Suche:the end

Scientist's name will be found on many dub releases in peoples record collections.His connection to King Tubby's studio is inseparable and many say when the dub end of Reggae music had fallen on quieter times it was Scientist with his often stripped back style and at other times, wild off the wall remixes that breathed life back into the dub cannon.

Scientist (born Overton Brownie,1960, Jamaica) was in many ways King Tubby's apprentice. Having helped his own father out repairing televisions and such like, he would help Tubby on winding transformer coils, that the amps of the day all needed. His interest in recording grew as he watched the many sessions taking place at Tubby's Dromilly Avenue Studio, learning the ropes as the musicians came and went. His first break happened when King Jammy (then Prince Jammy) was too tired to work on a session booked for producer Errol 'Don' Mais. Scientist engineered the session to every one’s bewilderment and great satisfaction.

His first hit would be a mix of Barrington Levy's 'Collie Weed' and his reputation built on the many versions he cut at Tubby's where he would become the engineer of choice. His pared down mixing style suited the new Dancehall reggae sound that came at the tail end of the 1970's and rolled into the 1980's. Such was his stature that albums were now sold with his name on their jacket, 'Scientist Vs Prince Jammy, 'Scientist meets The Space Invaders' to name but two.

His time at King Tubby's was followed as chief engineer working for the Hookim Brothers at the mighty Channel 1 Studio's and on many of top producer Henry 'Junjo' Lawes tracks, that were hit after hit at the time.

We have compiled some tuff tracks from the late 70's / early 80's just before everything went digital. Some great dub versions to some killer tracks that rocked the dancehalls around this golden time.The mighty Tristan Palmer whose killer cuts 'BadBoys','Stop Spreading Rumours','Eveready' and 'The Greatest Lover’ alongside Michael Palmer's debut release 'Mr Landlord' and Robert Trench's 'Mr Babylon'. The songs stand back-to-back with Tony Tuff's timeless 'Never Trouble Trouble' and the biblical Rod Taylor's 'The Lord is My Light'. Sammy Dread's 'Wah Dah Wah' and the always respectful Dennis Brown's 'Time and Place' all benefited a touch of magic from The Scientist and his laboratory of effects.

Hope you enjoy the set.....

Entering its 26th year of activity, the morphing, Los Angeles based experimental outfit, Sissy Spacek, joins Shelter Press with Entrance, among the project's most captivating outings to date. Encountering the duo of John Wiese and Charlie Mumma joined in various configurations by an incredible cast of collaborators - Tim Barnes, Marco Fusinato, Aaron Hemphill, Brad Laner, Katsura Mouri, Ralf Wehowsky, and C Spencer Yeh - collectively transformed into a series a deeply intimate and delicate gestures of musique concrète, Entrance radically repositions the possibilities presented by group improvisation outside of time and place. Founded at the end of the last millennium, the Los Angeles based project, Sissy Spacek, initially emerged from the knotted, fiery context 1990s American noise and grindcore, producing sheets of visceral sonority that quickly set the scene on its head. Going through numerous evolutions, before eventually settling as a duo of John Wiese and Charlie Mumma - joined by a rotating and often recurring cast collaborators - over the last 25 years the band has continuously entered states of evolution that have defied the expectations of its own context, seeding the sonic extremes noise with subtle and sophisticated approaches to free improvisation and musique concrète. Fiercely positioning its efforts within the outer reaches of contemporary experimental music, while resisting the constraints of a singular sound or proximity, Wiese regards Sissy Spacek as being primarily centred around the practice of musique concrète and the pursuit of extremes. From its earliest releases - collage treatments of material gathered from the band's full throttle practice sessions - the project's conceptual framework has continuously evolved within a deeply engaged process of experimentation, not only reworking tactical approaches, but also definitions and perception regarding the location and action of their work. In recent years, this has led to an increasingly varied and diverse output. Percolating within, is a thread marked by a striking sense of delicacy and intimacy, driving forward while doubling as an unexpected challenge, in real time, to perceptions connected to the band's past. Entrance is the most recent of these. Embarking upon the four compositions that comprise the finalized four sides of Entrance, Wiese and Mumma enlisted longstanding collaborators, Tim Barnes, Marco Fusinato, Aaron Hemphill, Brad Laner, Katsura Mouri, and C Spencer Yeh, as well as new initiate, Ralf Wehowsky (of the seminal German electronic noise collective P16.D4), requesting a contribution of sounds from each, determined by a general set guidelines that dictated certain qualities the given sonorities, while allowing for the expression of each player's distinct creative voice. The sets of resulting recordings were then chopped, harvested, manipulated, and reassembled as the four tape compositions that make up the album - Web Of Unfolding Appearance, Figure Of Reflected Light, Trancher And The Inheritors, True Dimension (From The Opaque - Spike) - each blurring the lines of authorship and clear creative proximity in remarkable ways. Where historical gestures of musique concrète tend to draw upon non-instrumental sound sources - regarding its sonorous material as raw elements, unburdened by inherent meaning or association, to be transformed and imbued with musicality - Sissy Spacek turns this position on its head. Entrance comprises works of musique concrète that not only draw upon instrumental sound sources, with all their possible meanings or associations, but also individual characters and personalities of their players, crediting each resulting piece to its respective configuration of contributors. As such, Entrance is an effort of sound collage defined by a rare sense of intimacy and humanity: four pieces that often take on the resemblance of group improvisation, but have, in fact, been assembled outside of time and place. Bent under the ever-present hand of Wiese's tape treatments and manipulation, each of the album's four compositions unfurl startling states of sonic abstraction and percolating texture, marked by a striking sense of hard-shifting structure, that culminate as tense, driven manifestations of ambient music: scrapes, squeals, rattles feedback, rolling drums, bouncing tones, whispers, bent electronics, electric artefacts, and seemingly everything else under the sun, configured into immersive, sublime mediations in sound from the most improbable events.

»Even The Horizon Knows Its Bounds« explores sound’s relationship with architecture, inspired by the Naala Badu building at the Art Gallery of NSW. Created from sound prompts responded to by artists like Jim O’Rourke and claire rousay, the work reflects on space, collaboration, and the fluid nature of sonic environments.

I like to think that sound haunts architecture.

It’s one of the truly magical interactions afforded by sound’s immateriality. It’s also something that has captivated us from the earliest times. It’s not difficult to imagine the exhilaration of our early ancestors calling to one another in the dark cathedral like caves which held wonder, and security, for them.

Today the ways in which sound occupies space, the so-called liquid architecture, holds just as much wonder, albeit one that is often dominated by functionality and form. Beyond those constraints however, how sound operates in the material world is something that exists at the fundament of our understanding of music, and moreover within the broad church we know as the canon of sound arts.

Even The Horizon Knows Its Bounds is a record born out of these relations. In a direct sense, the record is the product of an invitation by curator Jonathan Wilson to create a sound environment, reflecting on the Naala Badu building at the Art Gallery Of NSW. The building’s name, which translates from the Gadigal language to ‘seeing water’, was opened in 2022 and this piece was offered as an atmospheric tint to visitors walking through the building throughout the year following its opening.

It’s also a record born out of a recognition for the porousness sound affords, especially as a device for collaborative endeavour. This composition is one born out of generosity and acoustic solidarity. Even The Horizon Knows Its Bounds is comprised not just of my sounds, but also that of an incredible array of artists who have also operated in the orbit of the Art Gallery Of NSW. The players include Amby Downs, Chris Abrahams, Chuck Johnson, Claire Rousay, Dean Hurley, Jim O’Rourke, JW Paton, Madeleine Cocolas, Norman Westberg, Stephen Vitiello and Vanessa Tomlinson.

The piece was constructed around two long form sound prompts that each musician responded and contributed to. These materials there when digested into the final piece you hear. The work could not exist without the substantial offerings these artists made, and I am immensely grateful to each of them.

I’ll finish with a little note that appears on the LP itself.

Place is an evolving, subjective experience of space. Spaces hold the opportunity for place, which we create moment to moment, shaped by our ways of sense-making.

Whilst the architectural and material features of space might remain somewhat constant, the people, objects, atmospheres, and encounters that fill them are forever collapsing into memory.

Lawrence English
Performed by Amby Downs, Chris Abrahams, Chuck Johnson, Claire Rousay, Dean Hurley, Jim O’Rourke, JW Paton, Madeleine Cocolas, Norman Westberg, Stephen Vitiello, Vanessa Tomlinson

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Scowl is a band that sounds exactly like their name implies. Venomous, fierce, antagonistic. A sneer not to be crossed. Over the last five years, the Santa Cruz, California, band has firmly planted their flag in the hardcore scene with their vicious sound and ripping live show, sharing stages around the world with Circle Jerks, Touché Amoré, and Limp Bizkit, and filling slots at prominent festivals like Coachella, Sick New World, and Reading and Leeds. But with their new album, Are We All Angels (Dead Oceans), Scowl is aiming to funnel all that aggression through a more expansive version of themselves. Much of Are We All Angels grapples with Scowl’s newfound place in the hardcore scene, a community which has both embraced the band and made them something of a lightning rod over the past few years. Standout single “Not Hell, Not Heaven” outright rejects the narratives cast onto them by outsiders. “It’s about feeling victimized and being a victim, but not wanting to identify with being a victim,” explains vocalist Kat Moss. “It’s trying to find grace in the fact that I have my power. I live in my reality. You have to deal with whatever you're dealing with, and it ain’t working for me.” The band breaks from a sense of disassociation to seek deeper connections on “Fantasy.” “It’s incredibly challenging to try to balance my love for the scene while also feeling, in some spaces, extremely alienated and hated,” Moss says. “‘Fantasy’ is about feeling like I don't know how to connect with these people anymore, because I have shelled myself away so hard.” The album ends in a philosophical place on the closing, titular track, “Are We All Angels,” asking questions like, “Is this all there is?” and ultimately putting it on the listener to decide. “It’s about the personal struggle between good and evil. It doesn’t matter how ‘good’ or ‘bad’ you are, there are systems that will try to rewrite your narrative no matter what you actually do,” explains Moss, noting that punctuation on “Are We All Angels” has been deliberately omitted in an attempt to leave the statement open-ended. Are We All Angels is the highly anticipated follow-up to Scowl’s debut, 2021’s How Flowers Grow, a 16-minute primal scream over punishing riffs. But amidst the pounding chaos, it was the record’s sonic outlier, a cleaner interlude called “Seeds to Sow,” that, true to its name, planted the seed for what was to come for the band. “It kind of laid out this destiny for us, and I feel like now we’re fulfilling that,” says drummer Cole Gilbert. The band continued to expand their sound on 2023’s widely acclaimed Psychic Dance Routine EP, incorporating more pop hooks and favoring gentler singing over heavy screaming, paving the way for what would come next. Scowl’s growth got a huge boost from producer Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight, Code Orange, Balance and Composure), who broadened the band’s scope. “Will would say, ‘Everything you have here is correct, but it’s in the wrong place,’” says Gilbert. Moss adds: “Will really helped restructure a lot of the material. Some songs he tore apart to make more space for the really good hooks and choruses.” But even through this more eclectic approach, Scowl loses none of their edge, and still manages to convey the anger and frustration that lies underneath. They are deeply committed to carrying the ethos of punk and its sense of community. “Hardcore and punk have sculpted how we operate, what we want to do as a band, and how we participate,” says guitarist Malachi Greene. “At our core, we are a punk and a hardcore band, regardless of how the song shifts and changes.

Scowl is a band that sounds exactly like their name implies. Venomous, fierce, antagonistic. A sneer not to be crossed. Over the last five years, the Santa Cruz, California, band has firmly planted their flag in the hardcore scene with their vicious sound and ripping live show, sharing stages around the world with Circle Jerks, Touché Amoré, and Limp Bizkit, and filling slots at prominent festivals like Coachella, Sick New World, and Reading and Leeds. But with their new album, Are We All Angels (Dead Oceans), Scowl is aiming to funnel all that aggression through a more expansive version of themselves. Much of Are We All Angels grapples with Scowl’s newfound place in the hardcore scene, a community which has both embraced the band and made them something of a lightning rod over the past few years. Standout single “Not Hell, Not Heaven” outright rejects the narratives cast onto them by outsiders. “It’s about feeling victimized and being a victim, but not wanting to identify with being a victim,” explains vocalist Kat Moss. “It’s trying to find grace in the fact that I have my power. I live in my reality. You have to deal with whatever you're dealing with, and it ain’t working for me.” The band breaks from a sense of disassociation to seek deeper connections on “Fantasy.” “It’s incredibly challenging to try to balance my love for the scene while also feeling, in some spaces, extremely alienated and hated,” Moss says. “‘Fantasy’ is about feeling like I don't know how to connect with these people anymore, because I have shelled myself away so hard.” The album ends in a philosophical place on the closing, titular track, “Are We All Angels,” asking questions like, “Is this all there is?” and ultimately putting it on the listener to decide. “It’s about the personal struggle between good and evil. It doesn’t matter how ‘good’ or ‘bad’ you are, there are systems that will try to rewrite your narrative no matter what you actually do,” explains Moss, noting that punctuation on “Are We All Angels” has been deliberately omitted in an attempt to leave the statement open-ended. Are We All Angels is the highly anticipated follow-up to Scowl’s debut, 2021’s How Flowers Grow, a 16-minute primal scream over punishing riffs. But amidst the pounding chaos, it was the record’s sonic outlier, a cleaner interlude called “Seeds to Sow,” that, true to its name, planted the seed for what was to come for the band. “It kind of laid out this destiny for us, and I feel like now we’re fulfilling that,” says drummer Cole Gilbert. The band continued to expand their sound on 2023’s widely acclaimed Psychic Dance Routine EP, incorporating more pop hooks and favoring gentler singing over heavy screaming, paving the way for what would come next. Scowl’s growth got a huge boost from producer Will Yip (Turnstile, Title Fight, Code Orange, Balance and Composure), who broadened the band’s scope. “Will would say, ‘Everything you have here is correct, but it’s in the wrong place,’” says Gilbert. Moss adds: “Will really helped restructure a lot of the material. Some songs he tore apart to make more space for the really good hooks and choruses.” But even through this more eclectic approach, Scowl loses none of their edge, and still manages to convey the anger and frustration that lies underneath. They are deeply committed to carrying the ethos of punk and its sense of community. “Hardcore and punk have sculpted how we operate, what we want to do as a band, and how we participate,” says guitarist Malachi Greene. “At our core, we are a punk and a hardcore band, regardless of how the song shifts and changes.

Electronic music at its best offers a tantalising glimpse of the future, capturing the moment of conception where new worlds and genres are brought into being. Amsterdam-via-Berlin label Q1E2 (standing for “quality first, ego second”) embodies this expansive promise on their new various-artists compilation, a thrilling speed-run through the cosmic outer-reaches of contemporary club sounds that highlights the work of essential emerging producers from around the globe.

Milan producer Jack Bags opens the proceedings with “Natural Thing”, an astral deep-dance immersion with zero-gravity synthesizer pads and skeletal dub percussion that echo out through the void, sensuous vocal samples arriving like scattered transmissions from the stereo of some long-lost spacecraft. datSIM’s “Influx” races through kaleidoscopic sci-fi spacescapes, presenting a futuristic reimagining of UK bass sounds with dextrous organ melodics and widescreen atmospherics. Mike Riviera and Marco Ohboy bring us back down for a more earthly kind of ecstatic experience, cranking up the humidity and coaxing out the endorphins with the appropriately-titled “Euphoria” - a rugged, rave-adjacent heater that cleverly rearranges elements of classic house and garage into a decidedly modern club workout.

Elsewhere there’s a distinctive undercurrent of jazz flowing through the compilation, mapping out thrilling new evolutions of the music on and off the dancefloor. Dr Sud’s mesmeric rhythm excursion “Zaffiro” unfurls like the coils of a cosmic serpent, tessellating percussion and slinking subs tracing intricate beat geometries. A Soft Mist Production’s “Upside Down Rainbows” settles in for the afters with smoked-out soulful atmospherics, syrupy vocals curling and turning in the air like smoke vapors from the last vestiges of a still-lit cigarette. The Rabbit Hole’s “Tail Groove” closes out the proceedings with a surprising bait-and-switch - opening on lustrous lounge piano that could have been comped straight from a Bill Evans record, the track quickly gives way to interstellar bass ‘n’ breaks. The producer’s canny use of cello licks adds a grounded, organic feel, jazz futurism that recalls Photek or LTJ Bukem’s sampling experiments.

Taken together, the label’s new compilation provides a snapshot of a scene in constant evolution, taking the temperature of the modern electronic scene and finding it to be in rude health.

Written by Matthew Fidler

THE NIGHTINGALES veröffentlichen ihr erstes Studioalbum seit dem viel gelobten Vorgänger "The Last Laugh" von 2022. Ihr neues Album "The Awful Truth", das am 4. April bei Fire Records erscheint, ist eine moderne Music-Hall-Interpretation mit Popsongs und 80er Nostalgie. Gefeiert in dem exzellenten, von Stewart Lee erzählten Film "King Rocker of 2020", in dem der Vorhang für die Magie des "altgedienten Punk/Alternative-Rock-Freiwilligen" (The Quietus) Robert Lloyd gelüftet wurde, sind THE NIGHTINGALES so aktuell wie eh und je, denn sie veröffentlichen eine scharfes Statement-Album auf die moderne Zeit, die zu Recht als "The Awful Truth" betitelt wird. Das Eröffnungsstück "The New Emperor's New Clothes" ist ein beschwingter, mitreißender Ausbruch mit einem dröhnenden Klavier, das den Song einleitend begleitet und dann in wilder, improvisierter Popmusik endet. Die Band über den Track: "A stream of consciousness. Initially inspired by the tawdry but tractable trend of the vacant, voluntarily egged on by ego hungry politicians, pop stars, beauties, ballers, ingrowing haters and hard-nosed influencers. One hundred percent on point with the nonsense of neo populism and savagely edited to fit the music, it is far from silky, it is futile and silly. Real rock 'n' roll." In den frühen 80er Jahren genossen sie Kultstatus als Lieblinge der glaubwürdigen Musikszene und wurden von John Peel angepriesen, der über sie sagte: ,Ihre Auftritte werden dazu dienen, ihre Exzellenz zu bestätigen, wenn wir weit genug von den 1980er Jahren entfernt sind, um diese Zeit rational zu betrachten, und andere, unendlich viel bekanntere Bands als Scharlatane entlarvt werden." Ihre Zeit ist in der Tat gekommen. The Nightingales sind Robert Lloyd, Andreas Schmid (Faust) am Bass, Fliss Kitson (Violet Violet) am Schlagzeug und Gitarrist James Smith (Damo Suzuki). "They genuinely sound more vital than ever." Uncut - "One of rock's unsung heroes" Esquire - "Still stunningly relevant" London Evening Standard - "Lloyd is the most underestimated songwriter of his generation" The Independent

In the midst of recording his 12th album 'Why The Worry', wavering in his resolve to finish what he'd started, Seth Walker came to the realization: "This does not define me; this is not who I am forever; this is just a moment" . "Distance colors compositions over the years and each album is left as merely a reflection of its own period in time." The new album finds Walker reunited with old friends and familiar names. Once again Jano Rix steps behind the boards, co-producing the album with Seth and engineer Brook Sutton. In the producer's fifth outing he's become an invaluable sounding board, the kind that knows what's missing and, just as importantly, what needs to be taken away. Oliver Wood (The Wood Brothers) lends a pen to the title track and Seth's classically trained father Scott adds strings to "I'm Getting Ready," a song penned by Walker's contemporary Michael Kiwanuka. Mostly, though, the record was shepherded into shape by Walker's trio, rounded out by longtime confidants Rhees Williams (Guitar, Piano) and Mark Raudabaugh (Drums). The three let the studio guide them, entering without agenda, set straight by the title's mantra to stop worrying where they'd end up.

Fraufraulein, the San Francisco duo of Billy Gomberg and Andy Guthrie, are master world builders. Their work is immersive — it wraps around you like a warm coat, guiding you deep into a trance-like state. Time moves in slow circles, folds in on itself, and unspools like caught fishing line. It’s tempting to say Guthrie and Gomberg construct a new reality with their work, but I think they’re revealing the contours of familiar territory, gluing together a complicated mirror more than constructing a quotidian diorama. Their music reflects a truth that we all share in some way. It’s the pauses between thoughts, the little observations that color a day, the beauty of how others’ lives imbricate for brief moments before pulling apart completely. Fraufraulein’s music feels beamed from inner space, the soft parts of our consciousness that glow like a flashlight beneath fingertips.

It’s also tempting to call Greater Honeyguide, the duo’s new record — and first in four years — a tool for fostering presence. Each composition can serve as a meditative space, and observing the quietly unfurling layers of sound — a footfall and a quiet breath, scraps of overlapping melodies sung like notes to self, synthesizers droning lightly in the distance — can be a very calming, grounding experience. But I also love to let these pieces guide me through the sulci of my brain like a slot canyon, emerging at some long-forgotten memory or idea. Think of it as a passively-active experience, like looking out of a train window, watching the scenery blur together. At the end of the album’s 37 minutes, I feel transformed. Not necessarily different, just in tune with something else. Something beyond. Something within.

Ennio Morricone composed and arranged scores for more than 500 film and television productions, making him one of the most influential and best-selling film composers since the late 50s. The Legend of 1900 (Italian: La leggenda del pianista sull'oceano) is a 1998 Italian drama film directed by Giuseppe Tornatore and starring Tim Roth, Pruitt Taylor Vince, and Mélanie Thierry. The film is inspired by Novecento, a monologue by Alessandro Baricco. The Legend Of 1900 was nominated for a variety of international awards, winning several for its soundtrack, including a Golden Globe for Best Original Score - Motion Picture. This release includes the song “Lost Boys Calling” featuring Roger Waters & Eddie van Halen. Throughout his career, Morricone received an unprecedented amount of awards, including Grammys, Golden Globes and BAFTAs. Ennio Morricone has influenced many artists including Danger Mouse, Dire Straits, Muse, Metallica, Radiohead, Hans Zimmer, and many more. The Legend of 1900 is available as a limited edition of 2500 numbered copies on green coloured vinyl and contains an insert and is housed in a deluxe sleeve with silver foil finish.

Experience the long-awaited reissue of „The Guardian Of Forever“ the cult album from spacesynth pioneers Laserdance!

Originally released in 1995, this masterpiece proves once again why Laserdance remains one of the most influential acts in the genre. These tracks transport listeners to another dimension – with epic synth melodies and that unmistakable, spacey touch that made Laserdance legendary.

Let the iconic sounds of Laserdance take you on a journey through the endless cosmos!

With the 67th contest taking place in the UK in May, Eurovision fever is about to hit!!! – NOW That’s What I Call Eurovision Song Contest presents the ultimate collection of winners, memorable and enduring classics, and fan favourites. 84 Tracks celebrating an incredible legacy… and your essential Eurovision party playlist - NOW That’s What I Call Eurovision Song Contest. Formats : An 84 track 5-LP box set presented in a rigid slip case, with the 5 individual LP’s, including track by track annotations on the reverse of each cover that include facts about the song, artist, and result at the contest. The LPs are pressed on clear transparent vinyl. Limited Coloured 2LP set with 36 songs across– LP1 pressed on translucent red, and LP2 pressed on translucent blue vinyl. 4CD set with all 84 tracks. Marketing: TV advertising from day one of release to include major programming, terrestrial and satellite (actual program placement available closer to release date). Digital rollout of advert / advertising across YouTube and Facebook plus Online/Social marketing

Legendary producer Ant, best known for his work with Atmosphere, proves once again how irreplaceable he is with Collection of Sounds: Vol. 4. This latest release showcases the lifetime of dedication behind his craft, blending his unparalleled skills with a fresh, expanded vision. With previous volumes in the Collection of Sounds series, Ant has traced his musical evolution, spanning hip-hop, funk, reggae and more, all influenced and inspired by extensive travel dating back to his youth. Vol. 4 deepens this exploration, introducing rock-inspired elements—guitars that wail, gnaw, and groove—while maintaining his signature sound.

Despite these genre experiments, Vol. 4 is firmly grounded in hip-hop. The opening track, “Hearing In Dark Colors,” sets the tone, evoking long drives up desolate highways in the dead of night. Tracks like “Created With a Heavy Brush” and “Just Another Three A.M.” reveal a mastery of diverse soundscapes, while the triumphant “Day After 2010" takes listeners on an unexpected journey. As the album circles back to hip-hop on tracks like “A Pinch Brighter” and “Prelude Revisited,” it leaves listeners transformed, further solidifying Ant’s status as a visionary artist.

"BODIES marks a bold evolution in our ever-developing sound. HEROINE was defined by its meticulously crafted and tightly woven concept, but the weight of this careful construction sometimes overshadowed the energy of the music itself, leaving some listeners feeling disconnected. With BODIES, we have embraced a more immediate, unfiltered approach that feels like a lightning bolt, looking to capture the energy of “Thornhill right now.” The album thrives on spontaneity and freedom, foregoing rigid concepts in favor of pure, in-your-face authenticity. It’s less about delivering a carefully constructed narrative and more about creating a visceral, open-ended experience. BODIES serves as a sonic moodboard—a collection of feelings and vibes—intentionally left open to interpretation. It has an upbeat and almost celebratory, party energy at times, but also retains all the emotion and intensity Thornhill are known for, making it our heaviest and most explosive work to date. With BODIES, we invite listeners to connect on their own terms. It’s raw, personal, and unapologetically immediate—a record that thrives in the moment, capturing our band at our most authentic and free."

Barker's debutalbum Utility (on Berghain's Ostgut Ton label) was something of a sensation in the world of electronic music when it was released. Utility made numerous Best of 2019 year's end lists, including Pitchfork (8,2 review), The Quietus, DJ Mag, Resident Advisor (Recommends) and others. It also earned title of Mixmag's Album of The Year 2019. Now its finally time for the follow-up Stochastic Drift on Smalltown Supersound. And where Barker on Utility was "using ambient materials to remake techno" as Pitchfork's Philip Sherburne wrote, he takes this approach even further here creating - as the title suggests - a dreamy stochastic drift and beautiful freeform float.

Barker's debutalbum Utility (on Berghain's Ostgut Ton label) was something of a sensation in the world of electronic music when it was released. Utility made numerous Best of 2019 year's end lists, including Pitchfork (8,2 review), The Quietus, DJ Mag, Resident Advisor (Recommends) and others. It also earned title of Mixmag's Album of The Year 2019. Now its finally time for the follow-up Stochastic Drift on Smalltown Supersound. And where Barker on Utility was "using ambient materials to remake techno" as Pitchfork's Philip Sherburne wrote, he takes this approach even further here creating - as the title suggests - a dreamy stochastic drift and beautiful freeform float.

Stille kann entweder Ruhe oder Stagnation bedeuten. Walt McClements hat sich mit diesen gegensätzlichen Kräften auseinandergesetzt, um "On a Painted Ocean" zu realisieren: eine Suite von Akkordeon und Pfeifenorgel geleiteten Stücken, die einen stetigen Kurs verfolgen, anschwellen und sich mit einer Flut von zarten Emotionen erweitern. Der Komponist und Multiinstrumentalist hat den Titel seines zweiten Albums von Samuel Taylor Coleridges berühmtem Epos "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" und dessen Beschreibung eines Bootes, das auf See feststeckt ("As idle as a painted ship / Upon a painted Ocean"). Es ist ein Eindruck, der sowohl den Prozess als auch das Produkt von McClements' Western Vinyl Veröffentlichung widerspiegelt, vom sanften Entfalten eines rauen Schilfrohrtons im Opener ,A Painted Ship" bis hin zum düsteren, mit Effekten beladenen Drone von "Washed Up" und dem abschließenden Flattern und Signalstörungen, die sich in ,Clattering" geräuschvoll zu triumphaler Euphorie erheben. "On a Painted Ocean" ist das Ergebnis eines Zusammenflusses von Ereignissen und Inspirationen, die sich verändert haben wie das Wetter selbst. Die ersten Skizzen begannen mit dem unerwarteten Zugang zu einer Kirchenorgel in Pasadena im Jahr 2022, bevor diese Skizzen zur Seite gelegt wurden, um sich auf ein arbeitsreiches Jahr als Mitglied der Live-Band von Weyes Blood vorzubereiten. Die Monate im Tourbus mit begrenzten Instrumenten veranlassten McClements dazu, den Klang seines bearbeiteten Akkordeons auf dem Synthesizer nachzubilden, und überlagerte ihn mit den Orgelstücken. Als dieser Zyklus zu Ende ging, war McClements begierig darauf die Platte zu beenden, war sich aber nicht sicher, wie er den Faden wieder aufnehmen sollte. Festgefahren in der Flaute einer kreativen Blockade, nahm McClements seine Spuren von bearbeiteten Akkordeons und Synthesizern, Pfeifenorgel und Melodica, Zungen und Pfeifen, die durch Pedale und Computer laufen, in seine ehemalige Heimat New Orleans zum Karneval mit. Nachdem er ein Jahrzehnt in der Stadt in Louisiana gelebt hatte, bevor er nach Los Angeles zog, fand McClements in einer der ekstatischsten und bedeutungsvollsten Zeiten des Jahres neue Inspiration. Das Ethos der Kunst um der Gemeinschaft willen und die Praktiken der Fürsorge inspirierten ihn den Rat seiner Musikerkollegin und Mentorin Rachika Nayar zu befolgen und Mitstreiter einzubeziehen, darunter auch Nayar selbst, die eine zusätzliche Produktion zu ,Sirens" beisteuert. Aurora Nealand, eine alte Freundin und ehemalige Bandkollegin, antwortete ebenfalls auf den Ruf und fügte Saxophon zu den unruhigen Gewässern von ,Cloud Prints" und ,Parade" hinzu. Der letztgenannte Track ist der klangliche und konzeptionelle Höhepunkt auf McClements' Reise zur Verwirklichung von "On a Painted Ocean", wo eine steigende Tonhöhe und aufgewühlte Segel auf eine Feldaufnahme von Community Care treffen. Ein Verdienst von starken Beziehungen und gegenseitiger Unterstützung, das Album zeichnet als eine persönliche Pilgerreise auf - die Anpassung an die Gezeiten und die Erinnerung daran, dass die Gemeinschaft helfen kann, wenn man sich auf dem Meer festgefahren fühlt.

Babe Rainbow's 'Slipper Imp and Shakaerator' ist ein sonnendurchflutetes Fest des psychedelischen Acid-Pop, durchdrungen von der entspannten Magie der australischen Goldküste. Das Album ist eine Rückkehr zu den Wurzeln der Band und verbindet nostalgische Riffs, schimmernden 80er-Jahre-Funk, fließende Rhythmen und psychedelische Jams zu einem mühelos fröhlichen Album, das wild und strahlend ist und geteilt werden will.