Suche:the gestures

Following nearly 20 years of working together as a trio, and numerous cross-collaborations in different configuration between them, Ideologic Organ presents Placelessness, the debut full-length by Chris Abrahams, Oren Ambarchi, and Robbie Avenaim, comprising two long-form works at juncture of ambient music, minimalism, rigorous experimentalism and improvisation, and machine music. Having carved distinct pathways across a diverse number of musical idioms for decades, Chris Abrahams, Oren Ambarchi, and Robbie Avenaim are each, respectively, among the most noteworthy and groundbreaking figures to have emerged from Australia's thriving experimental music scene. Ambarchi and Avenaim first encountered Abrahams when seeing the Necks - the project that has served as the primary vehicle for his singular approach to the piano since its founding in 1987 - together during the late 1980s, not long after having met in Sydney's underground music community. The pair's collaborations date back more than 35 years, criss-crossing Ambarchi's pioneering solo and ensemble work for guitar and Avenaim's visionary efforts for SARPS (Semi Automated Robotic Percussion System), robotic and kinetic extensions to his drum kit. In 2004, fate brought the three together in a trio performance at the What Is Music? Festival, the annual touring showcase of experimental music founded and run by Ambarchi and Avenaim between 1994-2012. For the nearly two decades since, Abrahams, Ambarchi, and Avenaim have intermittently reformed in exclusively live contexts, in Australia and abroad, cultivating and refining the fertile ground first tilled in that early meeting. Placelessness is the first album to present this remarkable trio's efforts in recorded form. Placelessness is the joining of three highly individualised streams, working in perfect harmony; the point at which friendship, mutual respect, and decades of creative exploration produce a singular spectrum of sound. Featuring Abrahams on piano, Ambarchi on guitar, and Avenaim on drums, the album's two sides draw on each artist's enduring dedication to long-form composition. Its two pieces, Placelessness I and Placelessness II, initially began as a single, 40 minute work, before being divided and reworked into distinct, complimentary gestures for the corresponding sides of the LP. Beginning with restrained clusters of reverberant piano tones, Placelessness I progresses at an almost glacial pace, with Abrahams' interventions increasing met by sparse responses, darting within vast ambiences, on guitar and percussion by Ambarchi and Avenaim. Remarkably conversational within its convergences of tonal, rhythmic, and textural abstraction, over the work's duration a progressive sense of tension unfurls and contracts, refusing release, as each of the ensemble's members contribute to an increasingly tangled sense of density at its resolve. While an entirely autonomous work, Placelessness II rapidly realises a distillation of the energy hinted at across the length of its predecessor. Following a luring passage of harmonious calm, Abrahams' launches into shimmering lines of repeating arpeggios, complimented at each escalation of tempo by Avenaim's machine gun fire percussion work and Ambarchi's masterful delivery of tonality and texture, as the trio collectively generate dense sheets of pointillistic ambience within which individual identity is almost lost, before slowly unspooling into unexpected abstractions and dissonances that deftly intervene with the work's inner logic and calm. What could easily be termed a maximalist take on Minimalism, Placelessness is a masterstroke of contemporary, real time composition, that blurs the boundaries between ambient music, experimentalism, free improvisation, and machine music. Drawing on Chris Abrahams, Oren Ambarchi, and Robbie Avenaim's decades of respective solo and collaborative practice, and the culmination of nearly twenty years of working together as a trio, it's two durational pieces - Placelessness I and Placelessness II - take form with a startling sense of effortlessness and grace, neither shying away from explicit beauty or rigorously tension within their forms.

You can't get Deeper if you're standing still. That's intentional, says the Chicago quartet's Nic Gohl. "Does it feel good when you're listening to this song? Does your body want to move with it?" These are the questions he asked himself as he and bandmates Shiraz Bhatti, Drew McBride, and Kevin Fairbairn were writing and recording Careful!, their third record and Sub Pop debut. "I wanted these to be interesting songs, but in a way where a two-year-old would vibe out to it," Gohl adds.

"It's pop music, basically." That "basically" qualifier is working pretty hard, as fans of 2020's Auto-Pain might suppose. On Careful!, they're not reimagining their sound so much as testing its limits. If you want to, you can hear echoes of David Bowie's Low in the snapping rhythm and gray-sky synths of "Tele," but you can also hear a bit of Auto-Pain in the nailed-in, stippling lines being spit out by Bhatti's drum programming and McBride's synthesizer.

"Fame" seems to stumble together and nearly fall apart, the dialed-up noise making the beat feel maniacal and a little invincible, the whole thing a series of short, snipped, autonomous gestures that are by now Deeper's trademark. "Build a Bridge" pushes in the opposite direction, using a prickly guitar line to launch into big, smeary art-pop, its emotional palette clear, well-defined, and easy to latch onto.

On "Sub," Gohl sings above and below the melody like Ian McCulloch, bellowing and wondering and ruminating and rounding into swaggering confidence that the band rises to meet. It's festival headliner music that still feels like it was written in a garage. That fraternal interdependence is near the center of Deeper's music. The musical and lyrical devotion to mutuality makes this restlessly curious, stylistically broad album feels like the most coherent portrait of who Deeper is. Or, as McBride ultimately frames it, "Careful! is about looking out for one another."

You can't get Deeper if you're standing still. That's intentional, says the Chicago quartet's Nic Gohl. "Does it feel good when you're listening to this song? Does your body want to move with it?" These are the questions he asked himself as he and bandmates Shiraz Bhatti, Drew McBride, and Kevin Fairbairn were writing and recording Careful!, their third record and Sub Pop debut. "I wanted these to be interesting songs, but in a way where a two-year-old would vibe out to it," Gohl adds.

"It's pop music, basically." That "basically" qualifier is working pretty hard, as fans of 2020's Auto-Pain might suppose. On Careful!, they're not reimagining their sound so much as testing its limits. If you want to, you can hear echoes of David Bowie's Low in the snapping rhythm and gray-sky synths of "Tele," but you can also hear a bit of Auto-Pain in the nailed-in, stippling lines being spit out by Bhatti's drum programming and McBride's synthesizer.

"Fame" seems to stumble together and nearly fall apart, the dialed-up noise making the beat feel maniacal and a little invincible, the whole thing a series of short, snipped, autonomous gestures that are by now Deeper's trademark. "Build a Bridge" pushes in the opposite direction, using a prickly guitar line to launch into big, smeary art-pop, its emotional palette clear, well-defined, and easy to latch onto.

On "Sub," Gohl sings above and below the melody like Ian McCulloch, bellowing and wondering and ruminating and rounding into swaggering confidence that the band rises to meet. It's festival headliner music that still feels like it was written in a garage. That fraternal interdependence is near the center of Deeper's music. The musical and lyrical devotion to mutuality makes this restlessly curious, stylistically broad album feels like the most coherent portrait of who Deeper is. Or, as McBride ultimately frames it, "Careful! is about looking out for one another."

Selected Songs 1997-2003 compiles some of the finest moments in the recording history of Hydroplane, the Melbourne-based indie-pop three-piece that operated alongside The Cat’s Miaow through the second half of the nineties. It’s the third release in what feels, now, like a loosely planned series by World Of Echo, documenting the music made by this group of friends in Melbourne sharehouses (The Cat’s Miaow’s Songs ’94-’98, 2022), or in the case of The Shapiros (Gone By Fall, 2023), while traversing the International Pop Underground.

Hydroplane would be familiar to anyone already following these breadcrumb trails – Andrew Withycombe, Bart Cummings and Kerrie Bolton were the group’s core, all members of The Cat’s Miaow. With Cat’s Miaow drummer Cameron Smith itinerant, having moved to London, the trio used this opportunity to expand their music. It’s a subtle, but important shift. If The Cat’s Miaow was about the perfect, minimalist, two-minute pop song, Hydroplane’s music was far more open-ended, embracing the loops and drones, sampled house-y shuffle beats, the burbling of a Roland Jupiter-4 synth, all of which the trio joined, effortlessly, to their endless capacity for moving, elegant melodicism.

They may have only planned to release one seven-inch single, but the sound Hydroplane created was so bewitching, so compelling, that the project’s lifespan ran for around half a decade, and they ended up releasing three albums, including a self-titled debut recently reissued by Efficient Space, and seven singles. There are all kinds of compelling things happening in the music compiled here – the hazy repetition of the gentler side of Krautrock is in here, somewhere, which also suggests Stereolab at their most intimate and disarmed; the gently drifting guitars, gauzy and oneiric, set the songs adrift and floating, each one lost in its own imagined, distracted world. Songs like “The Love You Bring” set indistinct tonal floats across dance rhythms, in a way not quite heard since My Bloody Valentine’s “Instrumental” – but with the added gift of Bolton’s gorgeous voice.

This loose coalition with dance music, and the quiet experimentalism at the heart of Hydroplane, also gestures towards peers like Hood, Acetate Zero and Other People’s Children, and releases on renegade labels like Wurlitzer Jukebox and Enraptured. Like those groups and labels, The Cat’s Miaow were reconciling independent pop music’s past – sweet melody and melancholy, chiming and droning guitars – with the futures promised by DIY electronics and nascent digitalia, the interface of indie and IDM that led to some of the underground’s most blissful, texturally swoonsome music. All that is here, but also, the poise of the melodies is pure Cat’s Miaow, though, with Bolton’s voice sailing, pacifically, over some of the most pared-down, gorgeous music made during their decade.

It was a time, too, when such music could make waves – “We Crossed The Atlantic”, one of their early singles, was picked up by John Peel, who played it repeatedly on his legendary radio show, the song reaching #13 on his 1997 Festive 50. That the song itself was a cover of a tune by 1960s Australian beatnik-pop-poet Pip Proud felt even more perfect – a group of outsiders paying tribute to another outsider, played on the radio one of the few broadcasters brave and human enough to take a chance on this music. But it was a time where everything was up for grabs, and genres were flowing into each other: folk songs went drone; indie re-discovered noise; ambient pop floated, again, out onto the dancefloor. And while they may have been sequestered away in Melbourne, Australia, Hydroplane felt core to that scene, a quietly driving force.

Compiling material from across their brief but mercurial career, this double album perfectly captures the magic and mystery of Hydroplane’s dreamlike, perfect pop songs.

Conceived as a means to get out of a songwriting rut, When We Were Younger, is an EP centered around the concept of nostalgia. This was partly motivated by grentperez’s desire to stave off cynicism and embrace the carefree creativity of childhood. When We Were Younger fuses the signifiers of a wide variety of nostalgic sounds: his beloved bossa nova, yes, but also sprightly Philadelphia soul, the swelling strings of golden-era Hollywood, even the soundtracks and general vibe of 90s romcoms. Different musical gestures and lyrics stimulating long-dormant memories while simultaneously providing a soundtrack for new ones.

One of Japan’s most riveting artists follows that KAKUHAN mindmelt from last year (our number 5 album, 2022) with an engrossing suite of wild field recordings and polymetric percussion featuring a whole raft of additional players weaving drums, wind and brass instruments, cello and electronics into a bewildering Acousmatic matrix. Highly recommended listening if you’re into Marginal Consort, Beatrice Dillon, Will Guthrie, Mark Fell, François Bayle.

Having made his mark on these pages over the last few years with appearances as part of Japan’s cult entities Goat and YPY, Koshiro Hino’s turn last year as KAKUHAN took things to a whole other level with an album that felt like some alchemical mix of elements borrowed from Autechre, Photek, Arthur Russell and Mica Levi - a complete stylistic futureshock that worked as well in the club as it did fuelling extended flights of the imagination.

For 2023, Hino takes us into a completely different headspace, assembling a cast of 11 players - the mighty Joe Talia and KAKUHAN’s other half Yuki Nakagawa among them - for a suite of untamed field recordings, clanging percussion, brass and synthesis that are about as far removed from the diaristic ambient de jour as you could possibly imagine. Instead, the ensemble conjure vibrant sound ecologies teeming with detail, mirroring the natural world and communal traditions to form shapeshifting, organismic soundworlds.

‘Geist II’ was written for 20 speakers, referencing François Bayle’s acousmatic music and David Tudor’s electro-acoustic environments. It paints a richly detailed scene of a nocturnal rainforest, replete with avian hoots and a skin-crawling patina of insectoid chatter that moves around the soundfield, stealthily growing in density with a more “musical” presence of super low end drone and drums converging form the peripheries to a ritualistic climax. In the second part, focus shifts to remarkably pure percussion-like tropical rain, invaded by swarms of scuttling and winged invertebrates that give way to a water music-like polymetric slosh, resolving to ringing tones and more mellifluous gestures that hark back to GRM’s most poetic, romantic urges.

It's a deeply psychedelic experience that harmonises tiny electronic fluctuations with bird calls and scraped, resonant drones that phase in-and-out of the mix. It's sound you can practically chew, and another crucial despatch from the contemporary Japanese avant-garde.

Remotely Together introduces new works by claire rousay & Morita Vargas, Maria Chavez & Valentina Magaletti, and KMRU, all commissioned through remote residencies for Rewire’s 2021 - online edition. In the midst of COVID-19 lockdowns, Rewire initiated these collaborations between disparate artists from all over the world, connecting them remotely to explore new creative practices both online and in isolation. The audiovisual results of these residencies were presented during the online edition of the 2021 festival. Newly edited versions of a selection of these performances have now been compiled for this release.

Featuring an enthralling mix of ambient, noise, field recording, and experimental sound art, the scene of Remotely Together is set by the crunching sounds of footsteps over a grassy environment on atmospheric opener Humo De Margatina Dulce, a collaborative song between North American percussionist and improviser claire rousay and Argentinian vocalist Morita Vargas. rousay’s textural mix of field recordings, everyday sounds, and deep electronics coalesce with Vargas’s ethereal vocals, paving the way for compelling music that gradually draws its listeners deeper into its mysterious soundworld.

Meanwhile, New York–based turntablist Maria Chavez and celebrated Italian percussionist Valentina Magaletti collaborate on Particle, featuring hypnotic textures and dreamlike percussion that seems to sonically propel itself forward, slowly expanding into a rich and layered work of stretched-out free jazz.

During his online residency, Kenyan sound artist KMRU teamed up with Dutch filmmaker Donna Verheijden. MicroVerse showcases his evocative mixing of field recordings, entrancing noise, and improvisation, resulting in a piece where the seemingly gentle sounds of the natural world begin to blend in with the artificial muck of droning noise.

Peruvian-born and Amsterdam-based graphic designer Jonathan Castro Alejos has designed the artwork of Remotely Together. It was thought of as a sculptural documentation of the unnoticed urban gestures between Amsterdam and Lima during the pandemic – further reinforcing the relationship between isolation and interconnectivity explored during the remote residencies of Rewire.

Combining soft sunshine-pop harmonies with complex, acid-tinged
arrangements, this '69 concept album features the work of ex-Gestures
member Dale Menten! The-album-turned-rock-opera became a huge hit,
full of ethereal ballads, mind-bending solos and enough hammond organ
that'll leave your head spinning

Like a winding system of trails and paths cutting through a digital forest-scape, M. Sage's Paradise Crick is shaped by time. Full of wonder and charm, designed patiently and from a rich, curious mulch of synthesized and acoustic sound, the versatile American artist and magic realist's new suite of music is an imaginary destination and a pastoral fantasy that envisions the natural and fabricated worlds as one. Matthew Sage is a musician, intermedia artist, recording engineer and producer, publisher, teacher, partner, and parent. Assembling a sprawling and idiosyncratic catalog of experimental studio music between Colorado and Chicago since the early 2010s, recent highlights include The Wind of Things (Geographic North, 2021), an ensemble-recorded expression of bow-splashed nostalgia, and the four seasonal albums of Fuubutsushi, the improvisatory ambient jazz quartet he formed with friends from afar in 2020. Sage renders projects with nuanced velocity and a completist sensibility _ when it's finished, it's done _ which is what makes Paradise Crick, his debut for RVNG Intl., a compelling outlier. Sage first staked his tent in Crick's conceptual campground five years ago from his home studio in Chicago (he's since returned to Colorado, home to the mountains and prairies often personified in his work). He had just read Richard Brautigan's Trout Fishing in America, a kaleidoscopic reflection of pastoral America's shifting identity by way of magical fishing sojourns. Inspired by that feeling, of getting lost but finding oneself in through the outdoors, he amassed over seventy demos documenting a fictional soundtrack for camping. Pull up to this park, and the sign might read, "Welcome to Paradise Crick. Fire Danger Is Low." The sequence, pruned down to thirteen tracks, courses the dewy mornings, afternoon hikes, and firelit nights of a weekend expedition. While Sage is not a filmmaker, he views the method of making this album as a similar form of world-building via structure, narrative, formal elements, and editorial refinement. Contrasted with his collaborative craft, here he is a sole auteur reclined in total autonomy, able to improvise scenes and implement special effects at will. A parallel precedent for such unchecked imagination in the M. Sage canon is A Singular Continent, his 2014 album that tilted its compass to a faraway land. Where Continent built its world layering samples as composition, Paradise Crick deploys a balance of accessible song structures with experimental instrumentation and sound design. Speckled with harmonica, autoharp, chimes, penny whistle, voice, hand percussion, and other mysteries, Crick's texture is treated as a sensorial adventure; the swamps gurgle, the lakes glisten, and the valleys breathe in robust HD. The rhythms are loose and buoyant, bursting with a few `kick and snare' moments shaped by Sage's lifelong love for drumming and headphone prone electronic music. Crick bumps more than most anything he's done before; crackling static pulses and lush vibrations reveal an intrinsic groove, a hidden beat map. In the landscapes of Paradise Crick, science and magic co-exist, 5k boulders and midi frogs share the frame with real-life memories of Midwest camping trips and the desire to feel extra human in a digitized space. Sage strived for "nature in the holodeck" but couldn't help leaving fingerprints in the simulation, and it's these traces of spirit and character that give Paradise Crick its strange allure. The album's bubbling sense of play, melody, and timbre takes cues from left-field electronic lineage; synth pioneers like Tomita and Raymond Scott up through the more expressive pop tendencies of Woo, Stereolab and the Cocteau Twins, and into contemporary composers like Sam Prekop. The album's vocabulary is uncomplicated; the gestures are sweet and inviting, intended to lull the listener. As much as Sage continues to be an experimentalist by nature in his work, with Paradise Crick, he spins a narrative. Not necessarily a concept album, but rather an invitation to take off for a weekend. That's the modus operandi down here in the Crick, we stretch out. M. Sage's Paradise Crick will be released May 26, 2023 in LP, CD, and digital editions. A portion of the proceeds from this release will benefit Earthjustice, the premier nonprofit public interest environmental law organization.

"Westerman — the London-born, Athens-based pop maverick — has returned with his new album, ‘An Inbuilt Fault’.

The album's nine songs took shape throughout the depths of the pandemic and soundtrack Westerman’s reckoning with two years of intense isolation, loneliness, heartbreak, and dread. The phrase “an inbuilt fault” itself is an examination of the inherent and innate flaws that make us human – a visceral response to Westerman’s disillusionment with AI and social media during this time period.

Through it all, the album is visceral and live-sounding, full of the sound of breath and the idiosyncratic gestures of acoustic instruments. It creates a spatial feeling, sounding like musicians assembled in a room, passing evolving ideas back and forth. Co-produced with producer and percussionist James Krivchenia (Big Thief), and featuring an extended crew of Los Angeles associates, 'An Inbuilt Fault' exhibits music that is heavier and more sonically daring than Westerman’s previous releases, and it is the most adventurous and unselfconscious songwriting of Will Westerman’s career.

‘An Inbuilt Fault’ follows Westerman’s acclaimed 2020 debut ‘Your Hero Is Not Dead,’ a graceful and self-reflective project which earned him a spot as one of the most talked about new artists of the year thanks to profiles from Pitchfork (‘Rising’), Stereogum (‘Artist To Watch’), and Rolling Stone (‘Artist You Need To Know’)."

New York painter and musician exploratory industrialist Tor Lundvall initially envisioned his 14th album, Beautiful Illusions, as an entirely instrumental affair, "inspired by memories of sitting in a church or cathedral watching the shifting sunlight through stained glass." Although he ultimately chose to wreath the majority of the tracks with hushed, poetic vocals, his original muse still resonates. These are certainly songs of shadowplay and vaulted skies, the quiet grandeur of dusk deepening on the horizon. Lundvall characterizes the lyrical subject matter, too, in ways both specific and surreal, exploring "the doubts, the anxieties and even the bleak fantasies the mind spirals into during moments of isolation, separation and distance." Tricks of the eye, mind, and ear, magnified by silence and the looming long winter. Shivering pulses and muted bass lines tread the twilight while icicle synths and wiry guitar map the melody until the voice enters, narrating oblique moods of essence and absence, tenderness and truth. Glimpses of dark humor flicker in the wordplay but the greater sonic landscape is one of falling leaves and failing light, small gestures rendered as revelation, cloaked in reverb and spatial fog. Lundvall's mastery of nuance and negative space continues to heighten, whispered brushstrokes of the invisible and the unsaid, what lies beneath and what lies beyond: "Behind the shields and false fronts is usually a sadness. The heartbreaking reflections of what might have been."

In his South London flat, James Howard gestures apologetically at the mess of books, lined A4 paper and stationary at his desk. “I butcher poetry for a living,” he explains, “It isn’t a pretty job, but someone has to do it.” This being 2022, every emerging musician needs a side-hustle to keep the house warm. In the daytime, our host writes study guides to help teachers teach poetry to pupils who would rather be elsewhere. “I make sure the poems are clinically dead by the time they reach the schools.”
An explanation punctuated by a mildly contrite shrug makes you want to lean forward and remind Howard about some of the stuff other people are doing for a living. And, more to the point, aren’t doing. Which brings us to the real matter at hand. For Howard, foregrounding his own songs hasn’t always come naturally. An enthusiastic collaborator, he made two well-received albums with his previous band Blue House and played with the likes of Rozi Plain, Alabaster dePlume and his wife Dana Gavanski, as well as running his own music night with Sam Tyler in London, Incredible Society. It’s important to mention these creative hook-ups because Howard feels that, in one way or another, they all helped to give form and shape to the lilting lunar lullabies that would ultimately comprise his ravishing solo debut Peek-A-Boo. 

Steve Gunn and David Moore's Let the Moon be a Planet is a volume of improvisatory exchanges between classical guitar and piano, and a meeting place where two artists become acquainted through instrumental dialogue without a single expectation distracting them from the joy and open field possibility of collaboration. A project enveloped by an aura of reciprocity, Let the Moon Be a Planet unfolded from an invitation to connect between two New York-based musicians who admired each other's work but had never intersected: guitarist and songwriter Steve Gunn, whose solo, duo, and ensemble recordings represent milestones of contemporary guitar-guided material, and pianist and composer David Moore, acclaimed for his minimalist ensemble music as the leader of Bing & Ruth. The exchange began remotely as Gunn and Moore responded to one another's solo improvisations, embarking on a synergistic progression of deep listening and connection through musical conversation. "We were both fans of each other's music and this was a chance to try a different process which was much more open," says Moore. "It felt like something I needed personally as an artist, to not be so controlling over the final output, and to truly collaborate with somebody else." Similarly for Gunn, who was exploring new pastures and passages in classical guitar when the dialogue began, the project was an invitation for pure conversation and exchange, creating space for him to revisit foundational forms with his playing: "I was trying to break out of what I was doing, to have something that just pulled away all the elements of usual structured things." Let the Moon Be a Planet intertwines the trajectories of two musicians acclaimed for pushing the boundaries of their instruments, unified by a shift away from what they recall as more "detail-oriented" approaches to composition. Fueled by the magnetism of their call and response exercise, Gunn and Moore set out on a nomadic songwriting venture without an intended destination. "We didn't know it was going to be an album," Gunn explains. "There was never pressure on us to complete or make something. It was interesting to start realizing that this could be an album and to take a step back_ to arrive at a project after the fact." Calibrating their focus to connect with a spectrum of inner and external emotional realities, the duo found their way into a world where the most subtle of gestures can eternally flow. Let the Moon be a Planet is an ode to experimentation over outcome; it holds a candle light to the corners of introspection and captures the patterns that flicker within. Cast across the compositions of the album is a gritty, filmic grain _ a quality that emerged partially from recording "without the greatest microphones" or their usual studio environments. For both artists, this lo-fi sensitivity felt integral to the record and its production, and they worked closely with engineer Nick Principe to preserve its otherworldly haze in the final mixes. Across the record's eight compositions, the rippling impulses of Gunn and Moore's inner worlds converge in the spirit of two strangers wandering the same path, engaged in a daydream state of natural back and forth. Melodic tableaux arise, drift and disperse across serene open spaces, painted in earthy hues of nylon string and balmy, undulating keys _ side by side, the duo converse in tessellating motifs and gestures of lucid introspection, cultivated by a shared desire for intuitive play. "This project was such a simple idea," says Gunn. "It got down to the very core of where I am or where I was, and where I'm trying to be as a musician. Making this record became a very beneficial ritual for me, almost a meditative process." As Moore recalls, "Our only motivation for making these tracks was that it felt good to make them and there was nothing else behind it_ I don't know that I've ever made a record that came about so naturally." While Let the Moon Be a Planet was envisioned through a deeply collaborative process, it uncovered a path for Gunn and Moore to respectively return home as musicians. Imbued with the forces of interconnection and balance, the record is an exploration of creative synergy while following the currents of inner experience _ of looking outwards to arrive at one's natural self. Steve Gunn and David Moore's Let the Moon Be a Planet will be released March 31, 2023 in LP, CD, and digital editions. The album represents the first volume of Reflections, a new series of contemporary collaborations orchestrated by RVNG Intl. A portion of the proceeds from this release will benefit St. John's Bread and Life, whose mission is to respect the dignity and rights of all persons by ensuring access to healthy, nutritious food and comprehensive human services resulting in self-sufficiency and stability.

Dismantling the acoustic to feed the electronic, Editions Mego presents Telepath, the new album by Material Object. Born out of a single improvised recording session with a lone Violinist, Telepath is a startling album of future electronic music, resulting in an LP of unique and timeless tracks that reimagine a classic sound for an endless future.

Boldly departing from his previous canon of largely 'ambient' work, Material Object's Telepath renders itself out as something much stranger, something more spacious, more subtle and gradual. Moments of bouncing minimalism meet moirés of delayed pure tones phasing in and out of resolution, giving way to a series of strobing foreground gestures arranged and offset in disorienting landscapes which scatter themselves asymmetrically amongst crystal pools of reverb.

Revelling in the creative dismemberment of the original source material, Material Object slowly and patiently induces the violin to undergo every category of torsion, pressure and rupture. Its vivid acoustic qualities pass over and across the event horizon of the digital domain. Shattering then crystallising into points and coordinates, intersections, disjunctions, planes and reverberant figures. An uncanny geometry perceived only between the ears, at once dissolving and reconstructing itself.

Not to be missed here is the essential, but bonus only, add-on (available with all Bandcamp purchases) "Auxiliary Apparition", a hallucinatory expanse that traverses the same liminal geography as the LP proper but as some refracted, ghostly counterpoint. More nocturnal, overpowering phantasms looming out of a droning noise floor before fading away. A hypnotic and time-dilated recapitulation of what's gone before as if looking back from beyond a mirror. When it finally resolves in the closing moments and returns you home, you realise you haven't really moved at all.

Equally abstract, haunting and daring, Material Object’s Telepath is a singular work that abandons all notions of genre. Erupting with a tension of opposites that unfolds as a truly unique story, told in four dimensions and draped in deafening colour.

It's hard not to see the hype around BRUIT= as the next big thing in post-rock. While their 2018 EP Monolith provided a promising indication of their son- ic ambition, it was their debut LP The Machine is Burning and Now Everyone Knows It Could Happen Again which really set off the trig- ger. Receiving rave reviews around the globe and selling out the first vinyl pressing of 3.000 copies within less than a year, BRUIT= have no need to prove themselves beyond what they have already achieved so far. Consisting of three musical meditations, Apologie du Temps Perdu Eng. apology for time wasted sees BRUIT= cut down on their massive sound in favour of a more subtle contem- plation. In contrast with their recent streaming single «Parasite (The Boycott Manifesto)» with its direct message for Spotify CEO Daniel Ek and his listeners, the band have seemingly forgone their activist agenda paring back the grand thematic gestures and poignant spoken-word excerpts. Instead, BRUIT= let the music do the talking, reaching an activism which is more visceral, but all the more personal. "This ambient EP is conceived as a comma between our first album and the next one," explains bass player & violinist Cle'ment Libes about the purpose of this record. "It is an invitation to lose time, a parenthesis in the frantic race of our society." Existing somewhere between the grand genius of soundtrack composers like Hans Zim- mer and Ramin Djawadi, and the experimental prowess of fringe pop artists like Radio- head and Darkside, Apologie du Temps Perdu reveals the hidden power of film scores. We all know that moment in which we cease to be conscious of the musical accompani- ment and we become truly absorbed in the story. The music becomes part of scenery, and in this moment we lose track of time. Talking of his own work Ramin Djawadi (Game of Thrones, Westworld) notes: "If you were to turn the picture off, there is a story there and a connection to the characters and the plots." In the same way, through the sweeping strings of «La Sagesse de Nos Ai"eux», the ethereal tape loops of «Re^veur Lucide» and the undu- lating synths of «Les Temps Perdus», worlds are created to get lost in, and we experience the full power of music with our eyes and ears open. RIYL Hans Zimmer, Nils Frahm, Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Balmorhea, Max Richter, Olafur Arnalds, A Silver Mount Zion, Boards Of Canada

2023 Repress

NOISIA'S EAGERLY ANTICIPATED DEBUT LP 'SPLIT THE ATOM' RELEASED APRIL 5TH

2023 Repress On Vertigo Days, the first album in seven years for The Notwist, one of Germany’s most iconic independent groups are alive to the possibilities of the moment. Their music has long been open-minded and exploratory, but from its engrossing structure, through its combination of melancholy pop, clangorous electronics, hypnotic Krautrock and driftwork ballads, to its international musical guests, Vertigo Days is both a new step for The Notwist, and a reminder of just how singular they’ve always been. Most importantly, the core trio of Markus and Micha Acher and Cico Beck are reaching out: as Markus reflects, “we wanted to question the concept of a band by adding other voices and ideas, other languages, and also question or blur the idea of national identity.”

It’s been seven years since The Notwist’s last album, Close To The Glass, and in that time the various members of the group have been busy with side projects (Spirit Fest, Hochzeitskapelle, Alien Ensemble, Joasihno), guest appearances, a record label (Alien Transistor), movie scoring, helping organise the Minna Miteru compilation of Japanese indie pop & running a festival (Alien Disko). Those divergent paths feed back into Vertigo Days in surprising ways, from its structure, built from group improvisations, with songs flowing and melting into one another in a collective haze, to its spirit, which feels refreshed and alive. There’s something cinematic about Vertigo Days too, reflective of the group’s time working on soundtracks, and reflected in the rich, moody photographic artwork by Lieko Shiga that adorns the cover.

The first sign of this newfound openness was the album’s lead single, “Ship”, where the group were joined by Saya of Japanese pop duo Tenniscoats, her disarmingly hymnal voice sighing over a propulsive, Krautrocking beat. Elsewhere, American multi-instrumentalist Ben LaMar Gay sings on “Oh Sweet Fire”, also contributing “a love lyric for these times, imagining two lovers in an uprising hand in hand.” American jazz clarinettist and composer Angel Bat Dawid adds clarinet to the spaced-out dream-pop of “Into The Ice Age”, while Argentinian electronica songwriter Juana Molina gifts some gorgeous singing and electronics to “Al Sur”. Saya also reappears as a member of Japanese brass band Zayaendo, who guest on the album. Throughout, The Notwist also capture the openness of their live performances, too, where they mix and link their songs in unexpected ways.

Indeed, what’s most impressive about Vertigo Days is the way it sits together as one long, flowing suite, the album conceptualised as a whole entity – it’s perfect for the long-distance, dedicated listening experience. This is also captured by the album’s lyrics, which Markus states, “feel more like one long poem.” The dimensions of that poem are multi-faceted, something intensified by the geopolitical weirdness of its times: “As the situation changed so dramatically, while we were working on the record, the theme of ‘the impossible can happen anytime,’ more about personal relationships in the beginning, became a global and political story.” But it also works at a level of poetic abstraction, such that each song gestures in multiple directions – the deeply private pans out to the global. The one certainty is that there is no certainty. “It’s maybe mostly about learning and how you never arrive anywhere,” Markus concurs. To sit within uncertainty is brave, but it’s also where we feel most alive, and Vertigo Days is an album that is brimming with life, with enthusiasm and love for music and for community, all wide-eyed and dreaming.

2023 Repress on Yellow Vinyl

On Vertigo Days, the first album in seven years for The Notwist, one of Germany’s most iconic independent groups are alive to the possibilities of the moment. Their music has long been open-minded and exploratory, but from its engrossing structure, through its combination of melancholy pop, clangorous electronics, hypnotic Krautrock and driftwork ballads, to its international musical guests, Vertigo Days is both a new step for The Notwist, and a reminder of just how singular they’ve always been. Most importantly, the core trio of Markus and Micha Acher and Cico Beck are reaching out: as Markus reflects, “we wanted to question the concept of a band by adding other voices and ideas, other languages, and also question or blur the idea of national identity.”

It’s been seven years since The Notwist’s last album, Close To The Glass, and in that time the various members of the group have been busy with side projects (Spirit Fest, Hochzeitskapelle, Alien Ensemble, Joasihno), guest appearances, a record label (Alien Transistor), movie scoring, helping organise the Minna Miteru compilation of Japanese indie pop & running a festival (Alien Disko). Those divergent paths feed back into Vertigo Days in surprising ways, from its structure, built from group improvisations, with songs flowing and melting into one another in a collective haze, to its spirit, which feels refreshed and alive. There’s something cinematic about Vertigo Days too, reflective of the group’s time working on soundtracks, and reflected in the rich, moody photographic artwork by Lieko Shiga that adorns the cover.

The first sign of this newfound openness was the album’s lead single, “Ship”, where the group were joined by Saya of Japanese pop duo Tenniscoats, her disarmingly hymnal voice sighing over a propulsive, Krautrocking beat. Elsewhere, American multi-instrumentalist Ben LaMar Gay sings on “Oh Sweet Fire”, also contributing “a love lyric for these times, imagining two lovers in an uprising hand in hand.” American jazz clarinettist and composer Angel Bat Dawid adds clarinet to the spaced-out dream-pop of “Into The Ice Age”, while Argentinian electronica songwriter Juana Molina gifts some gorgeous singing and electronics to “Al Sur”. Saya also reappears as a member of Japanese brass band Zayaendo, who guest on the album. Throughout, The Notwist also capture the openness of their live performances, too, where they mix and link their songs in unexpected ways.

Indeed, what’s most impressive about Vertigo Days is the way it sits together as one long, flowing suite, the album conceptualised as a whole entity – it’s perfect for the long-distance, dedicated listening experience. This is also captured by the album’s lyrics, which Markus states, “feel more like one long poem.” The dimensions of that poem are multi-faceted, something intensified by the geopolitical weirdness of its times: “As the situation changed so dramatically, while we were working on the record, the theme of ‘the impossible can happen anytime,’ more about personal relationships in the beginning, became a global and political story.” But it also works at a level of poetic abstraction, such that each song gestures in multiple directions – the deeply private pans out to the global. The one certainty is that there is no certainty. “It’s maybe mostly about learning and how you never arrive anywhere,” Markus concurs. To sit within uncertainty is brave, but it’s also where we feel most alive, and Vertigo Days is an album that is brimming with life, with enthusiasm and love for music and for community, all wide-eyed and dreaming.

Meg Baird’s songs are rarely made up of tidy stories. In fact, for Meg, mystery itself is often the
medium. With ‘Furling’, Meg’s fourth album under her own name, she explores the breadth of
her musical fascinations and the environments around them - the edges of memory,
daydreams spanning years, loose ends, loss, divergent paths, and secret conversations under
stars. ‘Furling’ moves through these varied spaces with the slippery, misty cohesiveness of a
dream - guided by an ageless, stirring voice that remains singular and unmistakable.
Since co-founding the beguiling and beautiful Espers in the mid-aughts amid Philadelphia’s
fertile underground music community, Meg’s solo recordings have constituted just a fraction of
her work.
Her first solo LP, the disarmingly out-of-time ‘Dear Companion’ (2007), saw her carve a quiet,
sunlit space away from the flickering swirl of Espers. Since her last solo releases, ‘Seasons on
Earth’ (2011) and ‘Don’t Weigh Down the Light’ (2015), Meg has lent thunderous drumming,
lead vocal, and poetry to Heron Oblivion (Sub Pop) on an album that garnered praise from the
New York Times and made Mojo’s Top Ten Albums Of 2016 list. She collaborated with harpist
Mary Lattimore on the mesmerizingly hazy ‘Ghost Forests’ (2018). She’s played drums with
Philadelphia scuzz-punks Watery Love (In The Red, Richie Records) and explored her deep
familial folk roots in the Baird Sisters (Grapefruit Records). She also contributed her vocal
arrangements to albums from Sharon Van Etten, Kurt Vile, Will Oldham and Steve Gunn, and
toured with Angel Olson, Dinosaur Jr., Bill Callahan, Thurston Moore and Bert Jansch, among
others.
Yet ‘Furling’ is the album that most irreverently explores the span of her work and musical
touchstones. It showcases her natural tether to 1960s English folk traditions. But it also reveals
her deep love for soul balladry, the solitary musings of Flying Saucer Attack and Neil Young
shackled to his piano deep in the foggy pre-dawn, dubby Bristol atmospherics, the melancholy
memory collage of DJ Shadow’s ‘Endtroducing’, and the delicious, Saturday night promise of
St. Etienne.
‘Furling’ was primarily recorded at Louder Studios by Tim Green (Bikini Kill, Nation of Ulysses,
Melvins, Wooden Shjips). Additional piano and vocal recording were captured at Panoramic
Studios in Stinson Beach, CA with Jason Quever (Papercuts). It was mastered in Brooklyn by
Heba Kadry, who mixed Bjork’s ‘Utopia’ and mastered albums for Slowdive, Cass McCombs
and Beach House.
For all its adornments, ‘Furling’ remains deeply intimate. The entire album was performed by
Meg and her long-time collaborator, partner, and Heron Oblivion bandmate Charlie Saufley.
While her prior solo work hinted at more expansive horizons, ‘Furling’ explores the idea of Meg
Baird as a band much more freely. Venturing beyond the musical confines of fingerstyle guitar,
she plays drums, mellotron, organs, synths, and vibraphone over her piano and guitar
foundations. Her distinctive, simultaneously elegiac and uplifting vocals, meanwhile, connect
surreal dream montages, graft sunshine sonics to swooning mediations on romantic solidarity
in trying times, and weave odes to the simple gestures of friendship - and the loss of family and
friends.
This rich sound world makes the songs a varied bunch: ‘Twelve Saints’ mates Pacific sunset
ambience and Pink Floyd pastoral to a meditation on mortality and escape. The infectious and
kinetic ‘Will You Follow Me Home’ contemplates hope and longing through the looking glass of
a Jimmy Miller-era-Stones strut. And in the closing piece, ‘Wreathing Days’, language
disintegrates over tone clusters that feel somewhere between falling and flying.
‘Wreathing Days’ also reveals much about Meg’s mastery of contrast - situating the dear and
delicate adjacent to chaos. And while it’s true that some songs on ‘Furling’ grapple with
humanity’s existential unknowns in stark terms, they primarily revel in the mysteries that hide in
nature and humanity at their most ordinary. ‘Furling’ lives in the notion that whole universes of
experience, enlightenment, elation and ecstasy can bloom in these corners.

Originally released on cassette in the winter of 1984, together with the 7th issue of Komakino fanzine - included here in its original format. 8 groups and 14 tracks revealing the whole meaning of the Afterglow operation. Bands who already had record deals and enjoyed some popularity, others that will do so shortly, others that will fade in the mists of that decade. “Afterglow” is a document from an era when small gestures and uncomfortable choices were true stances.

While the theme of the four elements has been a constant source of inspiration in the arts, its setting to music using electroacoustic techniques seems highly auspicious, since the notion of matter and its transformation is consubstantial with the concrete approach. In »Sphæra«, Daniel Teruggi precisely addresses this question, transcending matter with the help of novel digital audio techniques so as to draw out forms, trajectories, layers, and musical objects, all of which result from the merging or sublimation of primordial sounds. Indeed, this is where Daniel Teruggi’s music and compositional approach stand out: by engaging sounds, with strength, will and inspiration, in a close encounter with energies, whether tectonic or electrical. Such collisions, such metamorphoses, are then appeased in the whole space of the composition, a fascinating landscape, the final destination of all transmutations. (François Bonnet, Paris, 2021)

"Between 1984 and 1989, my acousmatic work was focused on processing and merging the four fundamental substances. Each 'element' gradually became articulated with the others, thus crystallizing my subjective perception of their materiality. Over the years, helped by the enthusiasm of a Greek friend who propelled me into the Socratic universe, what started out as an exploratory path has become a circular, spherical unity, in which each occurrence simultaneously belongs to one of the four substances as well as the whole.

These four sections, of uneven durations, embody the different resonances of each 'element' upon my imagination. The movements are ordered compositionally and range from the intangibility of the air to the extreme density of the earth.
In Eterea, the dual nature of air, a space for the dissemination of sounds and an environment for mobile masses, shaped the work and the development of its forms. Whether it be the vast expanse of particles as organised movement or the displacement of sources in our three-dimensional perception, ethereal air fills the space and drives the immaterial motions and gestures.

Aquatica locates the materiality of water in relation to its amazing extremes: from the drop to the ocean, an extensive journey unfolds through the various phases of the reinvented liquid. Still waters, deadly waters, raging waters follow one another, leading to the aerial fusion of a primordial equilibrium eventually retrieved.

Then comes Focolaria and the unsteady fires, the elusive and wild will-o’-the- wisps that open and adorn the gates leading to the depths of the earth.

The land of Terra is devoid of atmosphere, a land of matters before the advent of life. The sounds of the original matter merge and evolve into purer forms. The motions trigger progressions towards new equilibriums of forces, the ultimate fusion, the very last attempt, needed for the emergence of life.

The sphere is now complete, the world ready for creation..." (Daniel Teruggi)

To those who embraced 2000’s Nixon—Lambchop’s fifth album, whose luscious country soul grooves provided the sprawling Nashville collective with a significant British breakthrough that even found them selling out London’s 2,500-capacity Royal Festival Hall—the deceptively gentle Is a Woman, delivered two years later, administered a quiet but compelling shock. Gone almost entirely was frontman Kurt Wagner’s euphoric, Curtis Mayfield-esque falsetto, replaced by a tranquil, contemplative vocal style; and instead of the joyfully warm brass arrangements that had encouraged Zero 7 to remix “Up With People,” one of Nixon’s standouts, pianist Tony Crow now took center stage, teasing out gentle, ingenious melodies. The contrast was acute.

To discover the true spirit of Is a Woman, however, one need only listen to the remarkable “My Blue Wave,” one of the band’s finest recordings to date. Here, Wagner depicts a world of helpless tragedy in which comfort can nonetheless be found in the smallest of gestures, as he journeys from the contented sight of his pets—“You lay around the house… Just bones and squirrels inside your head”—to recollections of a devastating phone call from friend and bandmate William Tyler: “And William called and tried to tell me /

That his sister’s boyfriend has just died / He’s not sure what to do / And I’m not sure what to tell him he should do / Sometimes William, we’re just screwed / In my blue wave.”

Following Notte Infinita's 'I Lost All My Data' release on INDEX:Records, the Berlin-based artist mediates the balance between dub-laced frequencies, introspective melodies and atmosphere on the next Oscilla Sound release. His propulsive Atmosfera three-tracker focuses on digital signal processing and embraces the shimmery, hyper-realistic synthetic quality of FFT manipulation. Notte Infinita explores emotional narratives through sonic gestures and textures, taking inspiration from spaces, dreams and the experience of manipulating digital artefacts.

On their third album, »Rideau«, Swedish trio Tape made their great leap forward. Released in 2005 on Häpna, following two albums of pastoral folk meets electronica, »Rideau« saw the trio of Andreas and Johan Berthling, and Tomas Hallonsten, working with an outside producer, Marcus Schmickler (best known for his post-rock outfit Pluramon). On »Rideau«, Tape’s music opened out considerably, embracing traditional minimalism, and luscious melodicism. Now, seventeen years later, »Rideau« has a new home with Morr Music, who are reissuing the album on vinyl, marking its first appearance on the format, including an extra track.

It’s only logical that »Rideau« should reappear via Morr Music. Like Tape themselves, Morr Music was a significant part of the worldwide gang busy reconciling electronica, pop, and acoustic, group- oriented sound across the 2000s, and »Rideau« sits neatly alongside other releases of similar heritage. And yet, »Rideau« feels contemporary, suggesting the creative discoveries made by the trio have ongoing resonance; their elliptical poetry echoes through recent music from the likes of Tara Clerkin Trio, and Tape’s sometime collaborators, Tenniscoats.

Asked about the album, Johan Berthling recalls, “»Rideau« was a special album for us to make”. While they had previously recorded their albums in rural Sweden, for »Rideau«, the trio decamped to Schmickler’s Piethopraxis Studio in Cologne. The creative space that Schmickler carved out for the group allowed them to explore this new material to its fullest. For his part, Schmickler found himself drawn to Tape’s music –“Their focus was a combination of seemingly timeless folk influences with noisy electronics and field recordings,” he explains. You can hear Schmickler’s influence at an almost molecular level – Tape had never sounded quite so graceful and assured with their compositions. “Marcus really shaped the music, working architecturally to build the form of the pieces,” Berthling recalls.

»Rideau« represents a collective exhalation for Tape, with the trio exploring more involved, longer pieces, which situates them in yet broader musical contexts. There are clear connections with the history of minimalism, for example, via the repeating organ phrase of »Sunrefrain«, and the insistent piano arpeggio of »A Spire«, which builds into a Reich-ian dream song, with sensuous electronics and glinting vibraphone dappling abstract shapes across the song’s stretched canvas.

Reflecting on Tape’s essence, Schmickler isolates their “uncompromised ethos, caring about small details.” This echoes most radically through the twilight environment of »Long Lost Engine«, which sets the listener adrift on impossibly radiant drones, while a gentle, almost Feldman-esque melody plays out over the song’s surface. It’s followed by the reissue’s extra track, Japanese electronica quartet Minamo’s remix of »Roulette«, a connection that would lead to a Minamo/Tape collaborative album, »Birds Of A Feather« (2007).

For now, though, here is the gorgeous, penumbral abstraction of »Rideau«, an album of whispers and clues, quiet moments and grand gestures, reintroduced to a welcoming world.

BRETT is a new label celebrating the co-dependent scenes of techno and contemporary art.

A sub label of Inland’s Counterchange imprint, each edition will feature music selected by Ed Davenport (Inland / Counterchange), paired with cover art curated by Nils Petersen (Flipping The Coin).

BRETT is dedicated to the spirit of Berlin’s early club scene, where cross-pollination and spirited discourse between musicians and visual artists etched the blueprints for a new techno-culture.

001 finds co-creator and long-time Berlin ex-pat Inland at the helm, delivering four surging, up-tempo club tools, plus 2 brainwave-activating noise experiments. Celebrated Irish-born artist Mariechen Danz provides a photograph of her visionary sculpture, ‘Statue for Gesticulation’, for the cover artwork.

The towering super-human structure bears a multitude of nurturing hand-gestures, suggesting support, comfort and togetherness. Built from roughly textured grey concrete and resembling a technoid, monolithic bunker or industrial space in itself, the loving, humanist symbols of peaceful action mirror the culture of inclusion, love and acceptance practised on the dance floor.

Widely-loved electronic maestro Gigi Masin returns with ‘Vahinè' – a mini album of beautiful and distinct music that is unmistakably his, sounding better than ever.

Masin always pours his heart into composing, but here it takes on a potent new level of heavy emotion – as it’s a tribute to his late wife, who sadly passed away last year.

“There is a Tahitian dance called ‘Aparima’. It consists of graceful, sinuous and fascinating movements, which tell you stories and legends about love or tradition. The ‘Vahinè' are now dancing, the Tahitian females, with smiles and gestures that could be symbolic or descriptive but are always gentle, harmonious, charming. I was watching this documentary, it was almost 4 in the morning, but I couldn't sleep; I was in front of the television for hours, my wife had passed away the day before, and I was watching hands and arms swaying.

I told myself that maybe it’s so, at the end of the road it’s possible to realize dreams, and I’m sure that she is finally able to dance like never before, and is able to move without any impediment, with no suffering, free to make all the movements that she couldn't make for so long, turning to me with a smile and a wink. So, in the clouds, you will discover and see an extraordinary 'Vahinè', because she will move and dance and smile until the end of time.”
Gigi Masin

A future-retro dreamscape where stripes of early evening sun pour through partially closed venetian blinds; kalimba, piano and steel pans meet on the incredibly evocative ‘Marilene (Somewhere in Texas)’.

The Balearic/Italo house heart of ‘Barumini’ throbs throughout a celestial epiphany, whilst ‘Shadye’ is a sun blinded ambient mirage where angelic voices and electric guitar intertwine, before more heavenly music ensues on the trance-like ‘Malvina’.

A heart-wrenchingly beautiful evocation of transitioning to the other side, ‘Valerie Crossing’ is Gigi’s compelling and inspirational take on death, with a vivid evocation of something spiritual, existential and metaphysical. His exemplary approach shows decease not as a cause for despair, but a philosophical and poetic exploration of where souls go, when they leave their earthly bodies.

Masin closes with ‘Vahinè' – a twitchy, levitational piece of sublime deep techno, which transmits high strength vibrations of powerful emotions. On both this track, and the album of the same name, there’ s no pseudo intellectual ambient posturing with cod academic angles tagged on; This is music of real substance, coming from a real place. It’s saturated with feelings, but turns mourning into affecting art, and even a beacon of hope.

Laila Sakini's new album 'Paloma' arrives via Modern Love and is her most striking and ambiguous to date - a pointed and timely meditation on hope and hierarchies that riffs on Zbigniew Preisner's magical "The Double Life of Veronique" score and enduring outsider music tome "The Langley Schools Music Project". Subtly transcendent, fathoms-deep music.

When Laila Sakini's debut album ‘Vivienne’ arrived in 2020, it felt like the record we were waiting for to map out our tangled reactions to an uninvited reality. Never self-consciously strange, it revealed itself slowly and cautiously, like a shadow in the corner of the eye, or an alchemical symbol in a bowl of alphabet spaghetti. This time around Sakini has worked her unique world-building to an even finer point, forming six tracks around a theme that's so close to our heart it's almost beating in time. Initially inspired by Krzysztof Kieślowski's 1991 arthouse classic "The Double Life of Veronique", the cult Polish director's enduring modern fairytale that serves as a cosmic rumination on identity and choice. Detailing two identical women - both singers, both in love - the film lets one live as the other dies, forcing us to consider the implications of art and endurance in the face of life's myriad challenges.

Sakini takes Polish composer Zbigniew Preisner's influential score for the film and uses it as a jumping-off point for ‘Paloma’, bending the more grandiose moments into baroque awkwardness on opening track 'Fluer D'Oranger' and evoking the mood of scene-setting cues 'Weronika' and 'Véronique' on the recorder-led 'The Light That Flickers In The Mirror'. And while Preisner's score zeroed in on the musical virtuosity of the film's lead characters, Sakini reinterprets that as a metaphor for self-discovery. Playing piano, violin, glockenspiel, timbale, recorder, and occasionally singing, Sakini captures a mood of innocence that immediately transports the listener back to simpler times. Her music isn't self-consciously simplistic, but forcing herself to interface with instruments impulsively rather than studiously, her sounds are all heart, no filigree.

In spirit, it reminds us of cult Canadian album "The Langley Schools Music Project", a collection of 1970s recordings of school kids singing rudimentary renditions of pop songs in a school gymnasium. That album's genius was in the bottling of hope and innocence: the feeling of joy from hearing and wholesomely interacting with music that's known and loved without a sense of hierarchy or desire for cultural clout. Sakini subtly subverts this by evoking the amateur spirit in the most bewitching way; instead of sourcing her ideas from Bowie, Fleetwood Mac and the Beach Boys, her stock is the established art canon, and by reforming those sounds she makes an insightful comment on intellectualism and access. European classical music is all too often trapped behind the frosted glass of respectability and assumed skill - craft replaces spirit, and technique replaces soul. By approaching these gestures from a different angle, Sakini softens the edges sonically and intellectually, finding music that bubbles with emotion, and most strikingly - hope.

Her choice of instruments and the way she interacts with them allows us to feel as if we're not only listening but contributing. It's a bottom-up way of absorbing art that's traditionally been top-down, and a reminder that we're all part of the experience, whether we're humming along to the remnants of a theme as it dribbles out of an ear in the shower, or dreaming of spotlights in a parallel life that may or may not be real. Sakini's music is nostalgic in a sense, but nowhere near the buttered popcorn and high-fructose candy migraine of the Netflix/Spotify algorithm generation of regurgitated churn. She makes sounds that remind us of what time and experience may have stolen from us, and how we might recover it.

With ‘Terrain,’ Joachim Spieth presents the fourth long player on his Affin imprint.
The follow-up album to ‘Ousia’ (2021), ‘Terrain,’ reflects on the human relationship with nature. The album title is a reference to a musical language that layers Spieth’s music production practices and intimacy with nature.
‘Terrain’ was forged in deep solitude.“It’s an interplay of euphoric flashes and introspection” – says Spieth. The eight compositions take the listener into a captivating cascade of sonic textures resembling internal states fluctuations and emotional release. The tension between the organic warmth and static curves broads tones into liquified roars and empty spaces.
Unlike Spieth’s previous albums, ‘Terrain’ holds more intimate gestures and emotional sensibility. Soothing frequencies here are intended to create a state of awareness in the listener. It is a work of conceptual and emotional beauty, evoking a form of spatial imagery that is as grounding as elevating.

'Big or profound sensations from small gestures which are carefully arranged. Using a mixture of sacred and profane, or classical and prosaic sound sources, knitted into intricate, fleet-footed compositions that virtually spring into the ear. Profondo Rosa is composer Ailin Grad’s first vinyl album following years embedded and loved in the Argentinian experimental music scene, with past treats on labels Krut, Sun Ark, Orange Milk Records and her own label Abyss, devoted to ‘connecting Latin Juke with the world’.

There’s a playfulness at the heart of Profondo Rosa that’s immediately charming, with a sense of scale and spatialisation in the sounds being toyed with, exploring the strange pleasures and satisfaction in her approach to delightful and fresh feeling sound design. Aylu is known to be as likely to deploy the sound of a finger click, a fizzy drink being cracked open, or a fly buzzing past the ear, as she is drawn to sampling gorgeous strings or instrumentation. Her debut album for Mana constantly builds territories that tug at your heartstrings and then have you grinning five seconds later. This versatility and acceleration has often resulted in her music being compared to footwork, alongside collaboration with other producers experimenting in that sphere; in 2017 she and Foodman put together a dizzying hour of sounds for NTS.

Her miniaturisation of rhythm and ringtone-like sample size could also bring to mind SND circa their warmer softer glitch Tenderlove phase, or perhaps the approach that Teenage Engineering take to designing tools for music making. Each are deriving pleasure from small and satisfying shapes, as well as advocating an object-oriented philosophy and minimalisation in their work that sidesteps a draining of colour. Sound is fun, and in Profondo Rosa it sounds like Aylu has that at the forefront of her mind.

Her hyperreal sound and its link to the languages of electroacoustic or computer music are clear, but she outmanoeuvres many of the overly-academic and formless examples of those genres. Profondo Rosa’s skeletal assembly of objects becomes tunes in an elegant, almost understated way; tactile elements quickly combine and roll into deeper and persuasively emotional places. These compositions give off an air of being very free, very experimental, despite being meticulously artful and studied arrangements on precise and nimble coordinates.'

Following on from last year’s acclaimed Sylva Sylvarum, the epic double LP from Ora Clementi (her collaborative project with James Rushford), crys cole returns to Black Truffle with Other Meetings. Originally commissioned and released on cassette by Boomkat Editions in 2021, Other Meetings is a major addition to the body of carefully hewn solo work cole has released over the last decade, offering up two side-long suites of her radically intimate approach to sound. After many years dominated by touring and travel, cole found herself in lockdown in her Berlin apartment, working in a limited space with minimal equipment. Digging through archives of recordings taken overseas and exploring the sonic potential hidden in the objects surrounding her (including a coffee pot and a vase of dying flowers), she crafted what in her liner notes she calls ‘an internal dérive, a journey that drifted through many places without a defining compass’. Totalling over 50 minutes, the two pieces unfold at an unhurried pace, each containing four individually titled subsections. Beginning with a sequence of the highly amplified small sounds characteristic of much of cole’s work, the opening moments of ‘The time between two durations of sleep’ are underpinned by a gentle rocking motion, weaving together contact mic crunch, metallic resonance, glimpses of bird song, and isolated drum machine hits, the sonic space expanding and contracting as focus moves between elements. Briefly side-lined by a tactile but unplaceable sizzling, this complex weave of voices then returns in a kind of dubbed-out ‘version’, the percussive accents echoing around the stereo space. In one of the record’s most beautiful and unexpected moments, these sounds are joined by a sparse melodic line performed on a broken 1980s digital synth, the vaguely New Age timbres being taken on a long, tonally ambiguous wander. Cole’s immersion in memories of travel comes to the fore in the final section of the first side, titled ‘Wat Paknam’ after a royal temple in Bangkok, where snatches of voices, ringing bells and distant waves of chanting blur together with synth tones into an increasingly abstracted wave of sound. The second side, ‘Slices of cake’, opens in a similarly hallucinatory outdoor space of echoing bird song and liquified traffic before abruptly zooming in on a microscopic world of subtly processed and highly amplified objects, explored with a starkness and quiet insistence that calls to mind the fringe not-quite-concrète of outsiders like Paul A.R. Timmermans or Knud Viktor, whose obsessive interrogation of dripping water might also serve as a point of reference for the following sub-section, the aptly titled ‘magischer Abfluss’ (magic drain).

While Other Meetings develops many aspects of cole’s previous work – the hyper-magnification of small gestures, the unsettling edits and fades partly inspired by hypnagogic states, the location recordings smeared into oneiric haze – it is almost as if these pieces are somehow songs, the remnants of an evaporated music of which nothing remains except isolated hits from a synthetic drum, a handful of notes, or simply a duration of emptied atmosphere. Radically reductive yet deeply musical, Other Meetings is a major work from an artist driven by an uncompromising and idiosyncratic vision.

Presented with an inner sleeve with photos and liner notes from the composer and remastered audio.

Oscean comes out firing from the outset on their new 12” entitled Multirays. The Argentinian duo of Andrés Zacco and Sebastián Galante are following up on the first release of their collaboration, Ideoma, also released on Tresor Records. With Multirays, this burgeoning collaboration reveals a promising evolution, moving into
more rhythmically diverse environments and playful structures.
The opening track, Multidimensional, strikes with confronting beats and a searching, woolly bass sound.
Constantly growing, it moves confidently with its skittering percussion work, ebbing and flowing through filter movements and expansive synths. Invisible Rays draws in breathing techno pulses, as Zacco and Galante cast drenches of feedback across the spectrum. A
deceptively mellow melody, recalling Spiral from their debut EP, teases at a deeper melodic progression, but the focus stays locked on the animated rhythms, tempting towards divergent grooves but expertly keeping feet on the floor.
In Drivion, Oscean investigates electro territories, simultaneously bubbling and driving. Echoed arpeggiations and upfront beats funnel impulses between neurons. Broad synth gestures oer gateways into abstraction before, without barely a hint, the rhythms beat once more.
On the closing track, Horizonsz, the duo drive forth through skipping rhythms and soul-searching bass murmurs. Synth pads beckon with fresnel lens reflections and rising warmth, motioning towards a
stunning moment of euphoria, where futurist mirages coexist with distant memories.

3am Recordings brings you its debut album, from label boss Al Bradley. While it would be much easier to get some huge name in for this who is previously unrelated to 3am, it was never going to be like that here. Staying true to the ethos of the label, it was important that this milestone was a reection of the label and what it has always stood for. The move back to vinyl in 2015 has rmly planted the label back
in its place as one of the UK's most consistent for house music, retaining its value of working with artists who have been involved with the label over its 19-year history, or who have been rm supporters of 3am during its time. Over the 9 cuts there are a variety of vibes, 'Little Treasures' aims to cover a selection of sounds that represent Al's inuences & styles, having been buying records since the mid-80s &
playing vinyl as DJ since he got his decks in 1991. The past is important as it represents where we started, the future is equally important, as it's the area of the unknown & we have to embrace it...

Covering deep house, dub techno, broken beats, raw machine funk, beatless ambience & more, the album is one that is danceoor-aimed, but works beyond that area too. With support from the likes of Placid (We're Going Deep), Carlo Gambino (We_R_House), Lolu Menayed
(Rawtrax), Lars Behrenroth (Deeper Shades of House), Loz Goddard (Oath), James Reid (Sonet), Moodymanc (2020Vision) & many more, the album reaches right across the spectrum of electronic music.

The Viennese singer songwriter Sofie Royer, FKA
Sofie, returns with her second album, ‘Harlequin’, for
Stones Throw, the follow up to her well-received debut
album, ‘Cult Survivor’, in 2020.
‘Harlequin’ journeys between Sofie’s adolescence and
adulthood, blending her nostalgia for early aughts
reality television and American mall punk subculture
with her passion for medieval performance, European
cabaret, and Vienna’s ballet and opera history.
For her new record, Sofie adopts the visual aesthetic
and gestures of the court jester, clown and cabaret
artist, from the album artwork through to her live
performances.
She previously released her compilation, ‘Sofie’s SOS
Tape’, in 2016, featuring artists including Mndsgn and
Charlotte dos Santos. Sofie was also an original
member of Boiler Room and an NTS Resident DJ.
Sofie featured on Toro Y Moi’s new album, ‘MAHAL’
(Dead Oceans) and is supporting Toro Y Moi on his UK
and EU headline tour in October along with her own
‘Cabaret’-style headline shows in key UK and EU
markets later in 2022.
For fans of Cate Le Bon, Charlotte Gainsbourg, Jenny
Hval, Julia Jacklin, Dora Jar, Midnight Sister, Caroline
Polachek, Drugdealer, Clairo.
LP includes lyric and photo insert

Debut solo album from Julia Kugel (The Coathangers). Limited edition first LP pressing on heartbeat pink color vinyl, includes DL (1500 copies). If you can’t trust yourself, who can you trust? This is the crucial question at the core of Julia, Julia, the moniker for Julia Kugel, founding member of garage punk icons The Coathangers and the dream pop duo Soft Palms. On her first solo full-length album Derealization, Kugel shifts her focus from collaboration and band dynamics towards a singular artistic vision and private self-discovery. Steeped in the beguiling pop elements of her past work, Derealization is a meditative deep dive into the mind of a person struggling to understand a crumbling internal and external world. The album traverses a landscape of ethereal folk, atmospheric deconstructed pop, and dubbed-out country ballads, all centered around straight forward and direct lyrics. This juxtaposition of nebulousness and lucidity gives the album a sense of clarity emerging from the haze, an apt refection of Kugel's personal growth and journey toward self-acceptance. Derealization is based on weaving the unreal, unsaid, and unknown into an undulating sonic fabric. Vocal layering and abstract instrumentation convey a blurred desperation to connect to an emotional and psychological focal point. Moody, dark, and sumptuous, the record is a flow chart of Julia Kugel coming into herself as an artist and songwriter. The album finds Julia playing almost all the instruments and taking her first stab at engineering at COMA, her and her husband's home recording studio in Long Beach, CA. “You know how touring musicians often speak of whether home is real or tour is real? Well, it can lead you to lose grasp on ‘reality,’ especially when touring is taken away and you are left to wonder if anything was ever real, including yourself. Like you we're just playing a character,” Kugel says of her headspace leading up to the creation of Derealization. “Honestly, I kinda lost it, and through making this record I made peace with it and reconciled myself as a real person. I forgave myself and in turn forgave those around me. The song ‘Forgive Me’ is the apology I wanted to say and to hear. I wrote every song from that place and gained the confidence I was pretending to possess.” This raw and personal approach to the lyrics is present throughout Derealization. On the opening track "I Want You," Kugel creates a woozy sense of space with reverb-soaked drums and spaghetti western guitars while she lists off her desires for a mysterious “you.” Is she actually listing off her desires for herself? For the people around her? As she repeats "do you feel it?" in the song’s chorus, it feels as if she’s conjuring a magical thread by which we are all connected, showing us how our desires are all the same. On "Fever In My Heart" the listener is treated to a lush, acoustic techno track detailing the exhilarating madness of an emotional breakdown. Simple truths percolate to the surface on "Words Don't Mean Much,” as if clearing away the murk of platitudes and empty gestures. The journey continues on the detached and conflicted "Do It Or Don't,” an alluring walk through the winding road of lonely choices. The name for the project Julia, Julia is a look in the mirror, a reflection of what is hidden and unanswered, of what is real and what is transient. The experience of living life not as you planned it but as it unfolded, and the mysterious, magical pain that creates meaning.

Tracklisting 1. I Want You 2. Forgive Me 3. Impromptu 4. Fever In My Heart 5. Words Don’t Mean Much 6. Do It Or Don't 7. No Hard Feelings 8. Big Talkin' 9. Paper Cutout 10. Where Did You Go 11. Corner Town

This album presents two multichannel works recorded at the seminal INA GRM Studio in Paris and ZKM Institute in Karlsruhe respectively, mixed to stereo at the composer's Cellule 75 Studio in Hamburg with excellent mastering by Rashad Becker. While his releases under the Black To Comm moniker often touched the fringes of acousmatic techniques and Musique Concrete this is Richter's first foray into a more abstract spatial music.

Recorded in the week leading up to the Paris terror attacks at the GRM studio, "Diode, Triode" (21:57) is loosely based on a reading of (and, in parts, a failure to understand) "Le Parasite" (1980) by Michel Serres, a philosophic metaphor about human interaction and communication (which can also be interpreted as a lyrical essay on capitalism; part confusion, part enlightenment).

As core elements Richter is using speech synthesis and the transformation and distortion of concrete sounds, instruments, voices and breathing. Abstract incognisable sounds are combined with strings, reeds and percussion while dismembered musical fragments emerge and vanish rapidly. Chunks of interfering noise are followed by long periods of silence; chaos and order are alternating. Choirs of synthetic and processed human voices are recounting stock market values, seemingly random sequences of numbers and inscrutable lyrics while parasitic sounds are trying to crack, collapse and fractionise the compositional stream and sonic interactions. Finally, a haunting piano chord is wrestling with a broken Publison machine. Like the book, it's part confusing, part enlightening - and a radical piece of sonic art.

"We are buried within ourselves; we send out signals, gestures, and sounds indefinitely and uselessly. No one listens to anyone else. Everyone speaks; no one hears; direct or reciprocal communication is blocked." (Le Parasite)

"Diode, Triode" was premiered on the Acousmonium at INA GRM's Akousma Festival in Paris, January 22, 2016 alongside new works by François Bayle, Robert Hampson, Leo Kupper and Ragnar Grippe.

The second piece "Spiral Organ of Corti" (17:00) has been composed in 2014 for the 47-speaker Klangdom concert hall at ZKM Karlsruhe at the foot of the Black Forest (where Richter was born and raised).

How does one listen with closed ears? Sine tones, alienated human voices and breathing noises build a labyrinthine puzzle alternating between the natural and the artificial. Human sounds merge with winds and strings, sine tones morph into metal sounds. Acoustic illusions confuse the listener, and dense noise-clouds slowly emerge from deceptive silence. Deep base sounds define space. Temporary focus glides into chaos. "Spiral Organ of Corti" is yet another extended composition that proves Richter is on a path of his very own.

"Spiral Organ of Corti" is dedicated to the late Gary Todd.

"Tongues that came from wind and noise. To speak in tongues after the fire." (Le Parasite)

Marc Richter records as Black To Comm for Thrill Jockey, Type and Dekorder and under the Mouchoir Ètanche and Jemh Circs monikers for his own Cellule 75 imprint. He collaborated with visual artists such as Ho Tzu Nyen, Jan van Hasselt and Mike Kelley. Under his own name he is composing for film and installations.

This mega-rare 1969 album pays tribute to the Bronx and Brooklyn neighborhoods where young Latinos had invented the boogaloo a few years earlier. This record highlights the quality of Peruvian boogaloo and the talent of musicians such as pianist Otto de Rojas and percussionist Coco Lagos. First time reissue. In the mid-sixties, when young Latino musicians in New York fused Afro-Cuban rhythms with rock, soul and jazz, they had no idea that their boogaloo bang bang would reverberate just as strong and loud in a distant South American country. From 1955, La Sonora Macedo, took Cuban music to every corner of Peru, backed the leading musicians of the Peruvian tropical universe, such as Ñiko Estrada, Joe di Roma, the double bass player Pepe Hernández, and the trumpet players Tito Chicoma and Charlie Palomares. All diehard fans of Cuban music, always alert to any new artist arriving from the island. In the early sixties, light rock, doo-wop, ballads, Italian songs and bossa nova paraded across Lima's stages, making performances by Cuban bands, previously so frequent, a thing of the past. Moreover, the unanimous success of the Beatles from 1964 onwards, gave the impression that music from the English-speaking world would dominate the rest of the decade. But this was not the case. In large part because of Manuel Guerrero's good relations with U.S Latino labels, such as Alegre Records, which released the initial recordings by Johnny Pacheco and Charlie Palmieri, allowing listeners in Lima to follow the development of the salsa movement almost from the beginning. MAG was undoubtedly the best representative of these new sounds. In 1969, the LP "Acabo con Lima, huyo pa' Nueva York" was released on this label, a project which brought together three figures from Lima's show business world: Manuel Antonio Guerrero, owner and founder of MAG, who wasn't shy of joining in on the chorus and percussion during recordings, Pablo Villanueva "Melcochita", a multifaceted artist from a talented musical family from the popular district of La Victoria, was responsible for the vocals and percussion on the album. And the third Lima show business figure in this project was the musician, singer and comedian Alberto Montroy Laostervened, who gained fame in the sixties while still in his twenties for his imitation of Cantinflas, the Mexican actor. Alberto bore a devilish resemblance to Cantinflas, not only in his gestures but also physically. Under the name of Pepe Moreno "Karamanduka" he also went on to record songs abroad such as "El boogaloo de Cantinflitas". "Acabo con Lima, huyo pa' Nueva York" was immediately re-released in other countries, highlighting the quality of Peruvian boogaloo and talent of musicians such as pianist Otto de Rojas and percussionist Coco Lagos, who feature prominently on the album. Songs such as 'Vuela mi descarga', 'Peruvian boogaloo' and 'Peruvian guajira', pay tribute to the Bronx and Brooklyn, neighborhoods where young Latinos had invented the boogaloo a few years earlier.

Belgian instrumentalists Glass Museum have found the perfect balance between piano and drums, where jazz and electronics collide, uniting the surgical precision of the best contemporary jazz, à la Gogo Penguin and Badbadnotgood, with the electronic influences of Jon Hopkins or Floating Points.

In motion since 2016, the duo consisting of keyboardist Antoine Flipo and drummer Martin Grégoire, have a rich history written around a powerful connection to duality. From the initial impact of the 'Deux' EP in 2018, to the synthetic and organic textures of the critically acclaimed 2020 album 'Reykjavik', Glass Museum has found its balance in symmetry.

Released 29th April via the groove-obsessed Sdban Ultra label, 'Reflet' was born out of a desire for freedom, a wish to innovate and travel differently. This new piece stands out as an artistic climax crafted at the crossroads of time and genres, an electronic proposition wrought by two brave hearts, tempered by the organic reflections delivered through computer free melodies. An album which places the human at the core of its compositions and in order to return to a more instinctive and instantaneous means of creation, the duo retreated to a secret location in one of the most remote parts of the Ardennes. It's there, in the shade of spruces, that the album was first born.

Extremely cinematographic, 'Reflet' delivers a panoramic view point: jazz, breakbeat, minimal techno and deep house, collide on neo classical grounds. From the dynamic instrumentation of album opener 'Caillebotis' to the absorbing oscillations of 'Shiitake' and grand gestures of the album title track, 'Reflet' is an odyssey running through troubled times, an ode to night time, to life, dreams and to all rhythms that convey emotions beyond words. Like its immersive creative process, the album offers a counterpoint and, above all, endless perspectives. Elsewhere, the pulsing, melodic 'Auburn' and entrancing electronic textures of 'Opal Sequences' continue the exploration before the strutting 'Kendama' showcases the electronic sensibilities that are buried within their productions.

Shining as a true instrumental tour de force, 'Reflet' also takes inspiration from the progress of the Ohme Collective. At the crossroads of art disciplines, science, new technologies and societal challenges, this creative community draws the future of visual arts and created the album artwork for this resolutely futuristic album.

Having initially won the opportunity to perform at the Dour Festival, Tournai back in 2016, Glass Museum have picked up a series of awards and distinctions back home in their homeland and they now find themselves dining at the top table of Europe's contemporary music scene. The international music scene opened itself to the band once again in 2019, with the duo performing at Elb Jazz in Hamburg, the legendary Ancienne Belgique in Brussels and the Iceland Airwaves Festival, Reykjavik.

In 2020, Glass Museum distinguished themselves by remixing a track for electronic artist, Rone. Having recently received a César Award for his soundtrack to the Jacques Audiard film, Les Olympiades, the French producer called on the Brussels duo's know-how - a mark of confidence which once again underlines the international reach of Glass Museum. Germany, Iceland, Turkey, Romania, Greece, France or Czech Republic have already approved Glass Museum's singular recipe.

Forgiveness is the brand new full-length Girlpool album, which finds the duo embracing weirdo-pop decadence without sacrificing the poetic curiosity that has always made their music so absorbing. Just like they did for What Chaos Is Imaginary, Harmony and Avery each wrote their Forgiveness songs separately, then came together to decide how to present them in a style that felt representative of what excites and inspires them now. This time, the process resulted in their slickest and most ambitious music to date, filled with idiosyncratic and provocative gestures that simultaneously support and complicate the emotionally intricate material. With its unique blend of introspective earworms and surreal party music, Forgiveness reaches beyond the loosely sketched parameters of "indie rock," challenging any preconceived notions of what a Girlpool album can or should be. "Faultline" the albums first single, is an effective introduction to the world of Forgiveness; the notion of straddling a fault line feels somewhat indicative of Forgiveness on the whole. These songs investigate the always-shifting boundaries between a number of elementally human concepts: pain and pleasure, sex and love, reality and delusion, insecurity and confidence, grief and growth.To support their vision of a sound at the intersection of Hollywood futurism and post-grunge sincerity, Girlpool enlisted help from producer Yves Rothman (Yves Tumor, Miya Folick).

Forgiveness is the brand new full-length Girlpool album, which finds the duo embracing weirdo-pop decadence without sacrificing the poetic curiosity that has always made their music so absorbing. Just like they did for What Chaos Is Imaginary, Harmony and Avery each wrote their Forgiveness songs separately, then came together to decide how to present them in a style that felt representative of what excites and inspires them now. This time, the process resulted in their slickest and most ambitious music to date, filled with idiosyncratic and provocative gestures that simultaneously support and complicate the emotionally intricate material. With its unique blend of introspective earworms and surreal party music, Forgiveness reaches beyond the loosely sketched parameters of "indie rock," challenging any preconceived notions of what a Girlpool album can or should be. "Faultline" the albums first single, is an effective introduction to the world of Forgiveness; the notion of straddling a fault line feels somewhat indicative of Forgiveness on the whole. These songs investigate the always-shifting boundaries between a number of elementally human concepts: pain and pleasure, sex and love, reality and delusion, insecurity and confidence, grief and growth.To support their vision of a sound at the intersection of Hollywood futurism and post-grunge sincerity, Girlpool enlisted help from producer Yves Rothman (Yves Tumor, Miya Folick).

Debut solo album from the former frontwoman of The Total Bettys. Olive Green colored vinyl, comes with Download Card. Recommend If You Like: Tancred, Adult Mom, Snail Mail, Soccer Mommy Maggie Gently is a San Francisco-based indie songwriter with a fondness for wild schemes and intimate gestures. Her identity as a queer woman is important to her and the community she creates and participates in. Maggie Gently’s music is melody-driven and heartfelt — a big-city indie rock fascination with an unmistakable emo accent. Her songs are about how making decisions for your own mental health can feel like a matter of survival. Peppermint peers around the edges of trauma for a new glimpse at what growth could look like. With songs about eternal questions of commitment and love and the terrifying possibility of being vulnerable and known, this album is about trusting something enough to let yourself get swept away. The nine songs that make up Peppermint reinforce empowering truths that can be hard to internalize or say out loud. As an artist, Maggie finds inspiration in Meg Hayertz’ “Make It, Mean It” tarot-focused guided meditations, lesbian romance novels, and the Enneagram, almost as much as fellow bands like Snail Mail, Lala Lala, and Clairo. “’Steady’ is a sun-kissed ode to rebirth, driven by sweet acoustic melodies and Maggie’s soaring serene harmonies. As steady drums and shimmering synths join the mix for the chorus, the track gains a sense of resolute hope, as if emerging from the dark of winter into the light of spring.”