Tuning the Wind was created in 2022 as an installation piece. Since then, it has been adapted into multichannel, 4DSOUND, and stereo installations, as well as performed live on numerous occasions around the world. The piece has a duration of 36 minutes and 15 seconds. For the vinyl pressing, it has been divided into two parts.
Composer Aimée Portioli, known professionally as Grand River, recorded various types of wind and then reworked them through layering and pitch adjustment to create a musical piece where the wind itself becomes a prepared instrument. At times, the sound of the wind is tuned to the 440 Hz reference, while at other times, the instruments are tuned to the sound of the wind. In Tuning the Wind, nature and music merge seamlessly. Synthesizers and wind recordings become indistinguishable, blending natural sounds with human-made instruments. The boundary between a gust of wind and an instrument-generated sound fades away. Human artistry and nature’s symphony merge to become one.
Wind is air in motion. It makes no sound until it encounters an object. The sounds it produces depend on the strength of the wind and the shape and material of the object it touches. When the wind blows, trees sway, buildings rattle, materials move, and sound waves are generated. Some believe that temperature changes create layers of air, and that the friction between them forms a unique sound—perhaps the true voice of the wind, which birds may be the only creatures capable of recognising. Sometimes the wind howls; at other times, it sings or whistles, shifting from a gentle murmur to an angry roar. The wind’s range of frequencies, tones, and timbres is vast and varied. Tuning the Wind is a piece about the wind, made with the wind—an abstract expression of our ongoing conversation with nature.
Concept, composition and production by Aimée Portioli. Wind recordings by Aimée Portioli and Pablo Diserens.
Mastered by Rafael Anton Irisarri. Front cover photo by Bárbara Cameán and Aimée Portioli. Back cover photo by Maria Louceiro. Design by Daniel Castrejón.
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"Equinox", Gianni Marchetti's 1977 twin album of "Solstitium", released in a handful of promo copies by RCA in their renowned "Original Cast" series, takes us on a journey through the author's groovier and wilder temperament, feeling as fresh and surprising today as the day it was made, offering immediate understanding of the reasons why it has remained one of his most sought after - and virtually impossible to find - titles over the decades.
The limited release as part of RCA's "Original Cast" series only increased its mystique, making it a coveted piece among collectors and connoisseurs. The album's distinctive character lies in its spontaneous, freewheeling approach, which contrasts with the more polished productions of the era. It's a perfect example of Marchetti's unique vision, where each track seems to evolve organically, offering both intricate musicianship and a sense of unrestrained creativity.
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FELT welcomes back Civilistjävel! with »Följd«, the follow-up to last year’s »Brödföda«. 7 tracks further chronicling his melancholic murk, ever drifting towards that faint dub glow. Features a collaboration with Thomas Bush Jolly Discs.
Uncanny are the nocturnal sounds that ebb patiently from Tomas Bodén and his machines. His music continues to uncover equal parts beauty and dread from isolation, a purposeful slow pace guiding those gentle noises through the arctic air surrounding its author. No matter the weather, these expressions as Civilistjävel! continue to find a loving home on Fergus Jones’s FELT imprint.
On »Följd«, he naturally develops on the inclinations found on »Brödföda«. »XIII«’s unsettling warble melts into the dusky spurts of »XIV«. Further on, the dew-glowed ambience of »XV« precedes »XVI«’s dub trudge which casts a hypnotic grey shadow. »XVII«’s wind-swept acid redux then quietly transitions into the stunning introspective drone of »XVIII« before closer »XIX« comes into view, its positive dawn enacted through Thomas Bush’s croons lilting amongst organs, guitars and tempered sound design.
Civilistjävel! continues to emote a great deal with very little, a reliable abstract practitioner that posits »Följd« as an arresting audio tale within his celebrated oeuvre.
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Volume 1 of this expertly curated project of 90s Italian House - put together by Don Carlos.
If Paradise was half as nice… by Fabio De Luca.
Googling “paradise house”, the first results to pop up are an endless list of European b&b’s with whitewashed lime façades, all of them promising “…an unmatched travel experience a few steps from the sea”. Next, a little further down, are the institutional websites of a few select semi-luxury retirement homes (no photos shown, but lots of stock images of smiling nurses with reassuring looks). To find the “paradise house” we’re after, we have to scroll even further down. Much further down.
It feels like yesterday, and at the same time it seems like a million years ago. The Eighties had just ended, and it was still unclear what to expect from the Nineties. Mobile phones that were not the size of a briefcase and did not cost as much as a car? A frightening economic crisis? The guitar-rock revival?! Certainly, the best place to observe that moment of transition was the dancefloor. Truly epochal transformations were happening there. From America, within a short distance one from the other, two revolutionary new musical styles had arrived: the first one sounded a bit like an “on a budget” version of the best Seventies disco-music – Philly sound made with a set of piano-bar keyboards! – the other was even more sparse, futuristic and extraterrestrial. It was a music with a quite distinct “physical” component, which at the same time, to be fully grasped, seemed to call for the knotty theories of certain French post-modern philosophers: Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, Paul Virilio... Both those genres – we would learn shortly after – were born in the black communities of Chicago and Detroit, although listening to those vinyl 12” (often wrapped in generic white covers, and with little indication in the label) you could not easily guess whether behind them there was a black boy from somewhere in the Usa, or a girl from Berlin, or a pale kid from a Cornish coastal town.
Quickly, similar sounds began to show up from all corners of Europe. A thousand variations of the same intuition: leaner, less lean, happier, slightly less intoxicated, more broken, slower, faster, much faster... Boom! From the dancefloors – the London ones at least, whose chronicles we eagerly read every month in the pages of The Face and i-D – came tales of a new generation of clubbers who had completely stopped “dressing up” to go dancing; of hot tempered hooligans bursting into tears and hugging everyone under the strobe lights as the notes of Strings of Life rose up through the fumes of dry ice (certain “smiling” pills were also involved, sure). At this point, however, we must move on to Switzerland.
In Switzerland, in the quiet and diligent town of Lugano, between the 1980s and 1990s there was a club called “Morandi”. Its hot night was on Wednesdays, when the audience also came from Milan, Como, Varese and Zurich. Legend goes that, one night, none less than Prince and Sheila E were spotted hiding among the sofas, on a day-off of the Italian dates of the Nude Tour… The Wednesday resident and superstar was an Italian dj with an exotic name: Don Carlos. The soundtrack he devised was a mixture of Chicago, Detroit, the most progressive R&B and certain forgotten classics of old disco music: practically, what the Paradise Garage in New York might have sounded like had it not closed in 1987. In between, Don Carlos also managed to squeeze in some tracks he had worked on in his studio on Lago Maggiore. One in particular: a track that was rather slow compared to the BPM in fashion at the time, but which was a perfect bridge between house and R&B. The title was Alone: Don Carlos would explain years later that it had to be intended both in the English meaning of “by itself” and like the Italian word meaning “halo”. That wasn’t the only double entendre about the song, anyway. Its own very deep nature was, indeed, double. On the one hand, Alone was built around an angelic keyboard pattern and a romantic piano riff that took you straight to heaven; on the other, it showcased enough electronic squelches (plus a sax part that sounded like it had been dissolved by acid rain) to pigeonhole the tune into the “junk modernity” section, aka the hallmark of all the most innovative sounds of the time: music that sounded like it was hand-crafted from the scraps of glittering overground pop.
No one knows who was the first to call it “paradise house”, nor when it happened. Alternative definitions on the same topic one happened to hear included “ambient house”, “dream house”, “Mediterranean progressive”… but of course none were as good (and alluring) as “paradise house”. What is certain is that such inclination for sounds that were in equal measure angelic and neurotic, romantic and unaffective, quickly became the trademark of the second generation of Italian house. Music that seemed shyly equidistant from all the rhythmic and electronic revolutions that had happened up to that moment (“Music perfectly adept at going nowhere slowly” as noted by English journalist Craig McLean in a legendary field report for Blah Blah Blah magazine). Music that to a inattentive ear might have sounded as anonymous as a snapshot of a random group of passers-by at 10AM in the centre of any major city, but perfectly described the (slow) awakening in the real world after the universal love binge of the so-called Second Summer of Love.
For a brief but unforgettable season, in Italy “paradise house” was the official soundtrack of interminable weekends spent inside the car, darting from one club to another, cutting the peninsula from North to centre, from East to West coast in pursuit of the latest after-hours disco, trading kilometres per hour with beats per minute: practically, a new New Year’s Eve every Friday and Saturday night. This too was no small transformation, as well as a shock for an adult Italy that was encountering for the first time – thanks to its sons and daughters – the wild side of industrial modernity. The clubbers of the so-called “fuoriorario” scene were the balls gone mad in the pinball machine most feared by newspapers, magazines and TV pundits. What they did each and every weekend, apart from going crazy to the sound of the current white labels, was linking distant geographical points and non-places (thank you Marc Augé!) – old dance halls, farmhouses and business centres – transformed for one night into house music heaven. As Marco D’Eramo wrote in his 1995 essay on Chicago, Il maiale e il grattacielo: “Four-wheeled capitalism distorts our age-old image of the city, it allows the suburbs to be connected to each other, whereas before they were connected only by the centre (…) It makes possible a metropolitan area without a metropolis, without a city centre, without downtown. The periphery is no longer a periphery of any centre, but is self-centred”.
“Paradise house” perfectly understood all of this and turned it into a sort of cyber-blues that didn’t even need words, and unexpectedly brought back a drop of melancholic (post?)-humanity within a world that by then – as we would wholly realise in the decades to come – was fully inhuman and heartless. A world where we were all alone, and surrounded by a sinister yellowish halo, like a neon at the end of its life cycle. But, for one night at least, happy.
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Obwohl Rüdiger in den siebziger Jahren als Mitglied einer lokalen Beatgruppe beeindruckte, drängte ihn die zunehmende Beschäftigung mit Künstlern wie Neu!, Tangerine Dream, Reich und Riley in Richtung Elektronik und Experimentalmusik, ein Stil, der besser zu seinem einsamen Temperament passte. Auf der Suche nach klanglichem Ausdruck überwand er seine mangelnden elektrischen Kenntnisse und lötete mutig weiter, um Orgeln, Effektgeräte und selbstgebaute Effektgeräte und selbstgebaute modulare Systeme, die alle im Dienste seines spezifischen Sounds stehen. Was genau ist nun der Sound von Synrise"? Ausgewählt aus seinen ersten vier Veröffentlichungen, "Queen of Saba" (1981), "Silver Steps" (1981), "Wonderflower" (1982) und "Earthrise" (1983), bietet dieses Septett Sci-Fi-Hymnen und Sinuswellen-Requiems, nebulöse kosmische Collagen aus schnarrenden Rhythmusboxen, gurgelnden Sequenzen und synthetisierten Chören. Obwohl sie ursprünglich auf vier verschiedenen Kassetten veröffentlicht wurden, gehören diese sieben Tracks alle zum selben Klanguniversum - nur nicht zu dem, in dem wir leben.
The latest from prolific producer and trumpeter Michael Leonhart (Steely Dan, Mark Ronson, El Michels Affair, Elvis Costello). The Leonhart Brass Band features members of Antibalas, the Dap-Kings & Red Baraat. The Leonhart Brass Band was conceived during the 2020 COVID-19 quarantine when trumpeter/composer/producer Michael Leonhart was unable to perform with his 18-piece orchestra at NYC's famous Jazz Standard. Leonhart began composing music for a small brass band that would be capable of playing outdoors without amplification. Building on the foundation of the classic brass bands (Dirty Dozen Brass and Rebirth Brass Band), Leonhart has infused elements of hip-hop and funk to create his own sound. The Leonhart Brass Band features members of Antibalas, the Dap-Kings & Red Baraat. "Jabbar" – Dedicated to and inspired by hooping legend Kareem Abdul Jabbar (aka Lew Alcindor), whose father was a transit police officer/jazz musician and whose mother worked as a department store price checker. In addition to Jabbar's storied career on the hardcourt, Jabbar grew up surrounded by jazz and has been a die-hard music fan his entire life, tragically losing his vast record collection in a 1983 fire that destroyed his LA home. Leonhart's tribute centers around an infectious bass riff in C minor, punctuated by brass stabs and solos by Leonhart on trumpet and Jason Marshall on the seldom-heard bass saxophone. "The Iceman" – The title is taken from basketball great George Gervin's famous nickname given to him during his years playing in both the ABA (American Basketball Association) and the NBA (National Basketball Association) for teams such as the Virginia Squires, San Antonio Spurs and Chicago Bulls. Legend has it the name came from Gervin's cool temperament on the court and his rare ability to play incredibly hard without breaking a sweat. "The Iceman" sees the Leonhart Brass Band horn section dividing into two groups as they play counterpoint melodies against one another. The tape echo effected bari sax solo is performed by Stuart Bogie
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While 1995's Washing Machine LP moniker was a thinly-veiled jab at the corporate aesthetic ("no, you cannot turn Sonic Youth into a household appliance brand", the band even considered changing its name to Washing Machine but settled on the album title instead), their major label relationship was indeed a curious buzzpoint of talk on the street after their intake to DGC in 1990. It wouldn't be fair to say that this state of existence propelled the band to reinforce its independent mindset by releasing a series of opaque-looking, French-language-dipping, highbrow-looking releases on their own that focused on the more abstract improv/compositional side of the band; in all truths they had been heavily steeped in self-releasing spillover material prior to that. But after a pressure pot of the early 90's indoctrination into a new operational mode for the band and its visibility, and the forces around it attempting to shape their direction, it seemed like a good time to create a strong show of radical concept.
The Anagrama EP became the first in a series of the SYR label's Perspective Musicales releases seemingly cementing Sonic Youth's connectivity to an increasing public awareness in experimental composers of the 20th century (French or otherwise). The irony was that many of those original avant composers being rediscovered by the indie audience (Partch, Neuhaus, Reich, Messaien) often found themselves on major labels anyway! So, perhaps this reverse approach was a necessary concept/comment given the music biz climate of the 90's. Regardless of how apples and oranges fell in Xenakian probability/theory, it was clear that both Sonic Youth's stature in progressive music, aided by now unlimited taperoll time thanks to a home base studio downtown established after their Lollapalooza stint, gave the band plenty of trailblazing time for their self examination of untraveled avenues.
"Anagrama" unfolds into nine minutes of delicate textures, starting with thick drone segueing into moments reminiscent of the post-crescendo flutter/comedown of "Marquee Moon's" trail-out; Thurston, Lee and Kim's guitars all circling round each other taking delicate pokes and stabs before drifting into some post-rock rhythmic moves tapered with delicate percussive guidance from Steve Shelley. "Improvisation Ajoutée" reaches further out into dissolve with whirring oscillations, guitars hissing and clanking radiator-style in a short blast format that continues into "Tremens" and a spooked-out landscape of gelatinous notes snaking up slowly. The sparseness of attack is colorful, textures emit and linger, silent spots shine, all flanked by tasteful drumming that provides the thread to all the abstraction. Shelley's approach here is interestingly sideways to any kind of usual rock action, it's tempered, mutant and metronomic simultaneously. The finale track "Mieux: De Corrosion" is a real pedal-palatte showcase. Here, Plutonian guitar wash flanges upwards to buoy a myriad of colorful eruptions of amp-spuzz, chopped up tone blasts and general confusion. Out of the blue, some metallic one-note choogle kicks in and threatens to explode into some Judas Priestly motion, before it all sputters into aural glass showers, clang, and finally a ferocious wave of more flange hiss that crashes down on a dime.
This initial foray into SY's Perspectives Musicales series continued onward with releases featuring other co-conspirators, peaking with the ambitious 2CD Goodbye 20th Century that finally connects the band into full-on interpretations of other composers' pieces (as well as displaying their own new ones). The whole series is not so much an outlet for another "side" of the band, but a run that went hand in hand building new approaches of songcraft onto their own, more overground direction which included Jim O'Rourke (who hopped on during SYR3), adding additional density to A Thousand Leaves and other LPs of his era. Fans of the '86 Spinhead Sessions as well as the recently-exhumed later jams of In/Out/In will take in the sounds of SYR1 with glee.
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The album and single news follows closely on the heels of Daudi’s recent tracks “oMo” and “Fool Me As Many Times As You Like” which have received high praise from the likes of Gilles Peterson on Worldwide FM and BBC 6 Music as well as Lauren Laverne, and have been featured in several Spotify editorial playlists including The Most Beautiful Songs in the World, The Other list, The Listening Post, and Fresh Finds. Having released just two independent EPs – “A Brief Introduction to Failure” and “The Lingering Effects of Disconnection” – to date, Daudi has toured with GoGo Penguin, Keaton Henson, and Portico Quartet, whilst also being a participant of the Red Bull Music Academy in Montreal 2016. He also received a standing ovation at this years The Great Escape Festival, and plays as a member of Do Nothing’s live band, who he is currently on tour with. Through his unique brand of modern albeit reverent folk, Daudi continues to offer his listeners a space for understanding and introspection. Deft, melancholic picking reminiscent of Nick Drake is tempered by contemporary percussion and instrumentation. Matsiko’s vocals derive their strength from their seeming fragility. With every song, his confessional lyrics cut to the marrow.
Das Debütalbum der jungen Band aus Chicago auf Golden Nugget Doppelvinyl. LP 2 enthält 11 Bonustracks, darunter B-Seiten, Live-Tracks und ein My Bloody Valentine-Cover.
"Reaffirms that indie rock, as a style and ethos, can still feel like the most exciting thing a young person could be into.” - Pitchfork
Zukunftsweisender Indie-Rock hat in Chicago eine lange Tradition. Neuzugang und Hoffnungsträger Friko bilden da keine Ausnahme und verwandeln jeden Song in einen Moment der kollektiven Katharsis. Auf ihrem Debütalbum knüpfen Sänger/Gitarrist Niko Kapetan und Schlagzeuger Bailey Minzenberger an die brennende Energie ihrer Debüt-Single Crimson To Chrome an, indem sie Elemente von Post-Punk, Kammer-Pop und experimentellem Rock miteinander verschmelzen und die berauschende Kraft ihrer Musik mit einer Flut von temperamentvollem Ensemble-Gesang verstärken. Poetisch, explosiv und von erhabener Gefühlsrohheit.
In C and Rainbow in Curved Air get all the ink (inc?), but its own somewhat subtle way, 1980’s Shri Camel, the last of the three brilliant albums Terry Riley recorded for CBS, is every bit as groundbreaking as its hallowed predecessors. Not content to rest on his laurels as a minimalist master, Riley studied with Hindustani classical singer Pandit Pran Nath during the ‘70s; by blending that Eastern influence with his own experiments in just intonation (where tuning is dictated by equal mathematical intervals rather than the “tempered” tuning familiar to Western music), Riley made an album whose shimmering textures (played through a specially modified Yamaha organ) seem to change with one’s own breath or thought, like the reflection of rippling water on rock. And while Shri Camel is far more demanding and ultimately rewarding than any “New Age” recording, one definitely gets the sense that its ever-evolving, ecstatically hypnotic rhythmic and harmonic patterns are massaging the brain’s neural circuitry, leaving one refreshed, relaxed, and, yes, maybe even a little smarter than before listening. First LP reissue and long overdue!
Two-Piers präsentiert die nächste Killer-Compilation: "Weird Scenes From The Hangout (Psychedelic & Freakbeat Dancefloor Anthems 1967-1982)", kuratiert von Richard Norris (The Grid, Beyond The Wizard's Sleeve, The Time And Space Machine) und zentriert um seine Liverpooler Clubnacht "The Hangout" in den 1980ern. Dort brachten er und weitere DJs bewusstseinsverändernden Wahnsinn aus Psychedelia und Freakbeat auf die Tanzfläche. Herausragende Songs wie "The Left Banke - I've Got Something On My Mind", "The Turtles - Buzzsaw" oder "Can - Outside Your Door" wurden zu echten Hangout-Hymnen. Man widmete der eher trendy Ausbeute der Spät-Sechziger ebenso viel Zeit wie angesagten Acts, solange der Groove auf dem Dancefloor funktionierte. Das Hangout kam und ging im Nu, aber sein Erbe, psychedelische Fußstampfer auf die Fläche zu bringen, lebt weiter, gemeinsam mit der Liebe zu allem, was mit Beat und Freak zu tun hat.
** Exclusive tracks to Vinyl Format
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- 140G schwarzes Vinyl inklusive Einleger und Downloadkarte
Nach der Veröffentlichung von 'POPtical Illusion' Anfang des Jahres kündigt John Cale die Wiederveröffentlichung seines Album-Klassikers 'The Academy in Peril' für den 15.11.2024 an!
Das Album wurde von Heba Kadry neu gemastert und es ist die erste von Cale Künstler autorisierte Neuauflage des beliebten Albums. "The Academy in Peril" enthält enthält den Bonustrack "Temper" und wird auf CD, Vinyl und digital erhältlich sein.
"Das Wiederaufgreifen von Werken aus der Vergangenheit ist für mich ein zweischneidiges Schwert. Natürlich ist das unvermeidlich, wenn man seit 60 Jahren oder so Musik macht. Das Besondere an diesem Prozess bei Domino ist, dass sie es richtig machen wollen. Es geht nicht darum, etwas nur wegen eines Jubiläums neu aufzulegen oder einen Katalogfavoriten zu sammeln, sondern darum, neue Schätze zu finden und das hervorzuheben, was sie ursprünglich besonders gemacht hat. Nachdem ich die Testpressungen gehört hatte, kam mir der Gedanke, dass das neue Mastering einen wesentlichen Teil der Präsentation dieser Werke ausmacht, anstatt sie einfach nur zu konservieren. Es gibt Momente der Klarheit und sogar den einen oder anderen Lacher, wenn man nicht nur die Musik, sondern auch die Sessions (und Possen) Revue passieren lässt, aus denen diese beiden Aufnahmen entstanden sind. Es ist mir eine Freude, diese mit Ihnen zu teilen . . wieder." - John Cale, September 2024
Bei der Veröffentlichung von Blue’s Moods im Jahr 1960 stellte DownBeat fest, dass das Werk ”ein gewisses
Maß an Selbstvertrauen und Zurückhaltung widerspiegelt, Markenzeichen... des reifen Künstlers”. In diesem
Sinne ist diese Veröffentlichung von Mitchell (sowohl an der Trompete als auch am Coronet) nach wie vor
ein Klassiker, da sie sich auf die temperamentvolle Leichtigkeit des Hard-Bop stützt, die durch den Groove
unterstrichen wird.
Unterstützt von einer soliden Rhythmusgruppe (Pianist Wynton Kelly, Bassist Sam Jones und Schlagzeuger
Roy Brooks). Blue’s Moods verströmt Wärme und Neugierde in Titeln wie dem entspannten, schlendernden
”Sweet Pumpkin” und dem kantigeren, lebensbejahenden ”Avars”. Blue’s Moods ist so scheinbar mühelos,
wie mühelos nur sein kann.
Rian Treanor keeps knocking new doors of possibility with his new label Electronic Music Club and its initial focus on Rotherham Sight & Sound, participants of a community-based initiative in their shared post-industrial home town Rotherham. Utilising software synths designed by Rian and his dad Mark Fell, the trio twist out vortices of shearing, asymmetric anarchitecture, rudely resembling the sort of hyper-contemporary styles alluded to in Rian’s solo works, but inflected with cranky timing and an intuitive freedom that bears extraordinary results, especially when considering the fact the trio had no prior musical ability, and only encountered electronic music a few years ago.
After a couple of years of practice and performance, ‘Action Potential’ now firms up their quicksilver sound for club and home buzzes with seven actions that warp and morph from the needling jolts and hoof of ‘Pass The Go’, to shuddering detonations in ‘Dial’, each with a properly electrifying force carrying a genuine futureshock. Working within Rian’s systems-based framework, Anne, Kathleen, and Mick deploy a tactile feel for the machines, finely honed over the course of many sessions at the Rotherham Sight & Sound facility, that uses their visual impairments to synaesthetic advantage.
Between the wickedly metallic ragga swivel of ‘Hold’, the diffractive chain reactions of ‘When It Ends’, and more tempered, sloshing sensuality of ‘30 Seconds’, the trio follow their noses down wormholes that manifest an ideal of accessibility and expressionism within electronic music contexts that Rian and Mark have long worked towards, with Anne, Kathleen and Mick’s relative lack of cultural conditioning in this paradigm prompting them to act on pure instinct
Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur's court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word "Camelot" accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of "utopia." In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson's 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python's 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armored knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys's profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy's White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle's extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle's Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one's own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. "Back in Camelot," she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, "I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry." The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping "in the unfinished basement," an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above "sirens and desert deities." If she questions her own agency_whether she is "wishing stones were standing" or just "pissing in the wind"_it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of "multi-felt dimensions" both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of "Camelot," with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to "Some Friends," an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises_"bright and beaming verses" versus hot curses_which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020's achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory "Earthsong," bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to _ a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?) Those whom "Trust" accuses of treacherous oaths spit through "gilded and golden tooth"_cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry_sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in "Louis": "What's that dance / and can it be done? What's that song / and can it be sung?" Answering affirmatively are "Lucky #8," an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the "tidal pools of pain" and the "theory of collapse," and "Full Moon in Leo," which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and "big hair." But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle's confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on "Lucky #8," special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle's beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia's FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad "Blowing Kisses"_Pallett's crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX's The Bear_Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer_and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: "No words to fumble with / I'm not a beggar to language any longer." Such rare moments of speechlessness_"I'm so fucking honoured," she bluntly proclaims_suggest a state "only a god could come up with." (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world_including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth_but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the "charts and diagrams" of "Lucky #8," a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in "Full Moon in Leo," the bloody invocations of the organ-stained "Mary Miracle," and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with "Fractal Canyon"'s repeated, exalted insistence that she's "not alone here." But where is here? The word "utopia" itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek "eutopia," or "good-place"_the facet most remembered today_and "outopia," or "no-place," a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary. Or as fellow Canadian songwriter Neil Young once sang, "Everyone knows this is nowhere." "Can you see how I'd be tempted," Castle asks out of nowhere, held in the mystery, "to pretend I'm not alone and let the memory bend?"
. For Fans Of: The Weather Station, Weyes Blood, Adrianne Lenker, Phoebe Bridgers, Joan Shelley, Lana Del Rey, Cass McCombs, Angel Olsen & Neil Young. Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur’s court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word “Camelot” accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of “utopia.” In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson’s 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python’s 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armoured knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys’s profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy’s White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle’s extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle’s Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one’s own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. “Back in Camelot,” she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, “I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry.” The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping “in the unfinished basement,” an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above “sirens and desert deities.” If she questions her own agency whether she is “wishing stones were standing” or just “pissing in the wind” it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of “multi-felt dimensions” both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of “Camelot,” with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to “Some Friends,” an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises—“bright and beaming verses” versus hot curses which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020’s achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory “Earthsong,” bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to … a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?). Those whom “Trust” accuses of treacherous oaths spit through “gilded and golden tooth” cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in “Louis”: “What’s that dance / and can it be done? What’s that song / and can it be sung?” Answering affirmatively are “Lucky #8,” an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the “tidal pools of pain” and the “theory of collapse,” and “Full Moon in Leo,” which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and “big hair.” But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle’s confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on “Lucky #8,” special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle’s beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia’s FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad “Blowing Kisses” Pallett’s crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX’s The Bear Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: “No words to fumble with / I’m not a beggar to language any longer.” Such rare moments of speechlessness “I’m so fucking honoured,” she bluntly proclaims suggest a state “only a god could come up with.” (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the “charts and diagrams” of “Lucky #8,” a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in “Full Moon in Leo,” the bloody invocations of the organ-stained “Mary Miracle,” and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with “Fractal Canyon”s repeated, exalted insistence that she’s “not alone here.” But where is here? The word “utopia” itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek “eutopia,” or “good-place” the facet most remembered today and “outopia,” or “no-place,” a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary
A third Punctuality enters the chat; its latest member Maara proclaiming Drama On for Spray’s ever-evolving label. The Montreal maverick cues up a psy-eyed sesh for the ages, 5 wily thumpers shaded sapphic for those enthralled by the mischievous dance.
Since 2021, Maara has operated on an ‘all pills, no frills’ basis. Her prolific run of EPs for the likes of Kalahari Oyster Cult, Step Ball Chain and Radiant Records has cemented her rightful place within the club pantheon of the prog and divine. Spray and his Punctuality cohort reside there also, teasing clubland salvation for those who dare. Maara giddily joins for the ride, offering a gift in the name of Drama On; an EP of direct dancefloor transmissions that map out kinetic paths to sordid euphoria.
The curtains rise as What U Do 2 Me skips, gallops and jumps across theatrical plains, breaking for a titular reflection before reuniting with its ravey chaos. Drama On swings sharper, riding a sleazy donk through a dimly lit groove of pulsating vulgarity. An outright sassier affair celebrates Sigmund Freud’s Big Day Out; an unconscious slip of the hard house tongue that feeds an otherwise techno-driven delirium with wry glee. Give Me Ecstasy eases the tempo while raising the temperature, commanding your gaze with a noxious roller that seductively writhes in sexed-up delight. The house lights beckon, and Not My Web, Not My Problem she retorts with an unforgiving groove thrusting its charged-up rump through a cauldron of salacious murmurs and groans.
It’s Maara’s world, and we’re all just dancing in it.
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Starting with an Acid bath from Bass Température this collab between Vinyl Bleu and Bass Addict is perfect.
SourD kicker then bring a mental progressive dark Tribe tune. A pure kick design again :)
Numéro Bleu then comes with a Techno or Tekno asking the question of a style. A beauty.
Luche & Faya finished the job with a Trance trip : superb twirler.
