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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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.

Kinetika Bloco's 'Legacy' now on limited-edition vinyl with 6-panel poster
of the cover artwork
'Legacy' celebrates the 21st anniversary of the carnival group of the same name,
which was founded by Mat Fox in South London. Usually around 100 strong, this
scaled-down group of Kinetika alumni led by Mat's son Ruben Fox revisit some of
the Bloco's iconic pieces on this landmark recording and features saxophonist
Nubya Garcia, pianist Reuben James and trumpeters Mark Kavuma, Claude
Deppa and Ife Ogunjobi.
They revisit some of the Bloco's iconic pieces on this landmark recording. What is
effectively a big band with guitar, Hammond B3 and a four-piece rhythm section
of Brazilian surdos (bass drums), bells and snare drums, their sound is
refreshingly new, enthralling, and vibrant.
George Clinton: "Don't ever stop grooving like that, you (Kinetika Bloco) own the
world."
Press quotes:
"Kinetika Bloco has created a unique new British carnival sound, drawing its
influences from the Caribbean, Brazil, Africa and New Orleans." - Jazzwise
"Kinetika Bloco are a phenomenon - over the last twenty years the percussion and
horn heavy collective have evolved their own irresistible version of carnival music,
drawing on the many traditions of the Black Atlantic, while acting as a hothouse
for talent development for generations of young London musicians." - Jazzviews
"The group sounds like a British carnival for today, drawing on a Caribbean,
Brazilian, African and New Orleanian influence. Legacy celebrates Kinetika Bloco's
21st anniversary." - Jazz Journal
Kinetika Bloco were featured in the Queen's Platinum Jubilee Pageant, as seen on
TV by millions.

Marisa Anderson is one of the most eminent guitarists working today. Her lucid, eloquent approach to guitar music and composition has established her as an unparalleled artist and an insightful, coveted collaborator. Anderson"s work draws on a mosaic of folk musics and lives in conversation with myriad musical traditions. Her music is inviting and candid, beckoning the listener into sprawling ecosystems and intimate corners alike, from barren landscapes to verdant thickets, impassioned communal experiences to pensive reclusions. As a master of her instrument, Anderson translates abstractions into undeniably moving music, tracing through traditional folk tunes, imagined Sci-Fi films, and foggy sanctuaries of sound. Still, Here is Anderson at her most direct, laying bare her practice of processing and understanding the world through music and distilling that practice into pieces as expressive as they are transfixing. The pieces of Still, Here center around Anderson"s present. The album is a compendium of living moments captured by her preternatural ability to mold human realities into enduring, lyrical compositions. Away from the road for the longest stretch of her career, the making of Still, Here affirmed for Anderson the role of the guitar as an essential tool in processing external and internal realities. "I don"t get ideas and then turn to the guitar, rather I turn to the guitar to find out what my ideas are. I turn towards it for meaning." The discordance of protest and upheaval emanates from a propulsive acoustic ostinato and mournful dueling pedal steel guitars on "The Fire This Time," pausing only to allow space for the blare of sirens on the Portland street near Anderson"s studio. "The Crack Where the Light Gets In" rapturously revels in the glimmers of hope that peek through a pall of darkness. Across Still, Here, Anderson"s playing transmutes the tributaries of fluctuating emotions into a unified flow, stirring and sublime.

Marisa Anderson is one of the most eminent guitarists working today. Her lucid, eloquent approach to guitar music and composition has established her as an unparalleled artist and an insightful, coveted collaborator. Anderson"s work draws on a mosaic of folk musics and lives in conversation with myriad musical traditions. Her music is inviting and candid, beckoning the listener into sprawling ecosystems and intimate corners alike, from barren landscapes to verdant thickets, impassioned communal experiences to pensive reclusions. As a master of her instrument, Anderson translates abstractions into undeniably moving music, tracing through traditional folk tunes, imagined Sci-Fi films, and foggy sanctuaries of sound. Still, Here is Anderson at her most direct, laying bare her practice of processing and understanding the world through music and distilling that practice into pieces as expressive as they are transfixing. The pieces of Still, Here center around Anderson"s present. The album is a compendium of living moments captured by her preternatural ability to mold human realities into enduring, lyrical compositions. Away from the road for the longest stretch of her career, the making of Still, Here affirmed for Anderson the role of the guitar as an essential tool in processing external and internal realities. "I don"t get ideas and then turn to the guitar, rather I turn to the guitar to find out what my ideas are. I turn towards it for meaning." The discordance of protest and upheaval emanates from a propulsive acoustic ostinato and mournful dueling pedal steel guitars on "The Fire This Time," pausing only to allow space for the blare of sirens on the Portland street near Anderson"s studio. "The Crack Where the Light Gets In" rapturously revels in the glimmers of hope that peek through a pall of darkness. Across Still, Here, Anderson"s playing transmutes the tributaries of fluctuating emotions into a unified flow, stirring and sublime.

Of all the celebrated home recording artists that haunt the pages of
Bandcamp and the basements of the DIY touring circuit, few have had an
output as eclectic, enigmatic, and consistent as The Cradle's Paco
Cathcart
In a departure from The Cradle's more lo- fi works, "Radio Wars" bounces from
track to track with a polished exuberance as Cathcart delivers some of their
catchiest music to date. Pumping with auto- tuned nursery rhyme hooks and
densely-programmed drum machine beats, the album boasts a sonic palette that
owes as much to the production of DJ Rashad and the erratic vocal approach of
Playboi Carti as it does to Cathcart's more familiar Dub and Gamelan influences.
It's a musical world that draws you in quickly and leaves you deeply immersed
throughout its 22 - track running time.
As with previous releases, Cathcart's lyrics celebrate and reflect on the profundity
of day-to-day city life experiences. The words are delivered through deceptively
simple refrains that often mask challenging subject matter. Radio Wars was
written and recorded in NYC in the lead up to and during the COVID-19 pandemic,
a time which included the run up to the electoral defeat of a fascist president,
historic protests against police abuse across the country, as well as the early
months of the pandemic, when NYC was at the center of the outbreak. Social and
political dissonance, alluded to in the album's title, was at a high, and that air of
contradiction can be heard throughout, bleeding into moments that feel intimate
and reflective. Coupled with bold production choices and feverish energy
throughout, "Radio Wars," is a Cradle album of and for the times.
Tracks: Lights Off / Tell Me What You Want / Ha Ha Ha! / Black River Side / My
Right Side / American Spirit / I Went in and You Came Out / Radio Wars / Let’s
Clean Up / City Life / Numb Time / I Love that Music / It’s Not Related / What’s in
Between / I Love the World I’m In

El Goodo guitarist and songwriter 'Pixy Jones' has announced that his debut album entitled 'Bits n Bobs' is due for release on 16th of September via Strangetown Records. 
After 4 albums with El Goodo, Welsh psych scene stalwart Pixy Jones has himself compiled a truly remarkable collection of tracks that fluctuate from 60's harmony-rich psych pop, to Alt-Country with ringing tremelo guitar. 

The swaggering 'I'm Not There' is the first single to be taken from 'Bits n Bobs' accompanied by a magical version of Beatles track 'And Your Bird Can Sing' as it's B SIde, which will be released digitally on Friday 1st of July.

Pixy had this to say about the release: 
The album was originally intended as a solo project under the pseudonym of “Wallace Russell”. I recorded it alongside the recording of Zombie (El Goodo) whenever I could get in the studio. There are some really old songs that have always been overlooked for 'El Goodo' albums for one reason or another, a few new ones which I wrote specifically for this, and a couple that would have probably ended up on the intended double album version of Zombie if we’d kept going with the double album idea. I’ve since ditched the 'Wallace Russell' name and gone back to 'Pixy Jones' as I figured there’s no need to have a pseudonym if nobody knows who you are in the first place. Even though I dropped the name I’ve kept the walrus mask for now as it is more photogenic than my actual face.
I had no recording budget so I had to fund it by quitting smoking and saving the money up to pay for studio time. It took, I think, two and a half years to record, which is by far the quickest I’ve ever recorded an album.

Originally I wanted it to just be a quickly recorded slap dash and get it out sort of thing but I had a year and a half during Covid to think about it a bit more and ended up taking more care to get it done properly. It was just me there so I played most of it myself apart from Stephen Black (Sweet Baboo) who played brass and woodwind on one song and Rhodri Brooks (AhGeeBe) plays some pedal steel on a couple. 

Elliott and Canny from 'El Goodo' played drums and bass on Wind Street during the ‘Zombie’ recording sessions. 

The album was recorded and mixed in Aerial Studios with Tim Lewis, (Thighpaulsandra), a couple of songs were finished in the house during the lockdowns.

Lindenberg Support is the man behind 'Ode To Gallantry', a complex and emotional tale of mistaken identity, trust and honor.

The story begins with the beggar Shi Po Tian, aka the Bastard, stealing a bun which contains the Black Iron Token, created by skilled pugilist Xie Yanke, which grants the holder one wish. 'C20/25' and its pounding and pacy rhythmics, carrying pads and heavy hitting vibe, perfectly set the journey's energetic and warm tone.

Xie appears yearly, demanding that the clans repay in blood for any heinous act they committed throughout the year. The only way that a rude clan can avoid the cull is for the clan's leader to sacrifice himself for them. With 'SKS (101)' and its soothing and floating pads carrying the gentle lo-fi drums, the story heats up and evolves to a deeper intricacy.

Fearing that Bastard might make him promise to stop his annual harvest of death, Xie spirits him away and trains him in martial arts so powerful that he is certain it will kill him, but instead, it makes him strong and resilient. The uplifting pads in 'Gate', supported by a reckless broken beat and pinging vocals, create a celestial vibe that pushes Bastard to his limits.

He is rescued by the Chang Lo Clan that mistakes him for their villainous leader Shi Zhongyu and then treats him as their boss. With each case of mistaken identity, he becomes drawn into a number of heated conflicts between several rival schools and gangs - a dilemma that he just isn't prepared to deal with. The dreamy ambiance of 'Kinda Weak' and its well-wrought drum pattern slowly shroud the memories of his old life.

The final point is set with 'Pol-1 (For Stefan)' - an emotive and profound ambient piece to close the story. He's sure to learn some valuable lessons about brotherhood and honor, but at what price?

Swoontide is being released on 12” Limited Edition x 500 sea green 180GSM colour vinyl this September. Cormorant Tree Oh announces the release of folk horror masterpiece, via Trapped Animal! “Marrying skeletal balalaika and disembodied samples with low-lying synth organ lines and a focal point here – Keane’s arresting vocals, it doubles as one of our favourite Irish tracks of the year thus far.” The Thin Air // Trapped Animal is very excited to announce we will be working with new visual and aural talent, Mary Keane aka Cormorant Tree Oh on her folk horror masterpiece that is Swoontide. The Cave, the first single from Swoontide dropped in June on digitals. Mary says on the track: “This song is a celebration of the form and symbolism of caves. They are portals to another realm, the site of our earliest artistic expression, places of transcendence, the hermit’s refuge. They are colossal gees in the landscape. They are where picnicking lovers go to make mischief on a summer’s day. The cave in question is located in Portrane Co.Dublin.” Swoontide is the distillation of several years of Mary Keane’s life, recorded on her laptop as and when a new song or idea would come along. Mary talks about her process: “I love to stitch in samples from nature as so many of my songs are inspired in some way by the natural world. I’m also drawn to more domestic sounds like my mother’s washing machine or water coming to the boil. I play some unusual instruments throughout the album including balalaika, theremin, psaltery and lots of improvised percussion including bread bins, biscuit tins, stones, and a spiral staircase.” Try taking a walk in the dark with this album, we dare you. Track Listing: 1 Thirty Deer Heads 2 Zip Issues 3 Sphere Of The Sensory 4 Pareidolia 5 Holiday Rigor Mortis 6 Pissing Stones 7 All Of It 8 The Cave 9 We Are Fruiting Bodies

Issued on BBE Music, “Reflections” is the new album by London based harp player and composer Alina Bzhezhinska, alongside her HipHarpCollective. Following up her critically acclaimed debut album “Inspiration” (Ubuntu 2018), Bzhezhinska puts together a second long player, collaborating with British jazz stars Tony Kofi (Saxophones), Jay Phelps (Trumpet), Julie Walkington (Double Bass) and vocalist Vimala Rowe, strongly supported by international talents Mikele Montolli (Electric Bass), Joel Prime (Percussion), Adam Teixeira (Drums) and Ying Xue (Violin & Viola).

 Alina creates a unique sound on the harp with layered effects and electronics, combining original works and covers to pay homage to some of jazz, funk and hip-hop’s greatest innovators. Throughout the record she draws from a variety of influences, including the likes of Dorothy Ashby’s ‘Afro-Harping’, Alice Coltrane’s spiritual outputs, Joe Henderson’s free-form jazz experimentation, 90s Acid Jazz and Trip Hop.

“This album is very vibrant and reflects directly on London’s multicultural community. We had so much fun making this recording - it truly built up our morale in the middle of the pandemic and I hope our fans will feel this energy too. For ‘Reflections’ I tried to break from any stereotypes and limitations - what you hear is my own choice of sounds and influences, taken from the many mixtapes I've been making since I was a teenager. I put together the music I like to listen to when I am happy or sad, when I feel like dancing or meditating. The tunes we play are my own reflections on what I love the most - a free spirit, courage, innovation and all the beautiful things life gives us. I hope our music can reach people’s hearts and evoke all the spectrum of colours and emotions that only the arts can do.” - Alina Bzhezhinska

 Reflections is released on double LP vinyl, limited edition CD & digital formats.
 

“I had to write myself back into existence,” says Jessie Baylin. “I’d been feeling lost, empty, unsure if I’d ever make music again, and I think this album came along to remind me of who I really am, of who I could still become.” Indeed, Jersey Girl is more than just another record for Baylin; it’s a radical act of self-actualization, a moving work of reflection and rebirth from an artist who’s spent the better part of her adult life running from her roots. Written and recorded with GRAMMY-winning producers Daniel Tashian and Ian Fitchuk (Kacey Musgraves, Birdy), the collection marks Baylin’s first release since the passing of her longtime collaborator Richard Swift, whose influence looms large here even in his absence, and it signals the start of a profound new chapter, one marked by love and empathy for the face staring back in the mirror. The songs are lush and dreamy here, drawing on a hazy palette of warm guitars and vintage keyboard tones, and Baylin’s performances are nothing short of mesmerizing, her tender voice front-and-center in the mix as she grapples with guilt and shame, pain and healing, purpose and identity. Baylin’s the first to tell you this wasn’t an easy record to make—in fact, it wasn’t a record she intended to make at all—but sometimes the biggest breakthroughs come from the most unexpected places. “I had to be tricked into writing these songs,” Baylin confesses, “but it was a good kind of trick. I didn’t realize what was happening until I was already in the midst of it, and that turned out to be exactly what I needed.”

"Here’s a star in the making, a brilliant instrumentalist, an inventive singer and an assured performer who can draw the audience into the palm of his hand"
Tim Cumming, The Arts Desk, January 2022

“…can’t think of one who radiates so much heart and joy as Abel Selaocoe... winningly combines his cello with throat singing, improvising, exhorting the audience to shout or clap, and treating his body as a percussion instrument."
Geoff Brown, The Times, August 2021

Zero T returns to the imprint with his Irish soul brother Steo for their much anticipated joint EP on wax.

In collaboration with Myth, the lead track ‘Go’ will be opening sets for days with its long and soulfully energetic intro that crescendos into full dancefloor epicness.

Title track ‘Stop/Start’ draws in on classic jungle-inspired drum and bass edits, beautifully executed with timeless appeal.

Much-hyped French foursome Visages also feature with their techno-inspired rework of the duos much loved ‘Can’t Hide’ – an impressive first outing on the imprint with their signature hypnotizing grit and edge.

Mark your calendars now with August X as the official release of Zero T & Steo’s Stop/Start vinyl EP.

Over the 15 years since Loren Connors' Airs was first published, it has drawn a thick circle of fans. Gently recorded to cassette tape in 1999, (with wonderfully subtle multi-tracking). Airs is comprised of a series of brief electronic guitar poems. Intimately composed with the patience and purposeful hesitation we have reverently come to expect from Connors. Lyrical melodies recur in different forms throughout the LP, as shifting figures in a dream. Shadowy and sunken, the tone evokes an overcast landscape. The album feels singular; woven along as one flowing piece

Energy and inspiration come from the Gwoka. From these hands which, when they are not a raised fist, pound the drums, proud of their roots and of their Guadeloupean identity.
This is where Celia Wa comes from, from all that she inherited by spending her childhood between the West Indies and France.

The first years of her life were spent discovering the musical soul of the island, letting the seven gwoka rhythms seep into her until they became an integral part of her. The following years were spent discovering reggae, salsa, jazz and the omnipresent hip hop. Music whose original source was close to her, but to which she only opened up after having travelled thousands of kilometres.

After two self-produced EPs, Wastral is the sum of these inspirations and influences. Born in the acoustic, it is under the modern and futuristic production of Victor Vagh (producer of Flavia Coelo) that the seven tracks were revealed and then sublimated. Dissipated in the vaporous arrangements, softened under the effect of the synthetic layers, the organic was meticulously covered with an electro varnish disturbed by the echoes and reverbs of the dub. Celia Wa's soaring, twirling flute grazes or stirring the groove, her lyrics reviving the memory of her island. In Creole or in English, they tell the story in the present tense without forgetting the past. A past full of the sounds of struggles, of clashing chains and cracking whips, marks that have disappeared from bodies but remain deeply rooted in families and history. New feminine signature at Heavenly Sweetness, Celia Wa draws with Wastral the map of an avant-garde stellar journey in which the musical star of Guadeloupe shines the brightest.

Deux Filles was not, in fact, two girls despite what the group name and its elaborate hoax of a backstory suggest. No, they were not Gemini Forque and Claudine Coule, French women who met as teenagers under tragic circumstances and became fast friends, recording two albums together before disappearing into the ether. In reality, Deux Filles was Simon Fisher Turner and Colin Lloyd Tucker, a UK duo who first worked together in an early incarnation of The The.

Straddling the line between experimental and pop, Turner was an actor and teen singing star who later composed soundtracks for the iconic queer filmmaker Derek Jarman while Tucker’s career began as an engineer for the famed UK library music studio, De Wolfe, before forming experimental wave group The Gadgets. In Deux Filles, the duo found an outlet for their least commercial tendencies, combining lo-fi proto-dream-pop instrumentals with samples, tape experiments, ambient textures, and drum machines. Even in the vibrant, seemingly endless well of UK DIY, Deux Filles stand out.

Silence & Wisdom – the duo’s 1982 debut – is a series of musical vignettes, like the score of an unrealized arthouse film. Blending processed guitars, sheets of synthesizers, echoey pianos, and washed-out vocal snippets to surprisingly varied effect, the album is recommended for fans of Durutti Column and Virginia Astley’s From Gardens Where We Feel Secure.

Emotional Rescue celebrates its 10th Anniversary with a repress of one of its most cherished reissues, in the first ever collection of works from Spanish song writer Javier Bergia. As a member of Finas Africae his name is finally coming to prominence, now with this selection of his music from 1985 to today, the depths of his acoustic, folk and balearic writing can be heard.

Born in Madrid to a family steeped in both classical and Spanish traditional music, Javier 's mastery of guitar, percussion, voice, poetry and composition is drawn from both this grounding and upon his lifelong musical inquisitiveness'.

Since 1980 he has been an integral part of the ancient music group 'Atrium Musicae', while in 1984 he founded, with Juan Alberto Arteche and Luis Delgado, the groundbreaking group 'Finis Africae' as a sonic investigation into a fusion of diverse ethnic musical forms incorporating both indigenous instruments and electronic elements.

As a solo artist, his career blossomed when, in 1985, he recorded his first LP, the acclaimed 'Recoletos' and with Luis Delgado he recorded the now classic album 'La Fl or De Piedra' under the name Ishinohana (ERC025).

Today Javier is active, participating in the Sephardic music groups 'Halilem' and 'Alquibla', as well as diverse alternative chamber music groups, as well as working around as composer, arranger and producer and appears regularly with Manolo HH on Radio Nacional de Espana.

With releases already under their belt from Bilal and Deyayu and a split 12" from Alex Dima and Cristian Sarde, London's Obscura is shaping up to be one of those destined to take up position towards the top of tech house shopping lists everywhere. That said, the four tracks from Arnic have a cheekier, mor sprightly vibe than a lot of tech-house, the likes of 'Night Children' and their tribute to the Glasgow clubbing institution that is the 'Sub Club' drawing on disco and early Chicago house influences, all within the economic and stripped down framework that put a big smile on a DJ's face when they're in the mix.

Vessels promise an escape from responsibilities towards the landscape, they facilitate our avoidance of conscientiously feeling our attachment to the mainland. The visual nothingness of deep water and clean horizons fools the brain and delivers a treacherous feeling of independence.

We ignore the truths expressed by landscapes, so we mould them into urban projects for our strange desires. We clean up the irrationalities by which nature constructs itself. Then we look up to the skies, where the abstractions we have to draw in our minds should reside and inspire us.

We peer into the various shades of blue above the waters, the emptiness guarantees possibilities of our abstractions becoming realities. The apathetic stare into neat, straight horizons transforms our ancestral landscape into dirt and danger, when looking back to it.

To be on a ship under quarantine, is an upside down experience, for the promised escape has turned into a forced paralysis. The Lima flag (? - ? ?, in morse code), presented on the outer sleeve of this record, indirectly demands of all passengers to stay aboard and contemplate their escape from the land they now desire to return to.

These four piano pieces could be considered as a classical sonata (allegroadagio-scherzo-rondo). In a recital they are accompanied by four video pieces by artist Karl Van Welden. We picked the videos out of his extensive archive, choosing images intuitively while listening to the piano music. The theme of ships relating to quarantine thus came unannounced but of course, we were in the middle of the pandemic at the time.

Solastalgia was already waiting as a title for the new album before march 2020. I first came across the word in Underland, a book by Robert Macfarlane (2019). He defines the word as "The unhappiness of people whose landscapes are being transformed about them by forces beyond their control". These forces and this unhappiness are, I believe, what constitutes the modern human. Solastalgia, about the music We haven't found them yet, the words to talk to each other about the worrying signs of climate change. Feeling worried when walking on autumn leaves in the beginning of August should be completely normal. But how do we communicate about it? We don't want to be just the next hysterical doomer.

With this music I try to focus on the climate pain itself, gently inviting the listener to investigate their latent feelings of unease and growing concerns about the environment. As in real life, we circumvent the real issues because they are just too big, there are no words, no expressions yet.

This album tries, in four different attempts, to carve out a path towards communicating about a deeper pain that eventually will connect us all. My general method is to start with a comforting melody, full of fake nostalgia, which, after changing gear to autodestruct mode, morphs into a painful question mark.

The first part sets off with an idyllic melody, accompanied by repeated notes, as a far, muted echo of an alarm. The melody starts to explain itself painfully into a dissonant whirlwind in the high register, sounding not unlike Ravel's Gaspard de la Nuit bravura. In the second piece a warm Beatles like melody (And I love her) gets confronted with the weird hippie mantra of a later Lennon song War is over, if you want it. Sentences get reduced to syllables and result in lonely notes that crash and shiver under the burden of too much meaning. Like Shostakovich's latest work, the Sonata for viola and piano.

The descending melody of Bach's Erbarme dich, Mein Gott is echoed in the upper and lower voicings of the third piece, juxtaposed to a typical, threatening Ennio Morricone Western dotted rhythm accompaniment. This rhythm eventually evolves into citing the 1972 Captain Beefheart early ecological warning song Blabber and Smoke (there's a big pane/pain in your window, it's gonna hang you all,... dangle you all). Towards the middle of the piece, the music explodes and the three layers get dispersed all over the keyboard in a virtuosic maelstrom towards another painful question mark. The bitter answer is going back to business with a barely noticeable citation of the first notes of the RZA's Liquid Swords album.

The final piece is some kind of mantra, the same 7/4 pulse all throughout the piece. The dampers of all A's and B's on the keyboard are released by the middle pedal, thus sustaining an ever present resonance. Melodic cells alternate in shifting quantifications with small, bell like percussive cluster playing. While composing this piece an image crept up: walking out of the church on Sunday morning, tolling bells enthusiastically moderating the churchgoers' small talk in the local dialect. Apparently I have tried to evoke this kind of conversation, but injecting it with fictitious alarming conversation topics, the contemporary.

Frederik Croene (August '22)

The ground- breaking, unique jazz/R&B/pop group Brian Auger & The Trinity were formed from the ashes of Long John Baldry’s and Brian Auger’s previous group bandThe Steampacket, an R&B Revue collective, which also featured a then barely known Rod Stewart and Julie Driscoll.

Adding the UKs then greatest soul/pop singer Julie Driscoll to this new collective meant that not only did the band have a unique, beautiful voice and face to front the group – Driscoll also embodied everything about the 1960s fashionable It Girl; her sound, her clothes, hair styles and make up assured that nearly as many column inches were dedicated to her stylish demeanour as much as the band’s genre bending music.

The group were the one of the first too to intentionally set out to break down musical barriers – Brian himself specifically stated in the sleeve notes for 1968s ‘Definitely What!’ album that his concept “lies along a straight line drawn between pop and jazz and aims at the ‘fusion’ of both elements”. ‘Fusion’ at that time was not even a recognised musical term, reinforcing Auger’s credentials as an originator and innovator.

“Back then the jazz audiences were purists. They really looked down on rock and pop,” he explains. “I had people cross the road when they saw me coming, I was persona non grata at Ronnie Scotts because of themusic we were doing and the clothes we were wearing”.

Happily – audiences of the time didn’t take the same dismissive approach, Julie Driscoll, Brian Auger & The Trinity toured the US and had exploded onto American TV screens as guests of The Monkees, and also scored hits across Europe's pop charts via the singles ‘This Wheels On Fire’ & ‘Save Me’ – but simultaneously appeared on the UK’s ‘Top Of The Pops’ in the same month as headlining major European Jazz Festivals – a feat no other act has equalled since.

Between 1967 and ’70, Brian Auger experienced a four year run of unprecedented creativity – 1967’s Open with Julie Driscoll, 1968’s Definitely What!, 1969’s Streetnoise again with Driscoll and 1970’s Befour – taking the Hammond Organ in new directions with their thrilling fusion of club R&B, jazz and psychedelic cool, engaging both the underground and the mainstream, and bringing the group chart success in the UK and Europe. “I look back on my years with The Trinity as aperiod of discovery,” Auger concludes. “I didn’t know what would happen or where it would take me but we were breaking down barriers and going someplace new.”


King Britt “The Multi-Genre Maestro, Brian Auger is every producer and DJ’s secret weapon. A hero who deserves his flower now”

DJ Format “I have more Brian Auger records in my collection than any other British artist, which says more about my love of his music than words ever could"


FOR FANS OF:
Jimmy Smith, Aretha Franklin, The Spencer Davis
Group, Nina Simone, Georgie Fame, Traffic. Sly &
The Family Stone, Jimmy McGriff.