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As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

=

Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

This 1991 album by the Bay Area thrashers Hexx saw them ditching their speed/power metal roots and going full throttle into technically proficient death metal. The Svart reissue is an exact replica of the rare original LP, originally released by Century Media.

This 1991 album by the Bay Area thrashers Hexx saw them ditching their speed/power metal roots and going full throttle into technically proficient death metal. The Svart reissue is an exact replica of the rare original LP, originally released by Century Media.

Juno-winning saxophonist Chet Doxas is a guiding voice in the world of
creative improvised music
Doxas, co- leader of Riverside with trumpeter Dave Douglas and a respected
collaborator of Carla Bley and Paul Bley, joins Whirlwind for 'You Can't Take It With
You', his ninth album as a leader and first at the head of a trio. He's joined by two
stand-out collaborators - Ethan Iverson (piano) and Thomas Morgan (bass) - for a
meticulously constructed album with playful positivity at its heart.Both the
inspiration and the encouragement to put this album together can be traced back
to Carla Bley. Jimmy Giuffre's trio was a big influence on Doxas - "the way he
shapes and articulates is one of a kind - and the group regularly featured Bley's
music. An early-morning airport transfer saw Doxas discussing future plans with
Bley and Steve Swallow, who advised Doxas to write "one song a month",
distraction-free for a year.
The ten tracks on the album represent a year spent writing and closely editing his
compositions. That process gradually revealed his trio, selected for their personal
sensibilities as much as their outstanding technical capabilities. "Ethan and
Thomas's tones are very inspiring. I wanted to let myself be guided by their sound
palettes, and focus on phrasing in a way that's a little more multidimensional.."

Bay Area Thrash Metal legend Blind Illusion returns after 34 years with a follow-up to “The Sane Asylum”, featuring Doug Piercy (ex-Heathen) and Andy Gallon (ex-Death Angel)! Thrash as a primitive, earthy genre has given us many greats: Metallica, Slayer, Exodus, Death Angel, Heathen and the like. But the more calculated, technical, and ultimately colorful inventors of progressive Thrash, a genre that blossomed handsomely after Watchtower’s debut in 1985, are what truly push the limits of Thrash and test its creative bandwidth. Blind Illusion on their new album “Wrath of the Gods”, achieve this to a degree that has seldom been approached, let alone passed, in the rest of Thrash history, just as they did 34 years ago on “The Sane Asylum”. What is most impressive and revealing about this album, however, is not the technical ability of the musicians involved (although there is nothing wrong with their ability). It’s the pure brilliance that shapes every song, and the demonstration of how focusing on the art of songwriting will work wonders for a band. “Straight as the Crowbar Flies” introduces us first to the astral energy this album exudes, with catchy riffing and Marc Biedermann’s raspy, growling vocals. The screeching guitar solos and the abrupt rhythm changes keep the song fresh, but the band’s incorporation of technical Thrash elements crossed with extremely catchy riffing and drum arrangements proves to be the strong attributes of this album. There are numerous instances where the band finds its virtue in slowing down, letting a power chord ring out, and then letting the drums restart and propel the song once again. When the band decides to let their guard down and get cagey or manic with the rhythm, it’s done so with precision and doesn’t come at the expense of the song structure. When they get technical, the notes still vibrate with emotion, and the song doesn’t just become a vacuum for skills to be shown off. This message is most evident in every song, which all feature catchy guitar licks and great guitar riffs. What Blind Illusion does best on this new masterpiece is deliver cleverly-written and fun songs with catchy riffs. At the heart of Thrash, that’s really all you can ask for. The effects of how masterfully composed this album is has lend the production a unique ethos that makes it feel human. This is a group of guys who know what die-hard Thrash fans want to hear, and they know how to put it on their 2022 album “Wrath of the Gods”.

Tape

In Macrospace“. The monolithic album debut by Hamburg-based DJ x producer x electronic music activist baze.djunkiii, the essence of 25+ years on the scene and continuous research in sonic fields reaching far beyond your regular club music.
A dark and threatening journey through the realms of brooding DeathAmbient, cold, hostile sci-fi atmospheres and an innate feel of darkness, doom, desolation and industrial wastelands covered in toxic fumes and the aftermath of a nuclear apocalypse.
Generated solely and exclusively by a process of extensive vocal synthesis the ten tracks on
„In Macrospace“ represent a sonic manifestation of vantablack dystopia and mind threatening, braincell eroding claustrophobia, an ode to both minimalist sound structures as well as a
maximized psycho-acoustic impact that might overwhelm even those used to stare into and listen to their innermost void for extended periods of time.
Not for the faint-hearted. Listener discretion is advised.

Master’s second album recorded by Scott Burns at Morrissound Studios! Classic 1990’s Death Metal! One of the problems with looking back on a musical genre from a perspective years or decades removed from the core of the movement itself is that subsequent developments tend to obscure both a genres origins and threads within a tradition that died out without offspring. As a result, interesting and deserving albums often get lost in the shuffle as reviewers reflect on those albums most “influential” upon later achievements. Death metal pioneers Master are among those who have been shortchanged as a result of that phenomenon, and their 1990 masterpiece “On the Seventh Day, God Created... Master” remains a fascinating exploration both of the genre’s roots and of spaces it might have occupied had different paths been taken. There are a couple of things that leap out immediately to even the casual listener. The first is the seeming primitivism of the music, with songs consisting of relatively brief, bludgeoning pieces driven by relentless rhythms, cyclic riffs and simple melodic hooks. The second is the realization that someone is playing some seriously insane, brilliantly constructed leads. In this case, that someone is Paul Masvidal, far exceeding anything he ever achieved with Cynic. Beneath the surface simplicity, lies a creative spirit that at once recalls the primal birth of death metal (which Master was both present for and very much a driving force behind) and points the way to what the genre might have become. Very apparent are the genre’s hardcore roots, Master here eschewing the Slayer-derived technical architecture that came to dominate most “modern” death metal in favor of structures that would not have been out of place on Discharge’s landmark “Hear Nothing See Nothing Say Nothing” release (there are even a few appearances of the infamous D-beat). Within the unrelenting storm of brutal repetition, the music’s core meaning is encoded, a sheer primal rage dripping from thunderous cycles of power chords and the open throated roar (again the hardcore influence) of vocalist and chief songwriter Paul Speckman.

After a long silence New Zealand bestial death metal horde Exaltation finally unveil their first proper full-length offering, "Under Blind Reasoning", after a demo tape had surfaced back in 2017 amongst generalized obscurity. Indeed what we find on this debut offering is something distant from the lo-fi quality of the promising but under-produced demo, and sees the band tap instead into a realm of vehemence and aural destruction of unseen magnitude and terror. Feral, enveloping, monumental and sprawling in its unrelenting wrath, "Under Blind Reasoning" sees the obscure New Zealand death-bringers whip the sum of their influences (Immolation, Morbid Angel, Incantation, Deicide, Blasphemy) into a coercive realm of shell shocking torment and rise from the depths of obscurity like a cataclysmic weapon of mass-destruction. The album's dense and multidimensional recording quality (courtesy of engineers Raj Singarajah and Cam Sinclair along by mastering from Luke Finlay of Primal Mastering) has yielded a death metal beast of truly unsettling proportions. Every instrument and the utter violence with which it is wielded appears on full display, as the listener is helplessly left annihilated, blow after to blow, to witness the band's tight, savage and merciless performance and technical proficiency literally maul down the fabric of reality piece by piece. These are death metal songs from a realm of perpetual darkness that bare a load of death and ruin of unprecedented traits. Songs of boundless terror and oblivion that evoke eons of darkness and an immanent and oppressive presage of complete inevitability as the music roars out of the speakers with ominous grimness and near-weaponized violence. All hail the realm of darkness and death conceived by Exaltation, one where the death metal craft is reborn as a feral ungovernable force to inflict merciless ruin unto this mortal plane and all that dares to attempt to exist within it. Tracklisting: 1. Iron Rebellion 2. Impending Deceased 3. Exaltation 4. Ascension 5. Fate Revolt 6. Impious Massacre 7. Blaspheme Mortality 8. Divider of Redemption

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

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Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

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Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

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"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

=

Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

Deluxe audiophile 2LP pressing of 'Bucharest 1994', the first joint
performance of Romanian-German jazz pianist Eugen Cicero and
Romanian bassist Decebal Badila, a congenial duo that worked together
successfully until Cicero's early death in 1997
Eugen Cicero - critics reverently called him the man with the "golden hands". For
over 30 years, his name stood for pianistic virtuosity, phenomenal sense of
rhythm and imaginative ingenuity. He masterfully connected works from the
Baroque, Classical and Romantic periods with sophisticated harmonic sequences
from jazz and an infectious rhythm - no one who had attempted such symbioses
before him achieved a similarly inspired and technically accomplished result.
With 'Bucharest 1994', In+Out Records now presents a very special live event by
this man who has created something unique in his mediation between classical
music and jazz standards. This is the first concert with exceptional bassist
Decebal Badila, which laid under lock and key for 28 years. Already at a young
age, Badila adored the music of his older compatriot and was already very
familiar with Cicero's repertoire before their first meeting, which can impressively
be heard on the recordings.
'Bucharest 1994' contains both entertaining, technically demanding and
documentarily indispensable material from the early work of a rising virtuoso
musician and the late work of an exceptional artist whom the jazz world lost far
too early.

Leaving Records presents Under the Lilac Sky, the debut LP by Arushi Jain, an India-born, US-residing composer, modular synthesist, vocalist, technologist, and engineer. At six songs spanning 48 minutes of ambient synth ragas intended to be heard during the sunset hours, Under the Lilac Sky invites the listener to transport themselves through intentional listening. Jain states, “You know that moment when the sun is bidding farewell to the sky, and the colors turn into beautiful hues of purple and pink and everything in between? That is the moment that this album will shine the most. The deeper you listen, the more shades you’ll see.”

Jain’s work focuses on reinterpreting traditional Indian classical music through the lens of electronic instrumentation. She re-contextualizes ancient sounds in a modern framework, carrying the torch of electronic luminaries such as Suzanne Ciani and Terry Riley while pursuing personal explorations of her musical heritage and upbringing. Under the Lilac Sky is a cinematic statement of intent, an album that reverently nods to Jain’s musical history while presenting a bold sonic point of view. Jain states, “This album is the coming together of two distinct cultures of Hindustani classical and modular synthesizers representing the two parts of me that evolved into one whole in between my time in India and California”

Voice is emphasized as an essential element of the album, not just for the lyrics or the melodies but also as a source of texture. It is most recognizable when Jain sings aalaaps or sargam of the different ragas the songs are composed in, however her voice is deeply embedded in other, sometimes quieter layers of the record. Jain, who spent her childhood studying indian classical as a vocalist says, “At any given point, there is at least one layer in the record that carries my voice. The human voice is powerful and unique to every individual. My voice is unique to me, so I decided it should be present at all times even if it’s unrecognizable.”

Another core theme of Under the Lilac Sky is the time of day, and the role it plays in influencing how one interacts with the music. “Intrinsic to Indian classical music is the concept of Time and Seasonality. For each raga, there is a specific time of the day when it is meant to be heard for it to shine in it’s authenticity. It harkens to the question of when the environment around you is most in tune with your own sound and breath, and how it supports you in realizing your vision of the moment. This album is meant to be an ode to those timely rituals, and is best heard while you take a moment to do what you love.”

Jain’s exploratory musical ethos finds a like-minded home within Leaving Records’ “All Genre” philosophy. Jain is acutely aware of her role as a composer and modular synthesist reinterpreting a historical art form. “For Indian classical music, this is atypical. The music I compose is inspired by a centuries old tradition, yet aestheticized in a novel way, using the tools and technical innovations of analog synth movements. My art is crafted using machines that I’ve slowly fallen in love with and made my own.”

Finally it’s here! After many years, the repress arrived. This time how it was supposed to be. With new cover artwork and newly mixed songs. It's a rare but exhilarating occasion when you put on a new LP and are utterly blown away by what you hear. Every now and then, music makes you feel magically alive -- makes you want to jump around, pound your fist in the air, and shout "Oh, yeah!" Listening to Grand Fury, the second major release by Los Angeles quartet the Bellrays, is such an experience. Imagine the Funhouse-era Stooges fronted by a female R&B singer instead of Iggy Pop, and you'll have a vague understanding of what the Bellrays call "maximum rock 'n' soul". Although they've drawn comparisons to the Stooges or the MC5 fronted by Tina Turner, Etta James, or Aretha Franklin, the Bellrays rightly point out that soul was an important element in those Detroit-area punks' sounds. So, in some ways, the Bellrays are just bringing out an element of early punk music that was there all along. Nonetheless, the resulting sound is startlingly unique. Lead singer Lisa Kekaula has also sung jazz, and it's obvious she has technical skill, but she tears into these songs with a venom and passion that is pure rock 'n' roll. Bandmates Tony Fate, Bob Vennum, and Ray Chin provide a raw, blues-edged backing that is loose enough to allow Kekaula considerable room to go wild. And does she ever. With her raucous voice and the aggressive songs penned by guitarist Fate, Kekaula makes you believe she'd sooner spit in your face than look at you. "I'm stuck inside a moment / Can't find my way out / And time keeps draggin' on" she sings on "Fire on the Moon", but the confident way she spits out the words makes you believe she could claw her way out of anything. Likewise, Kekaula's indictment of "Stupid Fuckin' People" is so fierce it's almost scary. When she snarls, "Stupid fuckin' people always get in my way / Want to ruin my piece of the world" you know you'd better get out of her way. The only time this sonic assault slows down is on "Have a Little Faith in Me", a sexy soul number that Janis Joplin would have been proud to sing. While Kekaula's amazing voice and charisma are key to the Bellrays' sound, the rest of the band has to be commended for rocking so hard without drowning out that fierce set of pipes. With all the over-produced pap dominating the airwaves, hearing a band this raw and raucous is a dream come true.

Synthetic Music From Yugoslavia 1980-1989

"The galloping technical progress in the second half of the last century dominated all spheres of daily life, art and culture. In the music industry machines took over the role of classical instruments and did not stop at RnR, punk nor industrial music. No one could resist the challenge, but also the prevailing trends in the 80s. The music industry was influenced by the electronic virus globally, not sparing even the remotest corners of the planet, producing bands like Depeche Mode, New Order, Soft Cell or lesser known ones like Liquid Liquid, Section 25, The Wake as well as the pioneers of the electronic music Silver Apples, Pierre Henry,etc .
What was going on in the music industry of former Yugoslavia and at Jugoton, the biggest YU music label at that time? The all over answer is given by a new release of Everland Music: Electronic Jugoton - Synthetic music from Yugoslavia 1964. - 1989. Vol. 1

Electronic Jugoton is the first part of two double albums, where the second part will even go back to pre-electronic music from 1964. Both double albums were initially released by Croatia Records (ex-Jugoton) in 2014 on a 2CD set with no less than two and a half hours of material (47 songs, 35 performers), showing the contemporary trend of Jugoton at that time towards avant-garde and provocative directions in electronic music. This untimely compilation is released for the first time on vinyl now on two double LPs, housed in gatefold sleeves by Everland Music, where part 2 will be released in 2023.
The brave and insightful creators of the compilation Electronic Jugoton, veteran crate diggers Višeslav Laboš and Zeljko Luketić, have excelled at reconstructing the musical past of electronic music in Yugoslavia from 1964 – 1989. Jugoton's extensive research included the most exciting and progressive moments of pop and disco music, early rap, electronic responses of new wave, RnR, post punk and industrial bands to the current trend of the 80s, but also pioneers of avant-garde electronic music.

Electronic Jugoton part 1 is officially opened by the band Laboratorija with the song Devica 69, which opens a window to a completely new and experimental world in former Yugoslavia.Laboš and Luketić have boldly chosen the material without reservations, suggesting that for the first time in one place we have a section of forgotten, unique underground bands like Beograd, Data, Brazil, The Master Scratch band, DU DU A and beyond.
Besides the excellent underground bands, we find popular performers of the time performing less well-known songs: Denis & Denis, Oliver Mandić, Slađana & Neutral Design.

Electronic Jugoton part 2 is partly dedicated to unique electronic music in the performance of important Yugoslav punk, new wave, RnR and industrial bands: Zana, Pekinška patka, Električni orgazam and Borghesia, while the second part of the material is focused on avant-garde early electronic music in Yugoslavia, where the works of composers Igor Savin, Branimir Sakac, Igor Kuljerić and Miroslav Miletić were presented. Luketić and Laboš rescued the obscure electronic tune Elektra by Zdenka Kovačiček, who was at that time Jugoslovska Soul and funk diva.

The uniqueness and quality of this compilation are also audio stories for children, which were extremely fertile ground for an experimentation with electronic sounds, as they should be highly imaginative to attract the attention of the childrens. Electronic Jugoton is also the first compilation in which the listener will find fragments of interviews with actors from the time gave for Jugoton Express. This was a series of promo vinyls printed in extremely small quantities in the 80's and intended to be exclusively for radio stations. An average of 30 minutes of promotion material and interviews with musicians were available for the first time through this compilation.

The value of this compilation is time and priceless. The only question is whether you will be fast enough to catch your copy of the limited double vinyl editions!"

What is there to say about this album that hasn’t been said before? Multiple words could be used to describe this album: Timeless. Essential. Masterpiece. Definitive. Sickening. Yes, even sickening falls into this category, because believe it or not, back in 1996 when Cryptopsy released “None So Vile,” it was unlike anything else at the time. From the first drum hits and guitar riffs of “Crown Of Horns,” it would have been obvious, and still is to this day, that Cryptopsy improved on themselves since “Blasphemy Made Flesh.” But then you combine some of the most technical and speedy Death Metal to date with the sickening screams, snarls, growls, and grunts of vocalist Lord Worm, and I’m sure that 1996 was the year Death Metal changed forever. “None So Vile” is a testament to the Death Metal formula, and the odd thing is is that not many have tried to emulate it. I don’t know why. Maybe it might be because of how difficult it would be to emulate an album of this calibur. Cryptopsy is a massive influence upon Death Metal. Many factors contribute to the influence Cryptopsy struck upon Death Metal. One of them is absurdly seen from Flo Mounier’s maniacal drumming. As far as I’m concerned, two words can sum up this man: Speed Demon. But just because he’s speedy doesn’t mean he loses any shed of technicality. But Flo is not alone in making Cryptopsy. With the duo of Jon Levasseur and Eric Langlois on guitar and bass respectively, Cryptopsy was noted for their technical music playing. Just look at songs like “Slit Your Guts,” “Graves Of The Fathers,” and “Phobophile” to see how this duo completely tore apart everything that may have been considered a standard for Death Metal at that time. These two remade the standard by bringing shredding guitar and audible, crushing, and technical bass playing into the mix. The playing by these two is a testament to technical playing. But what truly makes Cryptopsy, and many would agree, is Lord Worm. This man is down right beastly. No true word in the English vernacular could describe what this man brings to Cryptopsy and what he did for Death Metal on “None So Vile.” At this point in time, I don’t think anyone could have anticipated vocals like this. He is downright in-fucking-human. His screams are vicious, his gutteral growls are putrid, and the longevity at which he can perform and hold these vocals is insane. But not only did Lord Worm bring a sickening unnatural vocal style, he brings

The Best Old School Death Metal album from the Netherlands gets a well-deserved re-issue! Crushing, aggressive, abrasive, pounding, bone crunching... In an age when blast speed drums were still mostly used by grindcore acts (and some pioneers such as Morbid Angel) and now classic bands such as Cannibal Corpse, Suffocation, Deicide were still tiny demo acts, Dutch masters Pestilence released one of the best old school Dutch death metal classics ever to be unleashed upon mankind, the album that made a huge impact upon its release. “Consuming Impulse” is one intense album. one could say this album is definitely up there with classic death metal albums such as Death’s “Leprosy”, Obituary’s “Slowly We Rot”, and Morbid Angel’s “Altars of Madness”. With “Consuming Impulse”, Pestilence created their greatest, most complete album, successfully marrying the primitive brutality of their previous effort ‘Maleus Maleficarum’ with the technicality of their later releases. Whereas their debut album “Malleus Maleficarum” had some hints of thrash metal, this was gone on “Consuming Impulse” although the up tempo beat was still of course very much present. The production was heavy yet remarkably transparent. The riffs of Patrick Mameli on “Consuming Impulse” are simply mind-blowing. Even though quite simple at times they still prove extremely deadly. Try the main riffs in the verses of ‘Process of Suffocation’ and ‘The Trauma’ for starters. Speed monsters like ‘Dehydrated’ and ‘Reduced To Ashes’ were simple compositions but the intensity of this material just oozes out of your speakers. The presence of these straight forward raging death metal tracks was perfect to balance the dynamics and variety of the album. Songs such as ‘Chronic Infection’ and the classic ‘Out Of The Body’ incorporated some great interacting differentiating guitars and much more diversity in pace and riffing.

Ltd edition RED Vinyl, DL card. Re-writing the rule book when it came to punk requisites, Leatherface combined passion, angst and power with undeniable songwriting and technical prowess. Led by wordsmith Frankie Stubbs their explosive hooks and thrashing guitars quickly became their trademark and made them one of the most exhilarating UK bands of the 90s. Arriving at the peak of their career, ‘Minx’ channelled Stubbs’ love for Joy Division and features their much loved fourth bassist, former Snuff band member Andy Crichton. A lost classic, it brought with it a more emotional direction to their sound which was released on the brink of the band’s hiatus. // “A ferocious force to be reckoned with… another superb album” AllMusic // ★★★★ MOJO

New Zealand-based, award-winning duo TRUTH are champions of contemporary dubstep. Back with their first studio album in over 4 years, TRUTH unveil the second and final single taken from Acceptance. The mystical title track from the LP “Acceptance” is due for release Friday, July 2 via Deep Dark & Dangerous.

Following a long, quarantined year and a string of heavily-trafficked Twitch streams, TRUTH is now back in full effect with ‘Acceptance’ - their 5th album. Combining their razor sharp synchronization and innovative flair, this 13-track opus is a dreamlike journey through lush basslines, eerie rhythms, and vintage synths. At the heels of “Pages,” the widely-celebrated lead single from the album, TRUTH unveils the album’s namesake and title track “Acceptance.” A brilliant follow up to its predecessor, “Acceptance” is at once technical, ethereal, and deeply affecting. A psychedelic musing that encompasses the kaleidoscope fractals of sound that make up the album, “Acceptance” is a cornerstone of the project it belongs to.

Four pieces based on drum/cymbal + synthesizer recordings from Copenhagen-based musician Mads Emil Nielsen. Recorded in Berlin & Copenhagen, 2012 / 2015.

A2 Untitled was originally featured in Secret Thirteen Mix 056 "Percussion Bitter Sweet" - mix compiled + synth played by Andrew Pekler.

"A nice set of unruly tracks that originate with percussion loops (from samples of recordings of solo percussion and also orchestral works), but achieve a strangeness and beauty all their own when manhandled by this Copenhagen based musician. If they're technically composed of beats, they are not built on a foundation of beat-as-beat so much as rest on beat-as-sound. Wrenched in a variety of unexpected directions, the percussion is about as dancy as a random shard from Han Bennink or Chris Corsano. Which suits me fine. Hard to not think these snippets wouldn't be great to use for soundtracks to antic animated films." - The Wire Magazine

Philadelphia's Sweet Pill write eruptive emo songs that embrace the
edges of pop and hardcore
The kind of band whose members are fully immersed in their local scene-through
a handful of notable side projects and the show- promoting Philly staple 4333
Collective- the quintet's sound takes wide- spectrum influence from its
environment. The result is an amalgam of complex song structures and
flourishes of technical acumen, wholly unconcerned with genre, yet evoking the
specific styles of touchstones such as Paramore and Circa Survive.
On their debut longplayer Where the Heart Is, Sweet Pill's unbound, raucous
energy presents through ten autobiographical tracks that hinge on singer Zayna
Youssef's elastic, enrapturing voice- at times belting and controlled, at others
textural and guttural. Supporting Youssef are guitarists Jayce Williams and Sean
McCall, bassist Ryan Cullen, and drummer Chris Kearney. Their blistering lead
single "Blood" sees Youssef exploring a deteriorated friendship over Williams and
McCall's trudging riffs and tactful counterpoint, with Cullen and Kearney rumbling
nimbly in the song's foundations.
Second single "High Hopes" counters with introspective, melodic punk that
reshapes anxiety rather than succumb to it. But third single "Diamond Eyes"
momentarily slows the pace, with McCall joining Youssef on vocals for a breakup
lament laden with acoustic sentimentalism and an emotive flurry from guest
flutist Jill Ryan. Such range is the central facet of Where the Heart Is, where
Sweet Pill's penchant for combining punkish tropes enlivened with the vibrance of
math- rock and the aggression of post- hardcore sweetened with pop sensibility
compound into something stylistically new yet still familiar. Pressed on 180-gram
Red color vinyl

1972-1985 KATEBEGIAK - Prog-Rock, Psych-Folk & Jazz-Rock Music from the BASQUE COUNTRY. The album KATEBEGIAK, now published by ELKAR, contains 13 tunes on double LP gatefold edition from Haizea, Izukaitz, William S. Fischer, Magdalena, Enbor, Itoiz, Koska, Itziar, Errobi, Lisker, Amaia Zubiria & Pascal Gaigne, Gontzal Mendibil & Taldea and Urria, and the CD-Book edition adds an extra bonus track by the great unknown artist Juan Arkotxa. Complied by Mikel Unzurrunzaga Schmitz aka DJ Makala. Music produced in the 70's in the Basque Country got trapped between two earth shattering artistic currents; Ez Dok Amairu in the 60s and Basque Radical Rock in the 80's, and unfortunately, most of the lovely discs and tunes created at that magical time have been pushed to a remote (and sometimes even despised) corner of our collective memory. 60's and 80's music currents are almost opposite, and both work as magnetic poles with a very strong power of attraction, and maybe also as a burden for any of the later artistic currents. 60's generation of artists searched within their rich and ancient cultural roots to acknowledge and update them, in proud, hopeful and unforgettable folk songs. The 80's one on the other hand, worked in a flammable environment in constant social and political conflict and found in punk the perfect way to express their anger and weariness for so many unfulfilled promises and the lack of opportunities into short, noisy, direct and corrosive songs, technically sparse but full of energy and expressive power. Most of the "classic" names engraved in our memory come from one or the other like Benito Lertxundi, Mikel Laboa, Lourdes Iriondo and Xabier Lete or Kortatu, Hertzainak, Zarama, Las vulpes, Eskorbuto or Cicatriz. 70's generation and their music work somehow as the "missing link" ("katebegia" in Basque) between the two. They loved folky tunes and don't forget their ancient roots, but they also look outside for inspiration and experimentation. Just as the 80's boys and girls found punk the 70's guys found a completely different sonic and aesthetic landscape in the works of Grateful Dead, Fairport Convention, King Crimson, Soft Machine, Gong_ and worked closely with keen souls in other neighboring regions such as Maquina!, Pau Riba or Sisa in Catalonia or Smash and Triana in Andalusia. This resulted in more abstract and poetic lyrical content, much longer psych-folk-prog-jazz tunes, full of complex instrumental passages and mesmerizing structures of sheer ambition and masterful execution in many cases. But, most important of all, they found a voice of their own, rich, unique, and fascinating, and that's what makes them so valuable to us. Not only to us, but also to lots of vinyl collectors and crate-diggers around the world, who have in many cases paid fortunes for some of the original editions of LPs that are the source of tunes in this compilation. Mikel Unzurrunzaga Schmitz aka DJ Makala, DJ and producer of worldwide scope and wisdom, noticed this fact first and decided to pay homage to these wonderful tunes through this masterful and dedicated selection for your pleasure and as an open invitation to dig deeper into your adventures in the dark and hidden side of Basque popular music.