hat happens when one's mind wanders in between waking and dream state? Hypnagogia is a phase leading into the dream state, in which people can have visions and rather creative ideas.
In between dreaming and being awake, people are traveling in the bordersland of consciousness. Reality is still experienced, but the logic of real life is not present anymore. People can see shadows and colors around them, hear voices, or get surprising ideas.
It it said that hypnagogia is the shortest road to your own subconscious and intuition. We can be immensely creative on hypnagogic states, because the rational mind is not present anymore.
Empath is exploring those hidden states of subconsciousness with six sound collages in his album Music For Hypnagogia. Ideas and visions for this music have been born from his own hypnagogic experiences and they could be a fascinating path to lead (greek: Agogo) listeners into dreams (greek: Hypnos).
Search:the empath
PURPLE VINYL
A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.
Tape
A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.
A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/ vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet's new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album's ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman's voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It's not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void - somehow - you see everything. The songs on Rat Saw God don't recount epics, just the everyday. They're true, they're real life, blurry and chaotic and strange - which is in-line with Hartzman's own ethos: "Everyone's story is worthy," she says, plainly. "Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating." But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don't necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it's all in the details - how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen - but it's mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.
Ability for the impossible.
Ukrainian folk instruments dissolve into abstract psychoactive sounds from the improvisational universe. The meditative engine of multi-instrumental music drives the magical means of influencing perception. This is the sonic amulet, which is decorated with radiant tones and the colorful ceremonial musical outline. Mythological music is spirited by epic historical times and ideas of freedom, dignity, and bravery. The acquired knowledge of ancient generations is infused into the present tense and crystallized into the art of liberation.
Transform pain into gratitude, fear into love, rage into action, self-importance into empathy, fatigue into inner peace, anxiety into courage, and hatred into strength. Say "no" to darkness and direct the light on it, disagree to compromise with yourself, create on the destroyed, free yourself from stipulations, believe in wonders, burn and resurrect free. Always remember your own path to walk. And plant the blossoming cherry tree in the funnel from the bomb on the heart.
Dedicated to free Ukraine.
Xiu Xiu setzen sich seit 20 Jahren mit Verarbeitung, Empathie, Ungehorsam und Neuordnung des Grauens auseinander. Ihr neues Album 'Ignore Grief' ist eine Platte mit zwei Hälften. Angela Seo singt auf der einen, Jamie Stewart auf der anderen. Die eine Hälfte ist real, die andere imaginär. Die realen Songs versuchen, das Schlimmste, was das Leben den 5 Bandmitgliedern zu bieten hat, in eine Art verzweifelte Form zu bringen, die ihre Herzen und ihr Gedächtnis in diesen schrecklichen Erfahrungen nicht zermalmen und verrohen läßt. Die imaginären Songs sind eine abstrakte Erkundung des frühen Rock'n'Roll-Genres 'Teen Tragedy' als Ausgangspunkt, um die Emotionen der Band zu dekontaminieren, weil sie weiß, was diesen fünf Menschen widerfahren ist.
- LP auf Silver Ghost farbenem Vinyl mit DL Code in breiter Außenhülle mit Booklet (Lyrics, Poesie)
Young Fathers - Alloysious Massaquoi, Kayus Bankole und G. Hastings - kündigen heute ihr langerwartetes neues Album, „Heavy Heavy“, an. Das vierte Album des Trios erscheint am 3. Februar 2023 via Ninja Tune und ist ihr erstes seit „Cocoa Sugar“ von 2018. Das 10-Track-Projekt signalisiert einen erneuten Back-to-Basics-Ansatz ohne externe Produzenten, nur ein winziges Heimstudio, ein paar Geräte und Mikrofone: alles immer eingesteckt, alles immer in Reichweite. Über das Album schreibt Alloysious: „Jede Platte muss besser sein als die letzte. Das ist die Mentalität. Wenn es nicht besser wäre, würde es nicht herauskommen.“ Für ihn geht es bei diesem Album nicht einmal wirklich um die zehn Songs auf der Tracklist. Es geht darum, was mit dem Trio in den langen, verrückten Jahren seit „Cocoa Sugar“ passiert ist. „Heavy Heavy“ ist der Beweis für das, was von dieser Zeit übrig geblieben ist. Der Erfolg des Überlebens, der Exzess der Existenz. „Ich mag den Titel ‚Heavy Heavy‘, denn es ist alles plus die Küchenspüle", fügt G. hinzu. „Maximalistisch. Keine Art von Schlankheitskur. Es fühlt sich voll an, gewichtig. Und es zweimal zu sagen, macht es spielerisch.“
Für Young Fathers gibt es keinen Dresscode. Tanzen, nicht moshen. Die Hüften zucken, die Füße rutschen, das Gehirn feuert in Catherine Wheel-Sparks aus Freude und Empathie. Unterirdisch, aber nie dunkel. Immer noch jung, nach einigen Jahren, auch wenn die heavy, heavy weight of the world von Tag zu Tag zu wachsen scheint.
Red Vinyl
Young Fathers - Alloysious Massaquoi, Kayus Bankole und G. Hastings - kündigen heute ihr langerwartetes neues Album, „Heavy Heavy“, an. Das vierte Album des Trios erscheint am 3. Februar 2023 via Ninja Tune und ist ihr erstes seit „Cocoa Sugar“ von 2018. Das 10-Track-Projekt signalisiert einen erneuten Back-to-Basics-Ansatz ohne externe Produzenten, nur ein winziges Heimstudio, ein paar Geräte und Mikrofone: alles immer eingesteckt, alles immer in Reichweite. Über das Album schreibt Alloysious: „Jede Platte muss besser sein als die letzte. Das ist die Mentalität. Wenn es nicht besser wäre, würde es nicht herauskommen.“ Für ihn geht es bei diesem Album nicht einmal wirklich um die zehn Songs auf der Tracklist. Es geht darum, was mit dem Trio in den langen, verrückten Jahren seit „Cocoa Sugar“ passiert ist. „Heavy Heavy“ ist der Beweis für das, was von dieser Zeit übrig geblieben ist. Der Erfolg des Überlebens, der Exzess der Existenz. „Ich mag den Titel ‚Heavy Heavy‘, denn es ist alles plus die Küchenspüle", fügt G. hinzu. „Maximalistisch. Keine Art von Schlankheitskur. Es fühlt sich voll an, gewichtig. Und es zweimal zu sagen, macht es spielerisch.“
Für Young Fathers gibt es keinen Dresscode. Tanzen, nicht moshen. Die Hüften zucken, die Füße rutschen, das Gehirn feuert in Catherine Wheel-Sparks aus Freude und Empathie. Unterirdisch, aber nie dunkel. Immer noch jung, nach einigen Jahren, auch wenn die heavy, heavy weight of the world von Tag zu Tag zu wachsen scheint.
There’s a line on Honey, the latest album from Nashville-via-NYC songwriter Samia, about Aspen Grove, a collection of 40,000 trees in the plains of North America, all connected by a single expansive root system. There’s no stronger metaphor for the audience the 25-year-old empathy engine has been generating since she began releasing music seven years ago. Her songs, her fans, her friends: one enormous, interconnected ecosystem. Honey, comprised of eleven new moments of catharsis, is by and for that organism. Set for release on January 23rd 2023 via Grand Jury Music, the album was recorded at North Carolina studio Betty’s –- owned and operated by Sylvan Esso’s Nick Sandborn and Amelia Meath, frequent touring partners of Samia’s. It was produced by Caleb Wright, part of the team that helmed Samia’s breakthrough 2020 debut The Baby, and a founding member of one of Samia’s favorite bands, The Happy Children. It features some of her nearest and dearest friends: Christian Lee Hutson, Briston Maroney, Jake Luppen, Raffaella. Its songs were surreptitiously road tested for her devotees while opening for Lucy Dacus, Courtney Barnett, and more. The end result is what Samia calls simply “a real community record.”
There’s a line on Honey, the latest album from Nashville-via-NYC songwriter Samia, about Aspen Grove, a collection of 40,000 trees in the plains of North America, all connected by a single expansive root system. There’s no stronger metaphor for the audience the 25-year-old empathy engine has been generating since she began releasing music seven years ago. Her songs, her fans, her friends: one enormous, interconnected ecosystem. Honey, comprised of eleven new moments of catharsis, is by and for that organism. Set for release on January 23rd 2023 via Grand Jury Music, the album was recorded at North Carolina studio Betty’s –- owned and operated by Sylvan Esso’s Nick Sandborn and Amelia Meath, frequent touring partners of Samia’s. It was produced by Caleb Wright, part of the team that helmed Samia’s breakthrough 2020 debut The Baby, and a founding member of one of Samia’s favorite bands, The Happy Children. It features some of her nearest and dearest friends: Christian Lee Hutson, Briston Maroney, Jake Luppen, Raffaella. Its songs were surreptitiously road tested for her devotees while opening for Lucy Dacus, Courtney Barnett, and more. The end result is what Samia calls simply “a real community record.”
Limited Rosé Pink Vinyl[26,47 €]
The Anne, EP is the afterword to Joseph Shabason's acclaimed 2018 harmonic suite Anne, through which he examined and processed his mother's struggle with Parkinson's disease. Employing a small supporting cast that includes vocalist Dan Bejar (Destroyer) and guitarist Thomas Gill (Owen Pallett), Anne, EP spotlights the Toronto saxophonist as he builds empathic tropospheres of woodwinds and synthesizers, deepening the sentiment established by the EP's companion album. In doing so, Shabason further cements jazz, ambient sound design, and new age revivalism into a timely new genre all his own. Also Available From Joseph Shabason: The Fellowship LP/CD, Anne LP/CD, Aytche CD. “gorgeous and empathetic ambient music.” – Pitchfork // “I love it…very original...so exciting." – Bob Boilen, NPR Music // “…densely textured ambient jazz that is wonderful to immerse yourself in…” - The Guardian // “...seriously engaging…” – Aquarium Drunkard // “…magical transportive healing vibes.” – Gorilla vs. Bear // “…rich, healing ambient jazz.” – The A. V. Club // “…at once intimate and universal, honest and hopeful.” - Resident Advisor // Tracks: 01 West Of Heaven 5:12, 02 1517 5:57, 03 I Don't Want To Be Your Love 4:30, 04 Broken Hearted Kota 5:12, 05 Face Chord 7:13, 06 Gymnopédie No. 1 7:26.
Black Vinyl[26,47 €]
The Anne, EP is the afterword to Joseph Shabason's acclaimed 2018 harmonic suite Anne, through which he examined and processed his mother's struggle with Parkinson's disease. Employing a small supporting cast that includes vocalist Dan Bejar (Destroyer) and guitarist Thomas Gill (Owen Pallett), Anne, EP spotlights the Toronto saxophonist as he builds empathic tropospheres of woodwinds and synthesizers, deepening the sentiment established by the EP's companion album. In doing so, Shabason further cements jazz, ambient sound design, and new age revivalism into a timely new genre all his own. Also Available From Joseph Shabason: The Fellowship LP/CD, Anne LP/CD, Aytche CD. “gorgeous and empathetic ambient music.” – Pitchfork // “I love it…very original...so exciting." – Bob Boilen, NPR Music // “…densely textured ambient jazz that is wonderful to immerse yourself in…” - The Guardian // “...seriously engaging…” – Aquarium Drunkard // “…magical transportive healing vibes.” – Gorilla vs. Bear // “…rich, healing ambient jazz.” – The A. V. Club // “…at once intimate and universal, honest and hopeful.” - Resident Advisor // Tracks: 01 West Of Heaven 5:12, 02 1517 5:57, 03 I Don't Want To Be Your Love 4:30, 04 Broken Hearted Kota 5:12, 05 Face Chord 7:13, 06 Gymnopédie No. 1 7:26.
Limited Clear Vinyl edition, 500 copies! Originally released on Impulse in 1962 “Soul Trombone and the Jazz Clan” was a major statement from one of the great trombone players in American jazz. Here Fuller displays an outstanding hard-bop ensemble based on a bunch of great individuals all at the top of their game. Fuller himself is part of a super strong horn section with trumpeter Freddie Hubbard and tenor saxophonist Jimmy Heath, while the groove is assured by a hard swinging rhythm section with pianist Cedar Walton, bassist Jimmie Merritt and drummer Jimmy Cobb. Fuller gives lots of space to his musicians who naturally respond and empathize with great solos.In one word: an outstanding record!
With I was born by the sea, Richie Culver brings to a close a period of intense introspection and emotional reckoning with a debut album that serves as both an optimistic statement of intent and a final glance back at the painful places it explores. Following recent work with Blackhaine and Pavel Milyakov, I was born by the sea picks up where Culver’s EP for Italian label Superpang, Post Traumatic Fantasy, leaves off, painting an unabashed portrait of contemporary malaise, detailing a life lived behind closed doors, pinned under the crushing weight of austerity, sapped of the strength to do anything other than gaze out to sea and all the grey possibilities it represents. Where Post Traumatic Fantasy saw Culver returning to his hometown of Hull after a period spent entangled in London’s relentless sprawl, his first full length project reaches further back to his formative years working in a caravan factory and going to raves in and among Hull’s outskirts. Unspooling like a fever dream, I was born by the sea is the anxious clutter of a racing mind spoken clearly, a stark reflection on how it feels to have too many ideas and too much time to act on them.
Though unquestionably a snapshot of a time of significant difficulty, Culver reflects on this period with tender empathy and pitch-black humour, stitching together unflinching observations from England’s neglected corners, ‘there’s more mobility scooter repair shops and bookies than there are bookshops,’ and devastating vignettes of everyday struggle, ‘tears on the tin foil’, with surreal depictions of industrial grit, ‘skimming stones in a small pond by the slaughterhouse’. His DIY approach to production stretches the rough sinew that connects these fragments of memory, a process he describes as using a paired back collection of synths and drum machines to the best of his ability, ‘but to the least of their capabilities,’ wringing out visceral sound with self-taught urgency. During the album’s most impressionistic passages it’s as though Culver has transposed past internal turmoil into powerfully resonant noise, the Sisyphean sonics of ‘Create A Lifestyle Around Your Problems’, which evokes in its concrète clatter and MRI machine barrage the sound of making the same mistake again and again, or the stuttered jumble of ‘Its Hard To Get To Know You,’ its garbled vocal modulation and frayed edges of distortion channeling the paranoia of somebody listening to muffled voices through thin plaster, climbing the walls of their bedroom with the curtains closed, a nervous breakdown in stereo.
In counterpoint to this glides the ever-present spirit of the dance floor, which haunts the record from the moment it is invoked in its first few seconds. Opening onto a sea wall of bright synthesis, the stuttering vocals and bass tone chops of ‘Nervous Energy’ dump us directly into post rave ecstasy, the echoing cry of a voice amplified by loudspeaker carrying the loose energy and surge of crowds moving in darkness. The incessant, dead phone line beep of ‘Pigeon Flesh’ builds to a pulse that suddenly swells into an anxious technoid surge, shapeshifting at lysergic speed into head shrinking audio hallucinations, a descent into the void of the present via machine music hypnosis. Even ‘Its Hard To Get To Know You’ summons the ego death drive of hardcore techno within its scorched textures, flickering indiscernibly between attritional noise and frazzled hardware stomp. Paying homage to both the parties of his youth and a countless succession of Sundays spent offering himself up within Berghain’s hallowed architecture, Culver’s experiments in addressing his formative relationship with rave provide an energetic glimpse at where he might take his sound next.
Between spikes of propulsive energy and grim mood pieces Culver returns to suspended passages of aching, glacial drift, the cold swell of the North Sea, accompanied by some of his heaviest testimonials. The gauzy ebb of ‘Daytime TV,’ its tumbling loops reminiscent of boats bobbing off a distant shore, sees the artist at his most checked out, slumped in front of his television, seven days a week. ‘I used to dream of doing something,’ he admits, ‘anything to get out of this town.’ ‘Love Like An Abscess’ pairs swirling currents of ambient shimmer with violent images of baseball bats lying next to beds and blood-stained mattresses, next to which Culver pleads in a desperate mumble, ‘let our love grow, like a broken abscess.’ Yet it’s with the album’s final word and title track that Culver reveals a glimmer of cautious optimism, a parting gesture of exposition and closure. ‘I knew I had to get away,’ he asserts, ‘so I did and I never looked back.’ What follows builds from a low throb, the flutter of a tiny heartbeat, to a resonant glow, embellished with unfurling synthetic burbles, oil rigs sparkling in the distance, golden light spilling across the sea. In reckoning with the place he had to escape, Richie Culver is now free to look towards the promise of something new, something hopeful.
dreamcastmoe is the recording project of singer, songwriter, producer, and DJ Davon Bryant, a lifelong resident of Washington, DC. His music moves freely between moods and modes, hypnotic, romantic, traversing electronic, R&B, funk, soul, and hip-hop... Resident Advisor dubs it "soulful, cross-genre dance music." This ability to adapt and finesse, to twist in different directions while staying true and coherent in vision, can be traced to his home city and its complex cultural history. "Most Black kids in DC don't ever get to this point," he says. "This is what I am making this music for, in the DC tradition of soul and empathy and love that is rooted in this city. My music is for real people dealing with shit every day." A versatile, modern artist and collaborator, dreamcastmoe has thrived in the underground since his first uploads to Soundcloud and Bandcamp in 2017 and subsequent releases with labels like People's Potential Unlimited, Trading Places, and In Real Life Music. Bryant's laid-back personality, emotional honesty, and infectious energy shine through his work and how he talks about it, as Crack Magazine notes in their 2021 Rising feature: "a steady combination of confidence, creativity, and calmness." He grew up playing drums in church; he's worked dead-end jobs, had ups and downs, even sold off all his gear one time, but never stopped reinvesting in himself. He is quick to praise his co-producers, rattle off influences _ the visual feel of NBA 2K, the comedic timing of Bernie Mac, the savvy legacy of Duke Ellington, for starters _ and credit resourceful DC breakouts like Ankhlejohn that showed him the roadmap. His voice, a steady instrument, seemingly connects it all, capable of slow falsetto flow, swaggering talk-rap, and outright croon. His storytelling style is choppy yet fluid, like a mixtape, which is how Bryant sees Sound Is Like Water, his debut on Ghostly's International's freeform label, Spectral Sound. The two-part project culminates as a full-length LP release in November 2022. The first side, released as Part I, opens on the blurred beats of "El Dorado," which dreamcastmoe dedicates to his journey. It's a head-nodder, an off-kilter earworm co-produced by Max D (Future Times, RVNG Intl, etc.), with Bryant harmonizing hooks with synth jabs and a pitched-down presence. "Complicated" is the slow jam, delivered smoothly from a Saturday night crossroads. dreamcastmoe is contemplative and committed... gliding and locking ad-libs into skittering rhythms courtesy of co-producer Zackary Dawson _ but also willing to let something go, "acknowledging that everything in life IS NOT easy." "RU Ready" takes off from the jump as a tribute, challenge, and promise to his partner and his city ("The times you sat with me when I needed you the most / Told me the things that I needed to see / Young black man, really trying to be what I can be / And I'm really from DC). In its potent two-plus minutes, the sonics (co-produced by ZDBT) press the message, all cymbal crashes, breakbeats, and serrated synth lines. "Cloudy Weather, Wear Boots" is a blitzing dance-punk track made in collaboration with Jordan GCZ on Bryant's first trip to Amsterdam. The album's flipside opens on "Much More," the first of two synth-and-beat ballads co-produced by ZDBT. Later on "Long Songz," he claims, "I'm not writing love songs no more," prioritizing the vibe with "all my day ones." He calls it "a cry for more normal moments. Everything doesn't have to be a fantasy love story, more time spent getting to the money, growing, and making a way." He saves two of his most propulsive cuts for the finale, co-produced by Sami, co-founder of DC dance label 1432 R. As their titles suggest, "Take A Moment" and "Make Ya Mind" operate as anthems for movement, with Bryant free-flowing commands above wildly-styled percussion. Per Bryant, the latter is both "wake & bake jam" and a "dance floor bomb." His parting line: "Action / You got to show me action / Reaction." The world of dreamcastmoe straddles virtual reality and the realness of DC, images both imagined and lived-in. Bryant has a knack for unexpected melodies but what makes his music so exciting is his capacity to defy the expectations of genre and image. A fluid ingenuity and vulnerability bottled by Sound Is Like Water, and this is just the beginning.
Rico Friebe returns with a second part to JENNI, his initial full length album from early 2022.
The furthermore ongoing personal story of empathy, tragedy and hope continues with a cycle of orchestral compositions, leading Friebe's work into unforeseen directions.
A soundtrack of the soul with the uniquely natural and timeless touch of orchestra music..
Wellington, New Zealand four-piece Hans Pucket writes nervy but effortlessly danceable rock songs about feeling bad. Their second full-length album, No Drama, which is out November 4th via Carpark Records, gleefully captures the all-too-common twenty-something anxieties of talking too much and then being unable to find the right words to say. When frontman Oliver Devlin sings, “I’m surfing a constant wave of alarm” on the title track, it’s a compass for the other nine tracks. This is inviting and relatable music for people who, despite their best efforts, feel uncomfortable about themselves, the state of the world, and their place in it.
Both lyrically and sonically, No Drama is a departure for Hans Pucket from their 2018 debut Eczema. “I realized I didn’t want to write any more real heartbreak songs,” says Oliver Devlin. “We were and still are a live band. We're still trying to make music that’s catchy and people can dance to, but also really interesting to us: songs about growing up and finding how you exist in the world.” Songs like “My Brain Is a Vacant Space” with its blistering guitars and ebullient hooks hone in on the feeling that you have nothing to offer while “Bankrupt,” a fuzzed-out punk track, boasts lines like “I don’t know if I’ll always feel like / I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
Recorded with the band’s good friend and former tour mate Jonathan Pearce of The Beths at his Auckland studio, No Drama is full of big leaps, immaculate arrangements, and a ton of immediate grooves. “We were very ambitious when we first started recording this,” says bassist Callum Devlin. “Intentionally we left heaps of space in the track so we could add strings and horns. Because we were very measured and quite deliberate with the parts we had. It was a really fun process filling in the gaps.”
No Drama came together over several years and during its creation, the band added multi-instrumentalist Callum Passels, who provided all the horn arrangements on the LP. With Pearce producing, his other Beths bandmates like Benjamin Sinclair added string arrangements while singer Elizabeth Stokes provided backing vocals.
Overall it’s a remarkably eclectic record where the smooth pop of a track like “Kiss the Moon” can coexist perfectly with the Abbey Road freakout of “Some Good News.” “We didn’t want to be afraid of our 15-year-old self's influences,” says Oliver Devlin.” We really wanted to make an album that teenage us would just be amazed by.”
The result is Hans Pucket’s most sparkling and confident collection yet. While it’s danceable and fun, it’s also a thoughtful exploration of anxiety, a call for empathy in a turbulent time, and a relatable reminder that it’s hard to figure things out.
Tape
Wellington, New Zealand four-piece Hans Pucket writes nervy but effortlessly danceable rock songs about feeling bad. Their second full-length album, No Drama, which is out November 4th via Carpark Records, gleefully captures the all-too-common twenty-something anxieties of talking too much and then being unable to find the right words to say. When frontman Oliver Devlin sings, “I’m surfing a constant wave of alarm” on the title track, it’s a compass for the other nine tracks. This is inviting and relatable music for people who, despite their best efforts, feel uncomfortable about themselves, the state of the world, and their place in it.
Both lyrically and sonically, No Drama is a departure for Hans Pucket from their 2018 debut Eczema. “I realized I didn’t want to write any more real heartbreak songs,” says Oliver Devlin. “We were and still are a live band. We're still trying to make music that’s catchy and people can dance to, but also really interesting to us: songs about growing up and finding how you exist in the world.” Songs like “My Brain Is a Vacant Space” with its blistering guitars and ebullient hooks hone in on the feeling that you have nothing to offer while “Bankrupt,” a fuzzed-out punk track, boasts lines like “I don’t know if I’ll always feel like / I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
Recorded with the band’s good friend and former tour mate Jonathan Pearce of The Beths at his Auckland studio, No Drama is full of big leaps, immaculate arrangements, and a ton of immediate grooves. “We were very ambitious when we first started recording this,” says bassist Callum Devlin. “Intentionally we left heaps of space in the track so we could add strings and horns. Because we were very measured and quite deliberate with the parts we had. It was a really fun process filling in the gaps.”
No Drama came together over several years and during its creation, the band added multi-instrumentalist Callum Passels, who provided all the horn arrangements on the LP. With Pearce producing, his other Beths bandmates like Benjamin Sinclair added string arrangements while singer Elizabeth Stokes provided backing vocals.
Overall it’s a remarkably eclectic record where the smooth pop of a track like “Kiss the Moon” can coexist perfectly with the Abbey Road freakout of “Some Good News.” “We didn’t want to be afraid of our 15-year-old self's influences,” says Oliver Devlin.” We really wanted to make an album that teenage us would just be amazed by.”
The result is Hans Pucket’s most sparkling and confident collection yet. While it’s danceable and fun, it’s also a thoughtful exploration of anxiety, a call for empathy in a turbulent time, and a relatable reminder that it’s hard to figure things out.
Collapso Calypso is the long-awaited third album from dreampop artist Chorusgirl. Initially planned for release in 2020, but the pandemic and a nervous breakdown brought everything to a screeching halt. It took Silvi Wersing - aka Chorusgirl - the rest of 2020 and 2021 to rebuild her life and reconsider everything, including her music and the band. She decided to relocate from London to her small hometown in Germany, to become a carer for her increasingly ill father and to take Chorusgirl back to its roots as a solo project, just like in 2014. She revisited old demos and wrote a few more songs, and steadily worked to complete the album as an anchor at a time of turmoil. With the album charting her progress back to health, she decided to call it Collapso Calypso, a riff on taking her despair for a dance. The album includes a multitude of references from music and film and features Silvi's trademark self-reflective lyrics on the themes of coming through a crisis, grief, resilience, and ultimately letting go, or the inability thereof, all set to the sounds of 60s girl groups and her favourite bands from the 80s. The release follows on from 2018 album Shimmer and Spin (Reckless Yes) and the self-titled 2015 debut (Fortuna Pop). “Chorusgirl pertain to a certain kind of cold, detached dreaminess you’d associate with a label like 4AD in its prime: their overall sound being seemingly informed by Lush’s successful hybrid of classic pop, fiery punk and shimmering soundscapes. … Yet, rather than reliving a sound there’s a sense here that Chorusgirl are more intent on reinventing it. Look no further than their debut self-titled LP for conviction.” (8/10) Line of Best Fit “Chorusgirl’s sound is distinctly London (although, more the London of the 80s than of now) but it’s also the sound of escaping London. (…) It’s the feeling of sleeping with the bedroom window open for the first time in months and waking up with a fresh wafting across your face.” Noisey “Chorusgirl explore universal themes with the catchiest of tunes, thundering rhythms, a wry sense of self and fascinating multi-meaning lyrics.” (8/10) Louder Than War “There’s no slack on the album – from the starting gate to the finish line, Chorusgirl bristle with static and nerves.” … Chorusgirl are simple, until they’re not. You might recognise the distant spirits, the razor chords, the surfy snarls. But where other bands coast on borrowed sound, Wersing bends it to her own life, creating a space that resonates with insight and empathy. Ever felt separate from the human race? Be comforted, for here is your kind.” (7/10) Drowned In Sound This is a record with teeth… one of the most impressive first albums of a year rich in strong debuts.” (5/5) NARC Magazine “Sparkling with bright rhythms and jangling pop…with hints of something shadier, bittersweet and more potent.” London In Stereo “Lovingly smudged guitars” (7/10) Loud & Quiet



















