselves that it was worth a shot, but also their family, their village and an entire continent.

André Balaguemon, composer, manager and lyricist, does a lot, while remaining in the background. He put the group together, included his three daughters, houses everyone with his wife Edwige who also manages dances and costumes. He gave them a musical training, and created the framework for them to continue school while rehearsing hard. From local heroes to UNICEF ambassadors, the group has made it. The very existence of this new album is a testament to the perseverance of Grâce, Anne, Urrice, Bénie, Angélique, Sandrine, Julienne and Ashley. The personnel of this family affair has changed a bit : two new women have joined the group, which conquered bigger stages (Glastonbury in the summer, the X-mas BBC special).



This new album brings simple joys : watching them grow from Benin's first girl band to a band in its own right. And never forgetting why they took to the stage in the first place. Star Feminine Band makes straightforward music, taking no detours to express what's missing in the country. When Grâce advocates for kids getting a chance to get to school it's because there's nothing else more important to say that day. Teachers, don’t leave the kids alone, after all.



As they said on their first album, « music is our job », let them be that : musicians having a lot of fun on this album. It wanders through the vast territory of the countless West African styles. They even make a quick foray into reggae to talk about marriage (with a little rap thrown in), and interweave their voices in multiple languages (Waama, Ditamari, Bariba, Fon, Yoruba). And boy do they have hits. To each is own, but “L'enfant c'est un don de Dieu » (Child is god’s gift) is a mighty steamroller, methodically smoothing out the ground for dancing together to its final chorus, singing « debout-les-en-fants / get up, kids ! » along.



Smoother than the first two albums, supported by fine arrangements, ambitious keyboard parts and more complex vocal harmonies without losing any of their spontaneity, this third opus quietly adds to Benin's musical heritage. As they make clear in « Jusqu'au bout du monde », clever little number that we can already hear swelling up on stage: « oui, c’est Star Feminine Band qui a gagné - o / Star Feminine Band won».

Philipp Priebe returns to his own Stólar imprint this August with his ‘Layers Of Longing’ EP, comprising four original compositions. Berlin artist Philipp Priebe’s now extensive back catalogue and his Stólar label has firmly cemented him as a coveted figure in the underground deep house and
techno scene over the past decade, garnering an array of widespread attention from DJ’s and media like through numerous EP’s, debut album on his own imprint and most recently another long player for Freund Der Familie’s new Paradijs Boogie imprint. Here we see Priebe’s sonic story
continue with four fresh cuts for Stólar, leading the way is ‘Need & Desire’, a seven and a half minute excursion through hazy textural elements, hypnotic spoken word and raw reduced drums before ‘A Functional Piece Of Different Nature’ lays down a sturdy, heavily swung and saturated
rhythm section alongside boomy low end swells, delayed vocal chants and spiralling dub echoes. Opening the flip-side is ‘A Sculpture’, diving deeper into dub realms via ever evolving murky atmospherics, dub flutters and resonant synth licks intertwined with stripped down percussion.

‘To Find A Seat’ then concludes the release, employing more classic dub techno tropes as warbled stabs sequences, cavernous reverberations and cinematic stings float atop crisp hats, crunchy claps and a weighty 4/4 kick.

Seeking overlooked beauty and prizing reflection in a distracted world, Hammock creates cinematic music for the road less traveled. In stirring works of shimmering post-rock ambience that swell with hope and melancholic nostalgia, the Nashville-based duo of Marc Byrd and Andrew Thompson immerse listeners in living visions of moments long past, animating life's fond remembrances and scarring losses with gentle lens-flare harmonics, heart-surging neoclassical drama, and pensive silence. A direct challenge to the passive existence of modern life, where everything can be experienced but precious little is felt, Hammock demands, and richly rewards, patience and contemplation. One of Hammock's career defining works, the Mysterium, Universalis, and Silencia trilogy came to a close in 2019. The first chapter, Mysterium, was written following the death of Byrd's 20-year-old nephew and dealt with incomprehensible, shattering loss. Difficult understanding came on Universalis, and an altered reality understood through quiet reflection took hold on Silencia. Emerging from the silence, a period that brought with it the global pandemic of Covid-19 that has kept loved ones apart, conscripted months upon months of isolation, and roused directionless longing for escape, Hammock presents Elsewhere. Recorded by Byrd and Thompson at their homes, apart and with minimal equipment, Elsewhere serves as a gateway to another place, materializes feelings of separation and loss without closure, and calls listeners back to live their lives - not spend them longing to be something or somewhere else. - Wyatt Marshal

Gastr del Sol"s second album returns at last to the vinyl format - its first physical manifestation in well over a decade. Once again, a drop of the needle may ignite any number of queries, summed simply in one: What IS this music? Such is the potent energy of Crookt, Crackt, or Fly, retaining its otherworldly qualities some 32 years and countless musical movements since. Crookt, Crackt, or Fly expands upon The Serpentine Similar"s minimalist stance in unexpected ways, imposing further austerity in the soundscape but for an unpredictable expansive quantity periodically overflowing, waves of blood sluicing through the elevator doors. This is partially due to a change within the group dynamic: the departure of bassist Ken "Bundy" Brown and the arrival of a new partner for guitarist and singer David Grubbs - guitarist and sound fuckerer Jim O"Rourke. O"Rourke"s initial work with Gastr involved editing and recomposing recordings of the Grubbs-Brown-&-sometimes-John-McEntire lineup, producing an utterly outré collage of cut-ups and other types of tape processing. This became the "20 Songs Less" single, after which he was invited to play with the group. It was a time of flux; Brown recalls playing a Gastr show at the Metro around this time featuring himself, John McEntire, Grubbs and O"Rourke - and one of the pieces played was a Tortoise song! Throughout these shifts, Gastr del Sol"s music was never less than fully considered and composed, even in moments redolent with the suggestion of the random and the non-sequitur. Grubbs and O"Rourke made no attempt to replicate Serpentine"s arrangement of thick, scaly drones and hypnotic song-visions in their own partnership, finding Crookt, Crackt,"s sound instead in spiny, gamelan-like interactions between their (mostly acoustic) guitars, played precisely in and out of formation with bright, fleet-fingered abandon. O"Rourke"s fondness for field recordings and his capacity for tape manipulation intersected with Grubbs" sensibilities, edifying his evolving song style: written with increased sharpness and sly surreal humor, sung closer to silence. Halfway into "Work from Smoke", the sudden collapse of the sound-walls around us signals Crookt, Crackt"s major departure. From the thicket of guitars, a swell of drones and free-jazz squeals, made up of bass clarinet, vibraphone and organ, pulls the listener into an entirely other acoustic space. "Every Five Miles" derails in similarly tactile fashion: a guitar duet boils up thunderously, then fragments and spirals apart. As a free electric guitar part crops up, improbably holding the center, the acoustic space around it continues to disintegrate in ambient stereo. A wedding of folk music idioms to classical, improvised and modern compositional modes (including Gastr"s own formative post-punk mode), Crookt, Crackt, or Fly is a song-based reality steadily giving way to its alternative alchemies playing out within.

AniaraWL06 is the materialisation of the dualistic label ethos. To make your body move: Mattias El Mansouri's A-side -- Do You Have A Guestlist? -- is an uptempo, tabla driven house cut with swelling stabs. And to invite your mind to wonder: Dorisburg's B-side -- Helande Skulptur -- by its introspective scapes and eerie echoes, laced with a fine tech-house beat.

“The hand knows best,” the painter Margaux Williamson says. “A shape produces itself, where I go toward what is intuitive, rather than logical.” The shapely, intuitive songs that comprise Ada Lea's third album, when i paint my masterpiece, are surprising, imagistic, tactile. They stand before us and we feel their brushstrokes. Alexandra Levy holds her guitar against the backdrop of a sea of her paintings on the album cover and it’s tempting to ask: is painting a metaphor here, for music or life? No! As ever, she resists tidy metaphors. She’s a master of this kind of thorny lowercase title that germinates and grows with time. In a real, profound way, music and painting go hand-in-hand as she unveils a new style of subversion and surrealism inspired by her transdisciplinarity.

Levy is a Renaissance woman, and Ada Lea’s albums have been swelling in scope alongside the evolution of her artistic life. Her recent turn toward pedagogy—teaching a songwriting course at Concordia University and co-facilitating a community-based group called The Songwriting Method—weaves another vivid thread into her multifaceted practice. Her debut LP, what we say in private, blurred the lines between interior and performative worlds. Her sophomore record, one hand on the steering wheel the other sewing a garden, featured vignettes centered on Montreal. On this sprawling and ambitious album, written over three years and whittled down from over 200 songs, she asks: what happens when you… pause? How can a life be held suspended in song? The album is a kaleidoscopic exploration of the transformations art can bring: the vision of an uncompromising artist dancing bravely and freely between registers and across mediums.

The album marks a reset—a quiet revolution. After years of relentless international touring, Levy felt an urgent need for community and renewal. Gruelling road schedules with very little support left her wondering: who am I really doing all this for? The system was uncaring and broken, and so it was that she came to envision a new healthy and healing mode of musical genesis. “For me, that looked like resting, extending my creative reach, going back to school, studying painting and poetry,” she explains. “Taking a step away from music as guided by industry expectations. Simplifying things. Getting a job, starting to teach. Engaging with the process rather than the product.” This need for a more deliberate creative renewal was rejected by her existing systems of support, so she began the search for an alternative.

Sailing beyond the boundaries of electronic music, Purelink embrace liquidity on their second album, washing live instrumentation and exposed vocals over their patented cascade of dubbed ambience and ebbing rhythmic experimentation. Since 2020, Tommy Paslaski (aka Concave Reflection), Ben Paulson (aka kindtree) and Akeem Asani (aka Millia) have channeled their most euphoric musical whims into the Purelink project. Drifting between brittle '90s drum 'n bass and dub techno on their cult debut 12" 'Bliss / Swivel' and vaporizing Windy City jazz and post-rock motifs with muggy soundscapes on 2023's critically revered first full-length 'Signs', the trio have managed to define a painterly signature sound that's reflective but not reverent. Sure, Purelink's music can be graceful and bucolic, but it's powered by their innate devotion to the dancefloor's soundsystem.

'Faith' illustrates a period of upheaval for the three friends; relocating from Chicago to New York City, they found themselves surrounded by new scenery and fresh inspirations that permeated their compositions as they adapted to the change. On their previous records, the production process was relatively simple, just three laptops jacked into an interface in Paslaski's living room. Here, they augment the intermixed electronics with acoustic and electric timbres, opening up space for vocal contributions from Hyperdub luminary Loraine James and poet Angelina Nonaj. "Always time for rest," James ponders candidly on 'Rookie', "we settle." Her voice floats like smoke over the trio's familiar pattering rhythms and light-headed synths, now enhanced by capsized guitar motifs and subtle bass plucks.

On 'First Iota' meanwhile, Nonaj's deadpan narration grounds Purelink's dissociated echoes, sub swells and delicate improvisations. "Not everything beautiful has to be real," Nonaj repeats as organic and digital sounds sublime into a lysergic haze. And the softly propulsive 4/4 thuds that steered 'Signs' haven't disappeared entirely, either. On 'Kite Scene' a heartbeat-like pulse underpins Purelink's balmy pads and acidic synths, tactfully disrupted by hollow live percussion, and 'Yoke' muffles its chugging, broken beat sequences with swaddled trance hallucinations, gesturing cautiously towards euphoria. Each element falls into place on the album's final track, 'Circle of Dust', when Paslaski, Paulson and Asani find a fertile middle ground, ornamenting the kinetic, reverberating beats with evaporating whispers, evocative instrumental scrapes and hopeful, ecstatic harmonies.

'Mei Semones' sweetly evocative blend of jazz, bossa nova and math-y indie rock is not only a way for her to find solace in her favorite genres, but is an intuitive means of catharsis. "Blending everything that I like together and trying to make something new - that's what feels most natural to me," says the 23-year-old Brooklyn-based singer-songwriter and guitarist. "It's what feels most true to who I am as an artist." Plinking guitar tones and asymmetrical time shnatures exemplify her forays into angular indie rock more now than ever before, especially on her debut Bayonet Records single "Wakare no Kotoba"-its wide-interval arpeggios in odd meters being some of the most technically difficult guitar work Mei has ever implemented in her songwriting. Translated to "parting words" in English, the self-described "anti-love song" serves as a farewell to a toxic friendship, complete with orchestral swells and crashing guitars. Originally from Ann Arbor, Michigan, Semones began playing music at a young age, starting out on piano at age four before moving to electric guitar at age eleven. After playing jazz guitar in high school, she went on to study guitar performance with a jazz focus at Berklee College of Music. College is where she met her current bandmates, including string players Noah Leong and Claudius Agrippa, whose respective viola and violin add softness and multidimensionality to Mei's intricate guitar work. After releasing a slew of singles and an EP in 2022, coinciding with her move to New York City, Mei and her band have since gone on to collaborate with post-bossa balladeer John Roseboro and embark on their first-ever tour with the melodic rock outfit Ravi, Semones chronicles infatuation, devotion, and vulnerability in her songs, complete with sweeping strings, virtuosic guitar-playing and heartfelt lyrics sung in both English and Japanese, that have all become part of her sonic trademark: ornately catchy, genre-fusing compositions serving as the backdrop to tender lyrics touching on the universalities of human emotion.

'Mei Semones' sweetly evocative blend of jazz, bossa nova and math-y indie rock is not only a way for her to find solace in her favorite genres, but is an intuitive means of catharsis. "Blending everything that I like together and trying to make something new - that's what feels most natural to me," says the 23-year-old Brooklyn-based singer-songwriter and guitarist. "It's what feels most true to who I am as an artist." Plinking guitar tones and asymmetrical time shnatures exemplify her forays into angular indie rock more now than ever before, especially on her debut Bayonet Records single "Wakare no Kotoba"-its wide-interval arpeggios in odd meters being some of the most technically difficult guitar work Mei has ever implemented in her songwriting. Translated to "parting words" in English, the self-described "anti-love song" serves as a farewell to a toxic friendship, complete with orchestral swells and crashing guitars. Originally from Ann Arbor, Michigan, Semones began playing music at a young age, starting out on piano at age four before moving to electric guitar at age eleven. After playing jazz guitar in high school, she went on to study guitar performance with a jazz focus at Berklee College of Music. College is where she met her current bandmates, including string players Noah Leong and Claudius Agrippa, whose respective viola and violin add softness and multidimensionality to Mei's intricate guitar work. After releasing a slew of singles and an EP in 2022, coinciding with her move to New York City, Mei and her band have since gone on to collaborate with post-bossa balladeer John Roseboro and embark on their first-ever tour with the melodic rock outfit Ravi, Semones chronicles infatuation, devotion, and vulnerability in her songs, complete with sweeping strings, virtuosic guitar-playing and heartfelt lyrics sung in both English and Japanese, that have all become part of her sonic trademark: ornately catchy, genre-fusing compositions serving as the backdrop to tender lyrics touching on the universalities of human emotion.

Carrying on the long tradition of sentimental jangle pop songwriters, Lightheaded distil decades of lovelorn tunes into sounds for modern softies. They have the sunshine sparkle of The Left Banke and Margo Guryan, the C86 charm of Dolly Mixture and Would-Be-Goods, and the cinematic swell of Belle & Sebastian and Camera Obscura. Formed on the shore of New Jersey in 2017 by Cynthia Rittenbach and Stephen Stec, Lightheaded took time to hone their sound with a rotating crew of drummers, guitarists and backup vocalists. They found a community of like-minded bands in a vast but tight-knit international indie pop scene, which eventually led them to the iconic California label Slumberland Records. Their debut cassette EP Good Good Great!, a collection of five perfect pop songs, landed in 2023, followed by the full-length Combustible Gems in 2024. A European tour and gigs opening for bands like Heavenly, The Softies and The Ladybug Transistor rounded out their breakout year. Thinking, Dreaming, Scheming is their most collaborative and earnest release to date. A side of five brand new songs is combined with the five tracks from Good Good Great!, now available on vinyl for the first time. Recorded bi-coastally with Gary Olson (The Ladybug Transistor) and Alicia Vanden Heuvel (The Aislers Set, Poundsign) and drenched in lush reverb on tape by Fred Thomas (Saturday Looks Good to Me), the new songs are rendered in a dreamy soft focus that perfectly suits their starry-eyed themes. Adding to all the fun are the cameos and contributions from the new generation of New York indie pop goodness, featuring members of Starcleaner Reunion and Trinket, pushing the songs on this record to a high point in the young band's discography. There is something unusual about this band - something truly special.

At this point the vast swathes of unreleased Muslimgauze material Bryn Jones left behind when he passed away over 25 years ago is as legendary as any of his work. And sure enough, there's still some being unearthed today. The new »Single #One« is the first in a series of four (three 7"s and one 12") taken from one of Jones' customary completely unlabelled DATs he sent to labels seemingly as fast as he finished them. Both sides here indicate that, even on what might have been throwaway efforts for other artists, Jones was constantly chasing his muse around new corners.

Side A begins with the kind of tough percussion loop often found on Muslimgauze releases, but even as foreboding synths start to swell in the background, Jones introduces a rhythmic, peppy little keyboard riff far jauntier than most things he created. Side B, meanwhile, takes Jones' looped hand percussion in a dubbier direction, but unlike other times he explored that space there are some elements (phased zaps, a slightly skanking rhythm) that, while not reggae exactly, makes this feel more like a traditional dub than Jones tended to make. Both sides stand in testament to a creator who never stayed in one place for very long.