Cerca:the apparitions

In Todmorden, the oddly-named market border town in West Yorkshire with a habit for embracing the weird and wonderful, a burst of sunshine is a precious thing. Through the thick of Winter, through every season in fact, the town’s folk are used to the wind and rain, fog and mist. As much a part of the town as the trademark deep valley it sits in, here the lay of the land invites the weather in, just as it does the many musicians, artists, and unique characters that have come to call the place home over the centuries.
Bridget Hayden is one such soul who found a home among these hills. The experimental musician, who invites the ghosts in for the classic folk songs that make up her stunning new album, knows only too well about such weather, how rare and treasured the breaks from it are. Her favourite thing to do in the valley, she says, is “to make the most of every tiny minute of sunshine.”
Such aspirations nearly derailed the recording of Cold Blows the Rain, her new eight-song collection released via the Todmorden- based label Basin Rock. Having hired the town’s Oddfellow’s Hall to record these new songs in the late summer of 2022, Hayden says the weather was so good she ended up basking in every second of it, only moving inside to begin recording when the sun was setting, working deep into the night to make up the time.
There’s a good chance, however, that it had to be this way. The songs that make up Cold Blows the Rain are not made for the sunlight. They come, instead, wrapped in mist and coated with drizzle, those elements shaping the album as much as the voice and the instruments held within, as real but ambiguous as the ghosts that linger in the shadows. The sound of the dark valley floor.
Mostly centred around meditative and experimental improvisation, Bridget’s work to-date has seen her spend more than two decades recording and performing on the underground music scene. She’s also toured internationally both as a solo artist and as part of bands such as Schisms and The Telescopes, while working on various side-projects with the likes of Folklore Tapes.
For all of this sonic exploration, so much of her work has been formed around elements of traditional folk aesthetics and, over time, she began to piece together a collection of reinterpreted traditional songs that she absorbed as a child from her mother: through The Dubliners and Muddy Waters, to Bessie Smith and The Leadbelly Songbook. Harvesting her love for Nina Simone, Karen Dalton, Margaret Barry, and more, Bridget takes these traditional songs and transforms them into something uniquely evocative
"It goes back to the womb,” Bridget says of that connection. “I would not call it a memory as it is so deep within my blood and bones. My mum was the source, she sang all the time, as part of life. So it was a very lulling and natural introduction. It seemed common to hear her singing – unbeknownst to her – in time with a raindrop dripping at the window,” Bridget continues. “I’ve always wanted to do a folk record as I love these songs so much. It comes much more naturally to me to sing other people’s words, especially when they’re as beautiful as these old verses.”
Underpinned by waves of analogue reverb, and led by Bridget’s stirring and weather-beaten voice, the songs on Cold Blows the Rain drift and crawl like low heavy clouds on flat-top hills, shaped by the land. The backdrop is equally as arresting, all subtle gloom cast in shadow, a gentle but pronounced swirling of textures, crafted from harmonium and violin courtesy of The Apparitions (Sam Mcloughlin and Dan Bridgewood-Hill).
“The weather speaks the most eloquently about human loss,” Bridget says, articulating such sentiments. “It’s good to feel enveloped by something so much vaster than ourselves. The rain and the tears all become one.”

Tehran-born, Manchester-based artist Parham Ghalamdar provides a suite of raw & candid amateur-performed Persian folk, pop songs and poetry - all pulled from the audio on his parents archive of homemade VHS recordings documenting intimate, joyous & illicit gatherings in turn-of-the-century Iran.

"Beautiful Apparitions is a collection of audio excerpts from digitized VHS tapes recorded by my parents in early-noughties Iran. The footage depicts the secret double lives of Iranians drinking, dancing, and singing to celebrate life when owning a VHS player was illegal in the Islamic Republic. The footage is an amateur performance of pop and folklore songs about love, loss and life. Although many Iranians must have recorded such vivid moments, they are rarely made available publicly. Such tapes would usually have been well hidden, lost, or purposefully destroyed."

— Parham Ghalamdar

Laputa, a title taken from the fantastical floating island of Gulliver's Travels is aptly named as 'The album that never landed' for, apart from a limited touchdown in Japan, Laputa was never released. This mystical world is a summation of Yokota's journey so far, a complex and at times challenging work but immeasurably rewarding. Beguiling and bewitching in equal measure.

Over fifteen undulating sonic fugue states, he guides listeners round a liminal world, made up of familiar materials but formed in a way defying all laws of perspective and physics. Background murmurings give way to almost uncomfortably foregrounded chattering, and one perceived soundstage segues into another impossible tableau of sonic apparitions, some recognisable in form, but all boldly decontextualised and arranged in expertly cluttered amalgams.

Laputa's obscurity was a prime reason Lo Recordings decided on the Skintone retrospective. Falling as it did between The Boy and the Tree on The Leaf Label and our own debut of Symbol. It was something of an audio crime that the album had never been properly explored and discovered. Lo Recordings hope Laputa can now ascend to its rightful place... hovering above us.

Over a decade has past since this was released, and it has truly aged like fine wine. This release features 2 timeless cuts from the mind and soul of cv313 mixed and recorded near the heart of Detroit. This was beautifully remastered by dub innovator and pioneer, Stefan Betke POLE @ scape mastering in Berlin, DE. The recordings were pulled from the session masters conducted by Bazza @ Alchemy Mastering in London to ensure a perfectly balanced mix and preserving the soul and spirit of the original tape masters. This EP features two equally seductive cuts opening with "Fading Lights" which finds its pulse in the rhythmic elements while floating in a world of vaporous mist and resynthesized stardust. On the B side "Magenta" fills the space with ghostly apparitions and a rather hypnotic hook; pushing the boundaries of the spiritual principles found in the power of repetition. Close your eyes and drift into 14 minutes of endless flotation as modulating low frequencies massage your brain and mind, dive deep into a fathomless analogue world!

Named after the tendency to impose familiar likenesses, such as faces, on random - usually inanimate - objects, Pareidolia is Jake Muir's way of interpreting the consonances between so-called “ambient” music and extreme heavy metal. Extracting the headiest, most atmospheric sections from hundreds of death metal and black metal tracks, Muir plays the role of both DJ and electroacoustic composer, concocting a lysergic elixir of fractal distortions and prolonged, decelerated riffs that slowly evaporates into iridescent vapor. If there's any trace of the original sources left, Muir makes sure that residue is subtly bewildering, like clouds in the sky that form imposing, larger than life images, or trampled bracken that falls into the shape of “trve kvlt” insignia.

The idea for the album materialized when Muir was working on 2022's Talisman, his collaborative album with multi-instrumentalist Evan Caminiti. Processing guitar for the first time, Muir began to unpack his long relationship with rock music and its Escher-like maze of sub-genres, from the tech metal he obsessed over as a teenager to Loop and Main's drone-y, textured variants. Scraping the internet for unconventional contemporary metal albums, he stumbled across music that seemed to hover between different realms, merging its frenetic, noisy sections with psychedelic interludes that harmonize with classic industrial and avant-garde music, material like :zoviet*france:, Nocturnal Emissions and Z'EV.

Poly dance Theatre speeds up the tempo (perhaps in search of lost time) and so here already the first announcement for the next release: POL008, called "Le Commerce" (The Business).

It's a very special record. Beyond the deep bass line, the efficient ryhtmics and the ghostly apparitions of dubbed-out commercial romantic melodies, this 10" is above all an object-question, a small political gesture of sabotage. Be careful. Be careful. Rare! Very very very rare! even unique! (…300 copies)

Prepare yourself "mentally", as the EP contains 4x the same track (and that's all). A track that spins. A track that does the trick. An eternal return. Difference and repetition? All this is a opportunity to question consumption, especially in the "world of music", the "world of records", the "world of DJs", the "world of nightlife"... and so on. Production, distribution, consumption. Objects. Things. A history from the 60s to today. Where are we now? Still here: Organizing lack in the abundance of production. Lack. Abundance. A history of desires. And music? What's its role? What do we want? What do you want?

On the cover, there are poems/collages about commerce, scarcity, abundance, commodity fetishism, an insulting letter and other little things.

"A landmark in 80s experimental ambient music - previously tape-only, here released for the first time on vinyl, spread across a double LP with five additional tracks, four of which were previously unreleased. Remote Dreaming has been freshly remastered and includes an insert with photos and liner notes.

Dark Entries summons Philadelphia synthesizer scribes The Ghostwriters to rouse their ambient masterwork Remote Dreaming. The late Buchla maestro Charles Cohen and multi-instrumentalist Jeff Cain joined up in 1971 to craft electroacoustic chaos as Anomali, later renaming themselves The Ghostwriters.

Their collaborations with choreographers and visual media artists led to their singular style, straddling improvisation and composition, the oneiric and the immediate. Following their debut album, Objects in Mirrors Are Closer Than They Appear, they were approached by ambient outlet Mu-Pysch. Remote Dreaming would take shape in various studios over nine months. Jeff Cain's instruments on this project included electric and acoustic pianos, the Juno 106 synthesizer, and a Mirage sampler, while Charles Cohen used his signature Buchla 200 Series Electronic Musical Instrument. A stark departure from the tightly wound first LP, Remote Dreaming shows the duo unfurling with soothing pianos and psychoacoustic textures, its somnambulant drones just skirting the edges of the uncanny. Although ignored in its time, Remote Dreaming is now heralded as a landmark in 80s experimental ambient music.

Proceeds will be donated to SOSA (Safe from Online Sex Abuse), a nonprofit that combats online child sex abuse and trafficking"

Age Eternal is the solo project of producer and visual artist Lissa Benno. She uses guitars, electronic hardware and her voice to create an hypnotic and heavy haze.

Familiar pop structures collide with organic apparitions of experimental electronic sounds. Layers of choral vocals and synthesizers move as ethereal mass through textures of heavy bass and percussive rhythms.

„Be The Enemy“ delivers an introspective view on transpersonal experiences and supra-naturalistic phenomena.

AI-28 arrives as a double-12” reissue of an album titled “Lucid Dreams”. Formerly released in 1996 as a CD on the now defunct UK imprint em:t, the album now becomes available for the first time on vinyl. Produced collaboratively by Chris Allen, David Thompson (both co-founders of em:t), plus label affiliates Tom Smyth and Will Joss, the record features outlier academic and philosopher Celia Green narrating passages of her classic book “Lucid Dreams” (published in 1968), seamlessly embellished with atmospheric soundscapes throughout. 

Brooding amorphously on the cusp of the unknown, the music captures the quintessentially mysterious quality of dreams and dreaming. Layer by layer, the listener is submerged deep into the subconscious stream. The record curls and unwinds with bewildering influence whilst exploring key themes of Green’s studies, with topics covering hallucinatory states, apparitions, out of body experiences, and extrasensory perception. The collaborative handling of samples and sound material comes together powerfully to create a piece that is both artistically theatrical in flavour and sumptuously immersive – a true documentary for the ears and imagination.

Quebecois Death Metallers Sedimentum formed back in 2018, giving us a magnificent debut album and several equally formidable shorter releases alongside it. Now they return with an even more doomy, eldritch mini-album for your listening displeasures…
Following some otherworldly ambience, those charnel guitars bring in a truly crushing spectacle of doomed extremity. Grotesque vocals and strong drums permeate the thick, tarry stringed arrangements. Their sinister and inhuman music has sunken even further into the pits of putrefying grave matter to conjure spectral apparitions of the dead. Those of you who already know this superb band will definitely recognise their unique sound while appreciating that the more low-register, slower tempo rumble of this cacophonous rot is even more intense than ever. Never afraid to blast out viscerally gripping savagery, the old school way, there is plenty of those more traditional moments tied into the abhorrent affair. However you like it, Sedimentum master Death Metal…
At a mere three songs, one could foolishly assume this record is lacking. But listen for yourself to discover three majestic pieces of masterful musical torment. In little over twenty minutes, Sedimentum grasp your soul with their ghoulish atmospherics and sepulchral hammering force. Exhuming the ancient spirits, this mini-LP is a must-listen for all true die-hards of the Death Metal underground who value both atmosphere and brutality in equal measure. There is no denying this band has a perfect grapple of both as these new constructions of contorting morbidity prove beyond doubt. Enter the ossuaries of Quebec with one of the finest bands of the underground as its lumbering corpse staggers toward you with only malicious intentions…

Renowned producer Elliot Garvey, also recognised as Quartz, has unveiled a 4-track EP for us at System Music. This exceptional collection of unconventional yet functional 140 tracks solidifies Quartz's position as a boundary-pushing artist, showcasing his versatility beyond his renowned Drum & Bass repertoire.

Entitled "Apparitions," this EP showcases Quartz's ability to craft mesmerising compositions while staying true to his signature sound, which is both acoustically dense and hyper-futuristic, typically defying traditional structures.

Elliot's mission to fashion music with absolute integrity and sincerity yields an authentic and credible experience yet again. The rugged and gritty essence of this 4-tracker serves a purpose, with its distorted and offbeat character making Quartz one of the most inventive mavericks of recent years.

“Where is this? It looks like the grounds of a shrine. Like a deep, dark, forest. I'm wandering around. I can't get over the feeling that I've been to this place before. The temple and the tower look much bigger than usual, and I feel as if I were lost in a world of immensity. It's very dark with no sky up above, like being in the depths of the Earth. Anyway, it's a world I know.” - Leisure, the Sonorous Dream

For schuttle’s next unearthly contribution, we invite you to slip into the reassuring comforts of the simulated realm. Herein lies an open invitation to all of those tentative travellers willing to join us as we revel in four slices of post-biological optimism.

The world building begins with “Splan”. schuttle’s navigation vessel hovers steadily above a fractal landscape until a divine arp propels us skywards. We burst through the latent cloudsphere to marvel at the boundless synergy of the interlocking polygons. The sunburst gradient barely has time to load before an oscillating wriggle plunges us into a strangely familiar stomping ground. Hedonistic NPCs begin spawning at random, splurging joyful machine funk at each other before walking gleefully into walls. Finally, with a little help from a well known toad, schuttle unleashes the full might of his Mana on the nascent gathering.

We dock next in ‘Melonweed Musick’. Our vessel gently stirring the reeds as we descend into the marshland. The potent aroma of the swamp fills our nostrils, various apparitions seem to wriggle into view. What have we been inhaling? No time to consider, the loose murk of the breakbeat is starting to take effect and it’s all we can do to keep one foot squelching after the other. As we submit wholeheartedly to the sheer depth and clarity of the bassline, a kindly angel sweeps above the sphagnum, spraying a succession of cleansing chords over our slimy bodies. Refreshed with some useful navigation advice we continue.

In ‘Kitchen Sync’ our craft’s speedometer is tickled up to a cruising 120bpm. The world outside our window begins to swim with colour, prickly forms materialise then dissipate around us. The familiar shape of our old friend, the high priest 303 appears before us, steadying the ship. Its resonant flame warming our hearth, and our hearts too. Then begins a beautiful communion of the domestic and the otherworldly, through the interplay of acid under glimmering keys. Provoking within us an uncontrollable desire to open our curtains, to cast off our slippers and embrace the infinite morrow.

Our voyage concludes with ‘Inspo 2000’. Scintillating landing lights guide us toward our destination, our descent beckoned by woody and playful percussion. We tumble through the troposphere, our landing cushioned by the buoyancy of the gated chords, the kicks juicing what's left of our dwindling fuel supply. A luxurious breakdown brings the ground into focus. Perhaps this is home? The simulation is now so accurate that it seems pointless to question it, it is a world we have always known.

On "Not Around But Through", Portland-based experimental musician and tape wizard Amulets
 navigates the process of acceptance and the tumultuous journey of looking within. Over the course of 8 tracks he explores the emotional path of moving through rather than circumventing, in the process soundtracking a purposeful desire to face trauma and vulnerability.

Infusing his trademark ambient soundscapes with ambitious blends of post-hardcore, emo, and metal, "Not Around But Through" connects the dots between personal and social dislocation, leaving us with a taste of the fragmented and fallen future we are all steeling ourselves for. Traversing a landscape that varies from gentle and meandering to explosive and cathartic, Amulets uses cinematic tension and relentless attention to detail to construct his sonic apparitions. On "Lifelike" he collaborates with Midwife, incorporating Madeline Johnston's voice into a song that pulsates with post-shoegaze transcendent energy.

Amulets is the solo project of Portland-based audio + visual artist Randall Taylor. Amulets employs handmade cassette tape loops and live processed guitar loops to create live, lush soundscapes and immersive drones. Through the recontextualisation of cassettes, sampling, field recording, and looping, these long-form compositions blur the genres of ambient, drone, noise, and electronic music.

Hailing from Italy, after their selftitled debut mini album 2022 we're happy to announce the first full length namend 'Sublimis Ignotum Omni'. The new songs are a bit faster without losing that morbid feeling known from the debut. This piece of an morbid female fronted Death Metal album is highly recommended for fans of MALIGNANT ALTAR, UNDERGANG or CORPSESSED.

2024 Reissue

The second album of songs resulting from the collaboration between Teho Teardo and Blixa Bargeld was released in 2016, three years after the celebrated debut with "Still Smiling". Often the nature of collaborations is fleeting, usually not involving a sequel; in this case, however, we are faced with the evident settling of a bond, human and artistic, that is no longer occasional but has reinvented itself to explore other territories and will not stop there either. The album cover is inspired by the famous 1533 painting by Holbein the Younger, "The Ambassadors": a work celebrating an official visit, a meeting between two friends, the pride of their gazes still strong despite time, distance, despite everything. Teho and Blixa return with an album of new songs, sung in German, English and Italian. "Nerissimo" is the superlative of black in Italian and there is something rather black about the music on this album. Not in the sense of dark, an adjective often used to define certain sounds, but just as it happens with the colour black, which contains all other colours, so this music contains a multitude of possibilities."Nerissimo" is also the title of the track in English that opens the album and closes it, as if between two parentheses, in Italian. A temporal passage between languages that links Rome and Berlin, where the album was recorded, ever more intimately. A crossing of the last three years of work together for Teho and Blixa. This record is also a nocturnal story of apparitions, of colours that disappear from the world just by naming them, of aeroplane flights with the lights off in the cabin, of objects whose symbolism represents the passions and interests of the two artists (starting with the objects reproduced on the cover); a sort of tale through objects, continuous movements and the discovery of sounds, even random ones. Sounds intercepted in the space of these three years and which ended up on the disc as interferences that challenged the structure of some songs, resulting in their adaptation to the invasion of foreign sound bodies. "Nerissimo" does not only contain songs but also features experimental tracks, such as "Ulgæ", in which the lyrics explain, like a subtitle, the sounds that follow one another in a story.

The clans of Activision, FromSoftware, and Laced Records have come together to release the majestic music of Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice on deluxe quadruple vinyl.

Set in a fictionalised 16th Century Japan, players take on the role of the shinobi Wolf in trying to protect the young Divine Heir Kuro from the remnants of the Ashina clan. Progression requires a mastery of stealth combat and extreme precision while battling some of From’s most iconic boss encounters to date. No one forgets the first time they bested Genichiro atop Ashina Castle...

The vinyl sets feature 50 tracks by lead composer Yuka Kitamura (Bloodborne, Dark Souls III) and co-composer Noriyuki "α" Asakura (Tenchu series.) The dramatic score features traditional Japanese instruments, orchestral and choral elements, and outlandish, mysterious sounds that transport listeners to a war-ravaged Japan during an alternative history Sengoku period.

Emerging from the shadows and plumes of smoke, Chicago, IL ensemble HUNTSMEN are set to make their return in 2024 with their third album, The Dry Land, set to be released via Prosthetic Records on June 7. On their first full-length in four years, HUNTSMEN’s The Dry Land traverses the liminal space between the living and the dead by lifting the veil of the abyss itself. Born of suffering and hardship, The Dry Land unifies the dark and light that resides in all of us through allegories of purgatorial strife and human spirit. Following the release of their sophomore full-length, Mandala of Fear, in 2020 and The Dying Pines EP in 2022 HUNTSMEN’s intervening years between studio albums were marked with devastatingly contrasting highs and lows. Whilst their body of studio work continued to garner acclaim from fans and critics alike, chronic illness would become a recurring uphill battle for the ensemble. As these jarring mixed fortunes reached their apex towards the end of 2022, the band reached towards each other outside of their craft as old friends. Taking stock of four years of tribulations led to a reevaluation of what it is to be creatives and, in turn, ushered in a collective rebirth. Writing sessions saw a number of artistic firsts for HUNTSMEN, most notably with the first full collaborative inclusion of vocalist Aimee Bueno-Knipe. The creative process soon saw HUNTSMEN adding more black metal influences into their Americana and folk tinged doom, evidenced most overtly on tracks such as This, Our Gospel and lead single In Time, All Things. Elsewhere, HUNTSMEN’s knack for finely crafted and richly layered melodies offer moments of resplendence on the slow burning Lean Times and closer The Herbsight. Mirroring the circumstances and environment that led to its creation, The Dry Land’s pacing is one rooted in the art of rise and fall dynamics both musically and lyrically. Tales of escaping religious violence, malevolent apparitions and death incarnate all play key roles throughout the album’s narrative thread. HUNTSMEN treat each tale as both exorcism and exaltation, adding a pervasively unsettling quality to The Dry Land that is sure to stick long after the runtime is over. The Dry Land was recorded and mixed by Pete Grossmann at Bricktop Studios before being placed in the hands of Brad Boatright for mastering, with the resulting sound adding a towering grandiosity to the album whilst simultaneously highlighting HUNTSMEN’s newfound corrosive qualities. The Dry Land’s striking cover art was created by Derek Setzer, depicting an immolating dancer in high contrast black and white amongst rusted gold. Through the fire, HUNTSMEN find themselves reborn on The Dry Land.

Kata No Wadachi is the latest album by Banetoriko, the solo noise project of Tamaki Ueda. Her first release both on An’archives and on vinyl, it follows several albums for the Neurec imprint – 2017’s Beside the Sluice and 2022’s Yorioto Hogiokuri – and several other cassettes and CD-Rs. With Kata No Wadachi, the Banetoriko world, inspired by the Yokai (“strange apparitions” – supernatural figures, ghosts, spirits) of Japanese folklore, is at its most resonant yet.

Recorded across 2022 and 2023, the three tracks on Kata No Wadachi have Ueda performing in a particularly elevated manner. Her sound is highly tactile and grittily sensuous, the better to capture the ritualistic repetitions, and hypnotic methodologies, core to Banetoriko. The scrape and scratch of Ueda’s self-made metal instrument, the Banetek, gives these improvisations a unique throb, even as their mood, of introverted focus and elaboration of minutiae, gestures towards broader histories of noise and abstract art. Kata No Wadachi evokes, to some degree, the urban ritual noise of the likes of The New Blockaders, Organum, or Ferial Confine; elsewhere, the abraded, rough-housing textures bring to mind the eighties tape works of Hands To and John Hudak.

Ueda embraces the dream evocation that’s possible when loops of blurred texture collide with the gnaw and groan of energised metal, while mantric, dissociated vocals, and the oppressive weight of deep breath, gather around these compositions like a ghost’s shroud. While she’s been making noise for some time, since the nineties, Banetoriko was formalised as a project in 2011, while Ueda lived in Los Angeles. Relocating to Osaka in 2021, she’s carved out an utterly unique space for herself in Japanese noise, and her music contains an absolutely elemental vibration. Framed beautifully with poetic liner notes by Aurélien Rossanino, Kata No Wadachi is an oppressive, yet quixotically blissful trip.

repressed !

10 Year anniversary edition, recut and remastered from the analogue tape masters from Bazza's Alchemy Mastering in London; focusing and enriching every finite detail. This EP features 2 new pieces of sonic meditation residing somewhere between space and time, somewhere in the cosmos.

With the title track, "Beyond Starlit Sky", vaporous atmospheres emerge from the distance, while ghostly apparitions and analog modulations rise to the surface of a truly hypnotizing rhythm, submerging the mind deep into an analog world. With the "Live" version a mixture of themes from "Fading Lights" and "Beyond Starlit Sky" find an engaging syncopation, resting somewhere in the ether. Those who loved Echospace's "The Coldest Season" on Modern Love will have plenty to adore here, timeless in all senses of the word.

Demenz ist ein Dieb. Die bösartige Krankheit raubt ihren Opfern erst Stück für Stück ihr Gedächtnis, dann ihre Identität, schließlich Familie und Freunde - und oft genug sogar ihre Menschenwürde. Die in Los Angeles ansässigen Electro-Forscher THIEF nehmen auf ihrem vierten Album "Bleed, Memory" das Thema "Erinnerung" sowohl lyrisch als auch musikalisch unter die Lupe, was sich wie ein roter Faden durch das gesamte Album zieht. Der Kopf des Soloprojekts, Dylan Neal, wurde zu diesem Album durch das Schicksal seines Vaters inspiriert, der nach der Diagnose einer Demenz von leichter Vergesslichkeit und Verwirrung unaufhaltsam zu akuten Episoden von falschen Erinnerungen, Wahnvorstellungen, Visionen und seltsamem Verhalten überging. Das macht "Bleed, Memory" zu einer sehr persönlichen Schöpfung. Durch die harte Erfahrung begann Neal damit, erst seine eigenen Erinnerungen zu hinterfragen und dann mit der Erforschung, wie sie seine Identität und Realität formen. Erinnerung besteht nicht nur aus den Geschichten, die wir uns selbst und anderen erzählen. Neal vergleicht sie mit Geistern, die keine physische Existenz haben und dennoch unter denen Schrecken verbreiten, die an sie glauben. Das Rückgrat von THIEF bilden wieder einmal gesampelte sakrale Gesänge. Einige wurden beim Wühlen in digitalen Kisten gefunden und gesampelt, andere in verschiedenen orthodoxen Kirchen aufgenommen. Diese Samples wurden gedehnt, geschnitten, verstümmelt, umgeformt und gepitcht, um letztlich so wie jedes andere Instrument zu funktionieren. Neal hat "Bleed, Memory" bewusst so gestaltet, dass es gespenstisch klingt. Eine der Techniken, die er zur Erzielung dieses Effekts einsetzte, ist "Granular Synthesis". Der verstärkte Einsatz der Methode auf diesem Album bedeutet, dass Samples in kleine Audioschnipsel zerlegt wurden, die kaum mehr als 100 Millisekunden andauern. Dieser einzigartige Ansatz, der musikalische Elemente aus Ambient, Industrial, Chormusik, Black Metal und Trip-Hop sowie andere Einflüsse zu einem neuen Klangerlebnis verschmelzen lässt, hat THIEF unter Eingeweihten längst Kultstatus verschafft. Den Großteil des Albums hat Neal wieder einmal in seiner Wohnung aufgenommen und abgemischt. Für das Mastering konnte er erneut John Greenham gewinnen, der mit Künstlern von THE LOCUSTS über KATY PERRY bis hin zu DEATH GRIPS zusammengearbeitet hat und für sein Mastering für BILLIE EILISH im Jahr 2019 mit drei Grammy Awards ausgezeichnet wurde. Mit "Bleed, Memory" liefern THIEF eine verstörende und doch wunderschöne künstlerische Betrachtung eines grausamen Leidens, die gleichzeitig Emotionen wie Wut, Melancholie, Trauer und Verlust als lyrisches, musikalisches und visuelles Gesamtkunstwerk verarbeitet. Aber Vorsicht! Dieser Geist aus Klängen wird lange in der Erinnerung seiner Hörer spuken!

Memories are, to say the least, complex. They can weigh us down like stones or be treasured in their unresolved ambivalence. In Ciro Vitiello’s debut album, they take on a dynamic and elusive nature, both bouncy and tricky, moving away when approached and dipping into the haze of the subconscious. Dreams, in turn, find their shape through memory itself. The Island Of Bouncy Memories is, for Vitiello, a place populated by reveries and hypnagogic impressions, interwoven with the imprints of childhood experiences—a threshold between the comforting embrace of nostalgia and the acceptance of adulthood.

The album's inception traces back to a collection of toy recordings initially amassed by Vitiello as a backdrop for his wide-weave synthetic fabric. Evolving these initial sketches, the Naples-born artist intended the 13 tracks to form a continuous flux of undeciphered impressions. Repeating motifs phase in and out of the cloudy ambience, punctuating the inevitable waves of melancholy with delicate melodic structures.

Crucial to the album's development were contributions from vocalist Zimmy, vocalist/guitarist CRÆBABE and guitarist Attilio Novellino. Their input not only expanded the sonic palette but also cultivated themes and poetic scenarios through intense and sincere exchanges of personal experiences, recurring dreams, and childhood remembrances. CRÆBABE’s lyrics, in particular, provide an adult counterpoint to the album's more childlike elements—a map of murmured relics and epiphanies as she sits in conversation with herself.

The music's emotional depth envelops Vitiello's Island in an ocean of pure sensitivity, its tides drifting through apparitions of talking animals, reminiscent of those in his recurring dreams. At other times, it reflects the tragic echoes of Nisida—an island off the coast of Naples, infamous for hosting a youth detention center.

The Island of Bouncy Memories is a meditative reconnection with the past, a puzzling journey through pain and acceptance. Notably it marks the first-ever co-production between Hundebiss and Haunter Records, uniting two main players in the Italian electronic and experimental scene in an unprecedented collaboration.

Iterum Nata ventures deeper into the abyss with “From the Infinite Light”, melding folk serenity with black metal mysticism. Under Jesse Heikkinen’s (The Abbey, Henget, ex-Hexvessel) craft, each note harbours both hope and despair. With guest apparitions by Matron Thorn and Rob Coffinshaker – plus the arcane lore of Richard Kaczynski – it is a concept album narrating a soul's desperate quest into the recesses of the human psyche. This is Iterum Nata's heaviest, most ambitious odyssey yet.

FULL OF HELL return with their highly anticipated new album, Garden Of Burning Apparitions. The new album, a genre-bending blitzkrieg of hardcore, grind and death metal, sees the band expand upon the very elements that have propelled FULL OF HELL to the forefront of extreme music over the last decade. Produced by Seth Manchester at Machines With Magnets in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, Garden of Burning Apparitions also sees FULL OF HELL adding new dimensions to their warp-speed hellscape. Guitarist Spencer Hazard and bassist Sam DiGristine's monstrous riffs now have an added noise-rock influence, while drummer Dave Bland commands the rhythm section at blazing speeds. Lyrically, Garden of Burning Apparitions sees vocalist Dylan Walker exploring (anti)religion, life's impermanence and the fear that comes with knowing death is inescapable. "Industrial Messiah Complex” grinds organized religion to a pulp in under 90 seconds, while Walker contemplates the commodification of spirituality seen in America’s vast network of garish mega-churches and how these practices are at odds with true spirituality. Meanwhile, “Reeking Tunnels” rides a strident noise rock riff down into the sewer. It’s a metaphor for the physical and mental space we become trapped in when we live in a perpetual state of fear and hate. Elsewhere, justifiable ochlophobia propels the guttural death metal blast of “Eroding Shell.” Lyrically, the song seeks to capture our fear of the violent, ignorant mob—a scene glimpsed far too often in this volatile era. In the end, FULL OF HELL’s boundary smashing has paid off again. “I think it’s good that we tried not to pigeonhole ourselves early on,” Walker reflects. “Because now, 10 years in, we have the opportunity to make whatever record we want, within reason, and people will follow along.”

A more upfront and streamlined proposition than last year's 'Dias da Aranha' on Souk, 'Cornos' is a reflection of Serpente's solo live apparitions throughout this last year.

A cycle tainted by tragedies and a maze-like feeling of loss, 'Cornos' mirrors both the urge of overcoming and its ghostly remnants through five digressions that pulsate with crippled rhythmic symmetries and loner harmonic motifs. Maybe just the sound of moving on with broken legs.

Started in the Winter of 2021 and completed in early 2023, “Lights Out On The Shore” is a 12 song cycle written and performed by Scott Reeder, drummer of the band FU MANCHU. Having treaded many stages and studios over the past 22 years laying the foundation for the titans of “fuzz-wah” rock over 5 studio releases and playing live with artists as varied as Orianthi and Social Distortion, Scott has stretched into a melodic heavy and lyrically dense area of songwriting, rich in harmony and memorable riffs. Collaborating with Grammy winning producer/engineer Ryan Mall (Dropkick Murphys, Old Crow Medicine Show/Gaslight Anthem), Reeder played all the instruments on the album and sings all vocals. Fu Manchu bandmate, Bob Balch, contributes lead guitars on all tracks except “Everything But Right” and the album closer, “As She Drifts,” which feature contributions from Mitchell Townsend (Matt Costa/Jack Johnson).

This limited edition 500 unit LP run is pressed on blue/black splatter and includes a full color insert featuring photos taken by Reeder himself. All tracks were mastered specifically for this vinyl release

LP Edition of 300 copies in Matt Laminated Sleeve with Black paper Innersleeve.

Ab'bhau's debut album was forged in fire in the year 2018 after mysterious live apparitions and rehearsal sessions. The aim behind this first exploration was void invocation, void materialization. The project is formed by established musicians of the Spanish underground noise, experimental, and metal scene. Connections to bands and projects like Black Earth, Suspiral, Inhumankind, Phicus, Triple Zero, Gárgara, or Sudaria can be traced. The ritualistic essence of this artistic incarnation is based upon the rupture of repetitive patterns through improvisation as a medium to convey abject forces into the shape of what the band has called 'Black Metal Destruktion', stemming Heideggerian terminology. A form that appears to disappear or to be registered, but impossible to reproduce. Even though the recordings vary on the album formats, they are the same album, the same whole, the same essence... exhaled through three different forms of sonic manifestation. Artwork by Heresie Studio.

RIYL: PJ Harvey, Sonic Youth, Dead Can Dance, Black Sabbath, Depeche Mode. In Blood is the group’s 14th album and the follow-up to 2020’s critically acclaimed Dances/Curses (Album Of The Year – The Quietus, Top 10 International Albums – Irish Times). It was typical of a band so well-known for stellar live performances to release their most successful album at a time when they were unable to back it up on the road. As was the case for many, lockdown changed the band’s lives in unexpected ways. Some felt a form of cabin fever at not being able to continue to make music (diverting their energies elsewhere - founding Wrong Speed Records for starters) whereas others relished the peace and quiet, perhaps questioning whether they wanted to return to the life they had before. Gigs (so long the lifeblood of the band) were booked, postponed, and cancelled. Things began to unravel and perhaps for the first time since the band formed in 2003 it was hard to see how it could continue. A plan was hatched to attempt to re-energise and reassemble the band: they would begin work on a new album. They would approach this as though a Somerset version of The Desert Sessions – members old and new and guests would contribute as and when time and restrictions allowed. Lyrically, British folk and ghost mythology provided the starting position for the song themes ranging from mutated stories of grief and loss written in the 14th Century (Perle), spiritual reawakening by ancient apparitions (Avalon) to the growth of nature after devastation (Can’t Feel Around Us, Over Cedar Limb), a metaphor also for spirit and body renewal and rebirth after trauma. The results sound free of any genre shackles and it suits Hey Colossus. They have taken the expansive anything-goes approach that made Dances/Curses so successful and fine-tuned and shaped it into an 8-song single album that never treads water or fills time. The prominent vocals steer the listener through the music, defining it as opposed to punctuating it (or being buried by it). The album is a calling card for the band in their 20th anniversary year. As odd and challenging as long-term fans would expect or hope for, but somehow more accessible and to the point than ever before. It is the closest the group have ever come to a pop record, radiating positivity through the murk like a small ray of light in some very dark and very weird times. Music can never entirely negate these feelings but, like the natural world referenced in the lyrics and sleeve, it invisibly bonds people together, lifting us up if we choose to let it.

Eight years after its original release in 2015, and sold out upon release, Umor Rex finally presents a vinyl repress of Sirens, by Kara-Lis Coverdale and LXV. This new edition is limited to 500 copies and comes with revised artwork.

Inspired by the link between seduction and violence, Sirens comprises a series of timbrally vast anamorphic pieces that poise the voice as a newly imagined tool of multiplicity. Processes of sample manipulation, signal processing, routing, and source design inform instrumental writing and performance in feedback until intertwined, flickering between states of conflict and consonance. Apparitions of the schizophrenic voice are at one moment fractured and cold and at the next full of warmth and vivaciousness, embodying velvet rituals of romanticism in the digital age.

Ultimately, Sirens is music for ambitious dreamers: surreal sound portraits sound like the warmth of the world laid over an ice cold virtual altar. LXV’s vocal truncations and fleshy sound palettes depict the archivation of the breath and aural fantasies of the flesh which Coverdale sets amongst a vast and unconfined landscape of deeper and unknown force. Harmonically active and dynamic orchestrations underpin post-sacred tonalities while brooding pipe organs, sphinx flutes, and hailstorms of metallic percussion characterize uniquely disjointed discussions between disparate compositional ontologies. At times violent and at others serenely peaceful and seductive, these pieces, at their most powerful moments illuminate a felt space between cybernetic energy and the body.

Composed and recorded by Kara-Lis Coverdale and David Sutton. Mastered by John Tejada. Cover photograph by Cody Cobb. Layout by Daniel Castrejón.

Born of a thousand nights lost in a surrender to stillness and contemplation, In The Air is Anna St. Louis’ second full length album and her most considered work yet. St. Louis’ debut If Only There Was a River seemed to emerge fully formed out of the recesses of her mind; a gritty, mesmerizing affair, filled with jagged edges and ghostly apparitions. The type of record that announces a new voice; one haunted by what has come before.

But this time, St. Louis is no longer concerned with what could have been and sets her sights to exploring what could be. It’s an outlook on the world that was formed when her immediate one was small. The intervening years since her last album found St. Louis in a small one-bedroom cabin in the middle of the woods of upstate New York with a new love and time to think of what she wanted to express with her music. For weeks on end, the only trips she took were to and from her job as the front desk clerk at a nearby hotel. The previous years she had spent on tour and performing constantly in the venues of Los Angeles felt like they had occurred in another lifetime.

“It really compelled me to surrender to the unknown,” she says. And in this surrender, she found liberation. St. Louis is more self-assured, open-hearted and ready to say what she wants. St. Louis describes the writing period as one of a slow harvest; a fertile time but one that required a newfound patience. Instead of documenting her first thoughts, she spent more time with each song, going deeper with the themes and ideas she wanted to express.

This slower approach also guided the sonic textures of the album. Working with producer Jarvis Taveniere (Purple Mountains, Woods) in two extended recording sessions in Los Angeles in 2021, St. Louis used the studio in a previously unexplored way, opening up her songs to more experimentation featuring brighter tones and a more orchestral sound to accompany her new perspective. To that end, she was aided by a cast of friends and collaborators including Jess Williamson, Kacey Johansing, Oliver Hill (Kevin Morby, Vagabon) on strings, Alex Fischel (Spoon) on piano, Josh Adams on drums (Bedouine, Tim Heidecker) and Keven Lareau (Cut Worms, Hand Habits).

In the Air has the sound of a joyous consideration of the present moment; a quiet morning revealing a new snowfall outside, steam coming from the kettle, just before it whistles, St. Louis with her guitar, staring out the window, with a few free hours before work. She’s reflecting on the scene in front of her, imagining the times yet to come. You can hear it; she’s a long way from the noisy bars of Los Angeles, the rigors of the road. As she intones in “Rest”: “You spend your whole life believing in the chase. And then you realize that being somewhere doesn’t matter like it used to.” She doesn’t need a river to carry her anymore ... She’s in the air.

Much anticipated debut album from this Leeds-based electronic duo, following high-profile UK festival slots, and shows alongside luminaries The Brian Jonestown Massacre, Warmduscher, Sea Power, Moonlandingz, The KVB, with multiple plays across BBC6/BBC Introducing and Amazing Radio, jellyskin are finally ready to unleash ‘In Brine’, their first full length release. The result of four years spent writing, recording, and refining the album between Leeds, Liverpool, Bristol, Palamos, and Berlin, ‘In Brine’ showcases the many talents of Will Ainsley and Zia Larty-Healy in a work straddling iridescent electronica, tungsten-tipped techno, art pop, and queasy, brown acid folk. The songs are pieced together with themes of longing, misadventure by the sea, desire and aquatic apparitions that showcase Larty-Healy’s warm but urgent vocal range, as at home around the campfire as it is in the club. The pair’s meticulous arrangement and rearrangement, sculpting, recording, and mixing was a glacially slow process of adaptation, mutation, cooperation, growth, and, yes, natural selection. First single ‘Bringer of Brine’ thumps from the speaker anthemically and forcefully, pitched somewhere beautiful and uncanny; Larty-Healy’s vocals soar and skim off the production like a smooth stone across choppy waves. The radio-ready pop electronica of ‘I Was The First Tetrapod’ bursts into the world with an urgency in line with the lyrics. An aquatic tale of crawling onto land for the first time, desperate to make new life forms, it’s also a positive, joyful rebuke to the despair of the world around us. “Growing my legs...”. The fuzzed-out psychedelic keys and forward-moving, Knife-like structure echo throughout while beautiful lyrics detail visions of where this would all lead life as we know it-“I can run freely, white horse behind me. Flexing my bones and artery twine, find human tone and reach for the vine.” ‘Fox Again’ opens with chopped alarm clocks segueing into a lurching rhythm, before exploding into skittering beats and a soaring chorus. The effect is like waking up drowsily, going over to the window in your room and yanking open the curtains to be blasted by searing sunshine. The pair brought in Berlin based co-producer, mixer and masterer Lewis D-t to help finesse the tracks into fat-free hunks of ecstasy and sonic exploration, their rich depths marking ‘In Brine’ as an album everyone should be talking about this summer and beyond-all nine tracks will have feet moving and hearts swelling in equal measure. As opening track ‘Lift (Come In)’ positively opines “Going up!/Just want to keep going up!”. It’s time to get in on the ground floor

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.

As on Under A Burning Eclipse, between each song on Sacred Rites & Black Magick is an intricately positioned interlude building the ambiance and steering the thematic intensity of the album. Beginning with echoing, clean dual acoustic guitars, introductory interlude “Hymns Of The Slumbering Race” begins the procession of grand ascension and hair raising riffage to come. “Internal Fulmination Of The Grand Deceivers” flashes STORMRULER’s brand of Imperial Black Metal Warfare, shining with heavy bass and blastbeats before cascading into icy atmosphere topped by smoke-cloaked vocals. Entrancing guitars match an ebb and flow of carefully paced interludes and merciless, speeding fury, showcasing standout leads and a blazing solo. Similar epic songwriting, lush lyricism and skillful dynamics can be witnessed on tracks such as the brooding “Entranced Within The Moon Presence”, intricate “In The Shaded Vlasian Forest” and introspective, glistening “Along The Appian Way”. “To Bear The Twin Faces Of The Dragon” stages some of the most menacing sonic escapades and memorable leads of the 20-track offering, combining chants of sorcery with searing screams and waves of crushing melody, while tracks such as “Upon Frozen Shores” weave a sonic tale of occult doom atop triumphant soundscapes, breakneck rhythms and ghostly melodic passages. Standout title offering “Sacred Rites & Black Magick” sets the supreme lyrical and musical mood of the album itself, depicting just how deftly STORMRULER conjure lucid black metal as they inject energetic, unforgettable grooves and riffs into their scorching delivery – succeeding in convincing even the newest of genre converts.

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.

“Still Lives” is the third solo full length by the Finnish composer Marja Ahti, following a pair of releases on the Hallow Ground imprint. As a collection, it may be seen as a series of studies on the liminality of the listening act and an investigation into the physicality of sound. Ahti forges vivid electroacoustic environments from field recordings, analog synthesizers, acoustic feedback, magnetic tape and digital processing, resulting in a set of articulate, prickly, and surprising compositions. In the artist’s words, “These pieces could be conceived of as vanitas paintings of a kind – selections of mundane or archetypal objects, sounds that have their own distinct qualities, but exist only by virtue of being temporary events. From another angle, one could think of them as shrines – objects assembled and set in a particular relationship to each other, charging each other in their given constellations.” Marja Ahti (b. 1981) is a musician and composer based in Turku, Finland. Originally from Sweden, Ahti has been a part of the Finnish experimental music scene for more than ten years in different constellations. She is currently active in the duo Ahti & Ahti with her partner and as a member of the Himera artist/organizer collective.

"The exquisite corpse shall drink the new wine", wrote the French Surrealists almost 100 years ago, and from this missive stems the parlor game in which we partake here. Through obscuring the tower itself, they cobble together meandering staircases in which to ascend with absent-minded haste; spontaneous line-weaving amasses figures and phrases into new planes of thought, therefore holding captive the illusion of creative reciprocity. Although housed in unrecognizable quarters, dull rain now tallies itself upon your window panes just as it once kept count on theirs. Apparitions unknown sound instruments of winding origin in celebration of the ink dry in the well. A graffito of tea leaves stains the porcelain cup.

This cloven tall-tale traces an epistolary journey between id and consciousness upon a page that has been adorned and wiped clean again and again and again. The wet meadow expands and contracts within a breath, moving through the windpipe to expel upon the glistening dew. From this dew rises anthills of diminishing complexity, and busying themselves within insanity, the occupants labor to hold fast against the unseen wave of oblivion.

An exercise in aleatoric sentence-finishing between two aligned performers, The Exquisite Corpse Shall Drink the New Wine mimics the economics of unconscious beauty-making to such a degree that light will neither pass through it nor divert its path. Draw upon it what you will, and ready yourself for the unrelenting ataraxy.

Height/Dismay were the M Squared studio-as-instrument duo of Patrick Gibson and Dru Jones. A member of Systematics and Scattered Order, Gibson was an integral part of the M Squared label and studio, where he met Jones. With an unapologetic misuse of instruments and ample time, the two sonic explorers scraped guitar strings, manipulated clarinets, and contact mic’d woks to layer their echo chamber apparitions.

Collating three 1981 recordings, the then-shelved ‘Blood Pressure In The Sand’ joins ‘Dusk’, their con-tribution to archetypal cassette-zine Fast Forward. Also unreleased, ‘The Tinning Test’ rejects formal lyrics in favour of a deadpan reading from the Australian Standard for tinned copper wire. The outsid-ers of the outside, these mutual minds’ productions have long been overlooked as crucial pieces of the Australian DIY music puzzle.

Height/Dismay is pressed in an edition of 300 hand stamped white labels, wrapped in white ink print-ed coloured card.

Mathieu Harlaut has always had the audacity to push his curiosity to its logical conclusion, conjuring up unique sonic spectres. Verging on strange, these apparitions aggregate a myriad of influences and approaches combining DIY, scholarly appropriation and pop arrangements. Chamberlain, his alias, embodies the project, where classical, jazz, electro and soundtracks merge to form innovative musical compositions. Chamberlain’s vision emerges as he takes these diverse territories to create completely new landscapes. Evocative postcards of journeys to come. A present where influences and inspirations offer up the ideal framework for creating new horizons.

With his characteristic attention to detail, Chamberlain is a skilled craftsman and an alchemist in turns. With him there is no apparent "timeline". No welded joints. No stiches. The overall impression of Chamberlain's music is enveloping, finding just the right points of balance and energy to evoke a particular atmosphere. But it doesn’t diffuse atmosphere, it’s more like an ambient perfume. Chamberlain's tracks are like the many notes of a fine fragrance, infusions that elicit subtle and contrasting emotions. Be it the music lover's indulgent solitude or the sensory exultation of a shared club experience.

FULL OF HELL return with their highly anticipated new album, Garden Of Burning Apparitions. The new album, a genre-bending blitzkrieg of hardcore, grind and death metal, sees the band expand upon the very elements that have propelled them to the forefront of extreme music over the last decade. Produced by Seth Manchester, Garden of Burning Apparitions also sees FULL OF HELL adding new dimensions to their warp-speed hellscape. Guitarist Spencer Hazard and bassist Sam DiGristine's monstrous riffs now have an added noise-rock influence, while drummer Dave Bland commands the rhythm section at blazing speeds.
Lyrically, Garden of Burning Apparitions sees vocalist Dylan Walker exploring (anti)religion, life's impermanence and the fear that comes with knowing death is inescapable. "Industrial Messiah Complex” grinds organized religion to a pulp in under 90 seconds, while Walker contemplates the commodification of spirituality seen in America’s vast network of garish mega-churches and how these practices are at odds with true spirituality. Meanwhile, “Reeking Tunnels” rides a strident noise rock riff down into the sewer. It’s a metaphor for the physical and mental space we become trapped in when we live in a perpetual state of fear and hate. Elsewhere, justifiable ochlophobia propels the guttural death metal blast of “Eroding Shell.” Lyrically, the song seeks to capture our fear of the violent, ignorant mob—a scene glimpsed far too often in this volatile era.
In the end, FULL OF HELL’s boundary smashing has paid off again. “I think it’s good that we tried not to pigeonhole ourselves early on,” Walker reflects. “Because now, 10 years in, we have the opportunity to make whatever record we want, within reason, and people will follow along.”