Suche:the kids want minimal

Analog Fingerprints Vol. 0 is a compilation bringing together the early 2000s works of Marco Passarani under his Analog Fingerprints alias, collecting key tracks originally released on Rome’s Plasmek and Pigna labels.

For Numbers, the story starts long before the label itself. In their formative years, digging in Glasgow’s Rubadub, Passarani’s records felt like dispatches from a future city. Releases on his own Nature Records and on labels such as Generator and Interr-Ference Communications were mind blowing: rooted in Detroit techno, Chicago house and electro, yet pushing somewhere new. Much like fellow travellers Autechre, who would remix him in 2001, Passarani’s music balanced machine funk with restless experimentation.

Information was scarce, and you would hear these records first on the dancefloor or at listening stations in shops like Rubadub. Print fanzines like Ear and early web outposts such as Forcefield offered only fragments. But there was a palpable axis forming between Detroit techno and a new European wave of record labels including Skam, Rephlex, Clone, Viewlexx and Nature itself. It was the sound that defined Saturday nights at Rubadub’s ‘69’ parties in Paisley, just outside of Glasgow.

Passarani’s records, in particular, were instrumental in bringing together the future Numbers co-founders. Richard had already booked him pre-Numbers; meanwhile Calum (Spencer) and Jack (Jackmaster), then 16/17 year olds working alternate Saturdays in Rubadub, were so enamoured with the Roman sound that they travelled to Rome for the Bitz Festival in 2003 to seek out Passarani and Lory D at their source.

The first Analog Fingerprints release landed as a 12” on Plasmek in 2001, following the fractured, IDM-leaning 6 Katun material. For Passarani, the project marked a recalibration. A DJ first and foremost, he had moved into production via early computer setups, from a Commodore Amiga through primitive PC audio, Cubase and Logic, later experimenting with Ableton. The IDM scene had offered a playground for trial and error, but there was always a tension between abstraction and the dancefloor. Analog Fingerprints became the bridge: still intelligent, but with more dance than distance. After years of broken beats and complex arrangements, he wanted directness without surrendering identity.

Working closely with Francesco de Bellis and Mario Pierro in the Pigneto district, the trio formed Pigna as a vehicle for reclaiming a more accessible dance sound, deliberately steering away from the minimal wave beginning to dominate Europe. Sessions were fast, instinctive, often stretching late into the night with friends dropping by. It was a studio as social space, production as collective energy.

“In that constant search for balance, Analog Fingerprints was my way of expressing something closer to the classic dance floor. The track 'Tribute' - a tribute to my favourite early Detroit techno track of all time, 'First Bass' by Separate Minds - came after I realised I had almost lost my connection with the dance floor. The simplest step was to take inspiration from early Chicago and Detroit and twist it in our Roman ‘Pigna’ way. My goal was to create more accessible dancefloor tracks by mixing my unconscious Italo roots with my teenage love for that early US sound, ensuring the result was as far as possible from the minimal sound that was starting to dominate everywhere.” - Marco Passarani

Technically, the Analog Fingerprints tracks span a transitional era: Roland TR-909, SH-101 and Alpha Juno hardware met early software experiments. A Novation Drumstation rack stood in for the unattainable TR-808, syncing with TB-303 and TR-606. Yet the true secret weapon was Jeskola Buzz, a tracker-style modular environment that allowed step-by-step parameter control and strange melodic constructions, later exported into the audio sequencer. Even the lead on ‘Tribute’ came from an early PPG Wave-style plugin. It was hybrid thinking at a moment when digital tools still felt unstable but full of possibility for technologists like Passarani.

Behind the music sat Finalfrontier, a loose Roman collective orbiting Nature and Plasmek. Distribution and production were intertwined; importing obscure records into Italy built connections with like-minded outsiders across Europe and the US. Expensive phone bills and fax machines forged an “electronix network” that linked Rome to Clone, Viewlexx, Skam, Rephlex, Rubadub and Detroit’s Underground Resistance. There was a shared sense of survival and resistance, of operating against commercial systems.

Passarani recalls “The first time I found a sheet of paper inside an Underground Resistance 12” with info about upcoming releases... and a huge picture of Spock on the back. Imagine that: you love the music, you love Star Trek, and there’s someone on the other side of the ocean sharing those same values and sounds. It was the perfect match. We even gave our original company the suffix ‘Finalfrontier’: that says it all.”

Feedback in that era arrived physically: distributor faxes, conversations with visiting DJs, the experience of playing abroad and meeting kids who had connected with the records. Glasgow became a key node in a scattered outlier network. Passarani personally brought the first two Nature releases to Fat Cat in London, playing them in-store. Shortly after, a fax arrived from Rubadub in Glasgow requesting copies.

“I still remember that phone buzz and the fax paper slowly sliding out, with someone I didn’t know saying they wanted 75 copies of Nature 001. Or like the time we got a fax from the Rephlex crew just saying, “Hello Nature Records, Keep up the good work.” That was how we knew the message was getting through. It was a fantastic feeling; just one piece of thermal fax paper as an analog notification - the mood for the entire week would change.” - Passarani

The connection to Glasgow has since stretched across generations. As Passarani reflects, links often fracture as scenes renew themselves, but in Glasgow something different happened. New and old mixed seamlessly. There was a visible trust in what came before, and a willingness to carry it forward rather than discard it. Observed from Rome, it was deeply encouraging.

Analog Fingerprints Vol. 0 captures that moment of exchange: Rome to Glasgow, Detroit to Europe, experiment to dancefloor. It documents an artist recalibrating his sound and a network of scenes discovering one another in real time, connected by vinyl, faxes and shared intent.

Sometimes, things "just happen". For months, we’d been working away on various projects and then, without really thinking about it, The Black EP just happened. It seemingly appeared from nowhere.

We’d been talking about the old days; making music with friends and dodgy kit, renting small practice rooms and using makeshift recording studios. It was such a common thing back then, you could pick a dusty space in a half-derelict building for as little as £25 a month. In those days, the Cabs and Human League had studios with posh-sounding names, but in reality, they were the same old workspaces long abandoned by the industries they were built for. Nevertheless, the grand names made them sound magical.

Sheffield had thousands of these spaces, and some still exist today, but their abundance and low-cost made Sheffield a very active place. Someone was always doing something. They’d exploded onto the scene in a flurry of excitement before disappearing just as quickly.

There’s something about these little mesters (workshops) that we believe lives in the very consciousness of Sheffield. It’s one of the reasons we never really had big scenes like Manchester or Leeds. The Hacienda would've never been built here.

We don’t really do big gangs or have that kind of mentality. We tend to exist in little pockets, often leaving each other alone. It would be 30 years before any member of The Black Dog talked to Cabaret Voltaire. Sure, we’d stood outside their practice room as kids, trying to listen in, but never felt any reason to approach. Sheffield is like that.

Once we had the first two tracks of the Black EP, we set off to see Jon at Do It Theesen, where he manually cut the tracks to an extremely limited set of 7" singles using a vinyl lathe. It just felt right to go back to the old ways; a small gang creating something special in workshops and sheds. There’s something very satisfying about it, a perfect circle, if you will.

We pushed further by adopting old practices, working with one synth per person and limiting the use of our computers. We only stopped short of putting everything on beer crates. It seems like madness these days, but there is raw creativity within these confines. Pretty much every band started this way. Depeche Mode travelled to the studio on the London Underground for their first appearance on Top Of The Pops, all lugging a synth each. That's how we approached the creation of this album; stripped back, raw and minimal - it just felt so right.

And then there’s the competitive element that was influenced when the original Human League split and became Human League MK II and Heaven 17. Both continued to use the same studio to write what became the albums "Dare" and "Penthouse and Pavement". There is something about that drive that is very Sheffield, just making stuff and hoping everything falls into place.

In Sheffield, we do things differently, because that’s how we are built. away on various projects and then, without really thinking about it, The Black EP just happened. It seemingly appeared from nowhere.

Steve Moore's Lovelock is back with Washington Park, a gorgeous suite of instrumental lounge music that can only be described as synth exotica. A real departure for Steve, this is a more mellow, soothing sound and can be regarded as Lovelock's response to these dystopian times.

New York-based multi-instrumentalist/producer/film composer Steve Moore is probably best known for his synthesizer and bass guitar work as Zombi, together with Anthony Paterra. Yet his Lovelock alias has been quietly blowing minds and warming hearts for a decade plus now. His latest effort, Washington Park, was not initially meant to be a Lovelock album. But Steve was posting little snippets of his work on Instagram and people started asking him: "is this new Lovelock?" It was at this point that Steve had an epiphany, of sorts. "It occurred to me that Lovelock can be whatever I want it to be. So yeah, maybe this new lounge/exotica record is, in fact, Lovelock."

Washington Park creeped out in a very low-key, early lockdown fashion and there wasn't much of a reaction. Says Steve, "I just self-released it and all my usual suspects were down with it, but it didn't really make it outside of my own circle." Yet many of the Balearic heads in Europe were indeed on it and Be With were most certainly listening. So, when we struck a deal to do the vinyl version of Burning Feeling, we couldn't resist asking about Washington Park.

Gentle opener "It Means Love" grooves along in the laconic style, conjuring carousel innocence and complimented by dreamy, spiritual sax and syrupy synth strings over a digi-soul beats. Title-track "Washington Park" glides smoothly in much the same vein, almost like a slightly more acidic, squelchier version of the preceding track with more insistent organ. Swoon. Closing out Side A, steady ambient gem "We'll See" is all gorgeous, soft pads with plaintive guitar and organ giving way to soaring digital strings over that metronomic drum machine soul.

Flip for the eerily brilliant "Seduction", a track which starts like a minimalist slice of Tommy Guerrero-esque guitar and drum machine soul but soon takes on a more menacing bent as Steve leans into his long-held predilection for horror by creating a slow-mo haunted house jam. The tempo (and temperature) rises with "Center Square", a Latin rhythm section and a sensual sax rubbing up against hot and heavy organ and string action. Steamy! To round things off, the ominous creeping groove of "Rhythm 77" feels like exotica-in-excelsis.

Washington Park was recorded over the first few months of the pandemic, during the spring of 2020, against the backdrop of his kids being out of school which meant daily walks and bike rides through Washington Park in Albany. It was during these moments of family activity and gentle movements, trying to make sense of the chaos engulfing his world, that Steve formed the ideas that led to this album. To make it manifest, he used all his old Roland beat boxes (CR-78, Rhythm 77 and Rhythm 330, Rhythm Arranger) plus a Chamberlin Rhythmate for all the percussion. Basslines were usually performed with his Moog Source or Minitaur and for pads and brass he used his Sequential Prophet 600 and Roland Juno 60. Strings came via a variety of old stringers - Korg Polysix, Elka Rhapsody, Crumar Orchestrator and Solina String Ensemble - and he also used his Fender Strat and Yamaha Custom saxophone.

Steve is a huge fan of exotica and that's clearly where this album is coming from. The likes of Martin Denny, Les Baxter and Henry Mancini can all be discerned here. As Steve explained, "I spent a lot of time listening to that stuff in the 90s and I figured it was time to let those influences show." You're going to be glad he did.

Mastering for the Washington Park vinyl edition was overseen by Be With regular Simon Francis before being cut by Cicely Blaston of Alchemy Mastering at AIR Studios and pressed in the Netherlands by Record Industry.

Decomposed recalls classic American hardcore like Bad Brains, Poison Idea and Jerry’s Kids or Japanese ragers like Paintbox, The Comes, Eiefits and Skizophrenia. But there’s also a healthy slug of classic UK and US punk and even a bit of Krautrock, psychedelia and Black Sabbath in there too. Nottingham has always been a melting pot for heavy music. For a small city, it has boasted more than its fair share of genre defining bands and artists, not to mention record labels. Bands cross-pollinate, form projects and offshoots and play one-off gigs that would result in lengthy careers and world tours if they had happened across the Atlantic. It has always been like that there. No big deal (but yet, a really big deal if you know). One such band/project/offshoot were Endless Grinning Skulls. Formed by guitarist Andy Morgan (also from Bloody Head, Army Of Flying Robots, Nadir and countless more), drummer Steve Charlesworth (Heresy, Wolves Of Greece, Meatfly, Geriatric Unit) and bassist Gords (Hard To Swallow, John Holmes, Geriatric Unit) in the early twenty-teens, they re-set the bar for the 3-piece hardcore band before (perhaps inevitably) burning out in 2018. Morgan and Charlesworth weren’t done though. They’d forged a bond in EGS and wanted to carry on playing together so - in a familiar Nottingham storyline - they recruited former Pitchshifter guitarist Stu Toolin on bass and Anmarie Spaziano (who you might know from running a famous burger joint) on vocals and formed Blind Eye. They knew Toolin was about to relocate to Portland, Oregon so they wrote and recorded an EP (released on Morgan’s own Viral Age Records). Quick-sharp. No messing about. And that – by rights – should have been that: over and out. New band please. However, the demo captured a rare intensity and vitality that more considered projects often fail to achieve. This was a band let loose, free from previous shackles and loving the noise they made. It seemed a shame to stop there. Recruiting Matt Grundy (a former bandmate of Morgan’s in both Nadir and Dead In The Woods) to the bass vacancy they went back to Stuck On A Name Studios in 2021 with Ian “Boulty” Boult at the helm again and delivered the album Decomposed.
Decomposed genuinely rocks out without losing one iota of the effervescent anger that made the demo such an essential listen. From the insistent, minimal opener Ready To Go Now via the unhinged thrash of Straw Man and the menace of the stomping Pero No Quieres, to the measured chugging and epic crescendo of closer Broken Star, this record is a fucking blast. Needle off, flip it back over, play it again. Your neighbours are loving it so much they’re banging on the walls to tell you. “I suppose the intention was to write high energy, catchy hardcore, with a nod to what has come before, but also to do our own thing,” explains Andy. “Lyrically, the album was written during the pandemic, and although it’s not ‘a pandemic album’, I think it deals with a lot of the feelings of loss, separation and isolation

Reissue of 2018 debut on 2 colour vinyl, black & milky clear. Note includes members of Pains Of Being Pure At Heart. More than anything else, Oh Boy is a celebration of teenage fandom and friendship. Each song is “about” something else, of course: a betrayal, a breakup, new love, parenthood. The usual stuff. And we’re hardly teenagers. Yet somehow Massage feels like the kind of band you were in back in high school. We were friends first. We all had other lives. We started playing music almost by accident. (Michael wanted to learn drums; Alex wanted to relearn guitar after playing bass in the Pains of Being Pure at Heart; Andrew and David invited themselves to their second practice.) We made a playlist of songs we loved hundreds of them long before we recorded anything: the Feelies, the Go-Betweens, East River Pipe, the Lemonheads, the Breeders, Flying Nun, Sarah Records. Alex and Andrew started writing songs the way kids do to sound like their heroes. No matter how we tried, though, the songs half Alex’s, half Andrew’s came out sounding like “Massage”: scrappy, catchy, minimalist, and sincere, with Gabi’s harmonies elevating each track. Every Monday after practice, we went to Jay’s Bar for beers and poutine. There was no point to any of this. We were just having fun. Then one day we realized we were a band. Oh Boy is our attempt to capture this easy alchemy on tape the strange magic of a bunch of amateurs coming together, finding their own wavelength, and making something out of nothing. We couldn’t have asked for a better partner in crime than our pal Jason Quever of Papercuts, who recorded us on random weekends over the course of two years. We hope the result sounds as loose, low-key, idiosyncratic, and ultimately indelible as the bands that inspired us — the ones you already know, and the ones that are still just teenagers goofing off in some suburban garage.

"The core of confusion and upheaval that drove some of the band's most fiery earlier work, however, is replaced by a more stabilized undercurrent, a mentality that's reflected in songs not afraid to try new things and honestly explore uncomfortable feelings. When combined with exciting production and songwriting choices, that mindset helps make Feels So Good // Feels So Bad one of the Shivas' best albums.” - AllMusic "Portland, Oregon-hailing psych-surf band The Shivas accomplish another time-traveling, reverb-ridden sound that refuses to get boring. Jared Molyneux’s guitar work knows when to be bright or bashful at the right times, breaking into guitar solos that possess a late-’60s groove… The Shivas seem to blissfully flourish” - Paste "a consistent treat for the ears” - The Vinyl District "Though the psych-tinged guitar riff that drives 'Feels So Bad' was written while The Shivas were still on the road, its lyrics didn’t fall into place until the band was well into lockdown, unsure of when they’d be able to return to their most imperative true love: Live shows... Accordingly, 'Feels So Bad' permeates with a sense of urgent desperation, building off a chugging prog-rock instrumental.” - Consequence (on “Feels So Bad”) "They hooked the audience with their throwback rock sounds. The guitar strums and rhythmic drum beats were layered atop smooth and hallucinogenic vocals. The eyes can tell the take at times and there was a sparkle there that said that the band members just love doing live performances." - California Rocker "This single layers on the fuzz but keeps it dreamy, with an especially sticky guitar riff sure to lodge itself in your brain with minimal effort." - Portland Monthly (on “If I Could Choose”) “'My Baby Don’t' translates the genuine vibrant joy


of the live experience into the studio, bringing the band’s ‘60s garage rock roots, sharp pop vocal harmonies, and fervent performances along for the ride." - Under The Radar "Perfectly straddling the line between a solid-head bopping track and an introspective deep cut, The Shivas’ 'Undone' is a rock & roll gem. The track sounds straight out of the late 60s and fits seamlessly in the Portland band’s electrifying catalog." - The Luna Collective "The first time I clicked play on this track, I knew it was a yes for me." - Ear To The Ground Music (on “If I Could Choose”) "The harmonies would make the “Happy Together” Turtles blush, but the unsettling guitar doesn’t shy away from the woollier implications of the ’60s." - Willamette Week (on “If I Could Choose”) "'Undone' is just the perfect song for the good days and the bad ones." - GlamGlare "another hit" - Austin Town Hall (on “Undone”) "one of the best forthcoming albums of the year" - Austin Town Hall RADIO: #3 Most Added @ NACC - 50 official adds BIO Every working musician has had their life turned upside down by Covid-19. For The Shivas, who had recently released a new LP and normally keep a rigorous touring schedule, it was a particularly screeching halt. “We were about to go to SXSW, the following weekend was Treefort in Boise, and then we were going to open for our friends’ band on tour in the US before going to Europe,” Jared Molyneux remembers. Then everything just stopped. They were faced with a dilemma. “It forced us to adapt or just quit,” Molyneux says. “The reality is that shows are our job.” In truth, live shows aren’t just The Shivas job: they are the band’s greatest love. Shivas shows are bombastic, explosive and thoroughly communal live rock and roll experiences where barriers between the performers and their audience seem to dissolve into the sweat and sound. The stage—or the basement, or the living room—that’s The Shivas’ true element. It’s their raison d’etre. It’s their religion. The band’s live urgency may have been born in 2006, when the band’s young members—who began booking West Coast tours while still in high school—waited without fanfare on sidewalks or in parking lots, before being rushed onstage for their sets at 21-and-up clubs. Maybe it developed a little later, as The Shivas blasted their way through Portland’s storied and unsanctioned mid-aughts house show scene. Whatever the origin of their famously kinetic live experience, it’s the show that keeps them coming back after over 1,000 performances spread over 25 countries in 15 years. In those 15 years, The Shivas have grown tight-knit as a group. Guitarist/singer Jared Molyneux, bassist Eric Shanafelt and drummer/singer Kristin Leonard have all been with the band since its earliest days; guitarist Jeff City, another high school friend, joined in 2017. Together they’ve learned to thread a seemingly impossible needle: They’ve honed and tightened their performances without sacrificing the element of surprise that makes each show special. And despite touring and recording for most of their lives, they speak about their project with humility, in the DIY vernacular of their Pacific Northwest upbringing. They talk up their own favorite bands, play all-ages shows as much as possible, and bring a sort of blue-collar humanism to the live performances they relish so much. “We just want to make people feel good,” Molyneux says. “We want them to forget they have to work tomorrow.” Kristin Leonard elaborates, “The live show is all about that feeling of catharsis—in ourselves and in everyone who comes out. We’re creating this safe space where we can all let go. Where we can exhale. And it feels really good when we are able to facilitate that.” So when Covid hit, the band knew it was time for transformation. After a settling realization that live music would be grounded for the foreseeable future, The Shivas booked significant studio time with Cameron Spies, who also produced the 2019 Dark Thoughts LP. They also transformed their lives: three of the band’s four members found work with a local nonprofit serving unhoused Portland residents. They became engaged in protests and fundraisers for social justice. They spent a whole summer actually living in Portland, settling into the city they had always called home, but that sometimes felt like a temporary stop between tours. “We got into a more community-minded headspace,” Leonard says. “And that did give us some purpose. It felt cool to see everybody come together to stick up for what they believe in. It feels like an incredibly formative last twelve months.” The album that emerged from this new moment finds The Shivas reborn as a band that seems seasoned and perfectly at home with itself. There is a calm, even a hopefulness, to Feels So Good // Feels So Bad that sounds new. The Shivas didn’t write or record the album with a particular theme in mind, but one seems to have emerged: where Dark Thoughts was about confronting your demons with fearless self-examination, much of Feels So Good // Feels So Bad is about what happens once you find that peace: how being honest with yourself changes your relationships and your priorities. “I do think it’s about acceptance,” Leonard says. “There’s a weird relaxation that comes with being at peace with things you can’t control or have regrets about.” Maybe that’s why the squealing, riff-laden break-up song opener, “Feels So Bad,” is such a shock to the system. But it’s more of an exorcism than a melodrama: more a song about not being able to do the thing you love (in


this case, playing live shows) than splitting with a partner. “It’s like part of you goes to sleep,” Leonard says. As bandmates who are also in a long-term relationship, Molyneux and Leonard know that their songs might be seen as glimpses into their personal lives, but their songwriting is rarely autobiography. Leonard compares their process to something more akin to screenwriting. “There’s bound to be some autobiographical material in there,” she says. “But the common denominator is the exploration of universal feelings: ones that everyone experiences or can relate to.” The goal is to use the music to drill down into something genuine and sincere, beyond genre or stylistic affectation. That’s where The Shivas have arrived. Whatever growth led the band to Feels So Good // Feels So Bad, plenty of their fascinations remain. They’re still turning love songs into psychedelic, transcendent epics. “Tell Me That You Love Me” subverts doo-wop extravagance and dabbles in Flamenco rhythms. “Rock Me Baby” is a bubblegum anthem soaked in so much reverb that we might just be hearing it from the stadium nosebleeds. “Sometimes” is almost impossibly huge, like a witchy outtake from the Brill Building era. Those songs feel like logical expansions from a band that has always excelled at a timeless sort of rock and roll that tinkers with and explodes elements from every era. But on the towering and mournful “You Wanna Be My Man,” a slow-burning six-minute shoegaze prayer for a higher sort of love, there is a level of emotional nuance that feels like something altogether revolutionary. It’s there again in the stripped-down vulnerability of the album-closing elegy “Please Don’t Go.” Yes, Feels So Good // Feels So Bad is an album about acceptance. Sometimes that acceptance feels enlightened and sometimes it feels like the end result of a lot of kicking and screaming. The Shivas have adapted in both of those ways. With new tours scheduled and a new album on the way, they’re still hoping--like all of us--for a new era of vibrant, cathartic live music. The lessons they learned from having their normal upended, though, have only helped them grow

Following 1 or 2 small run / mailorder lathe cuts, Polytechnic Youth follow it's hugely successful 'Popcorn Lung' label compilation LP, with it's first full length of the new year, and man... this one is just wonderful! A mighty record to kick off what promises to be another hugely productive, constantly busy year for the Crouch End based synth label.

PY often likes to quote the artist directly in it's press releases, and this one is no exception. Gabe's own words, more than adequately explaining the path leading to this killer set for 2019; 'It feels a little ridiculous to pretend that the person introducing you to Gabe Knox is some kind of bigwig press agent and not just Gabe Knox himself, so let me, Gabe Knox, tell you a little about myself in that hopes that you'll give my music a listen.

In 2014, after years of moderate success as a local musician and club DJ in Toronto, Canada, I looked at my collection of barely functioning analogue synths and drum machines and said to myself 'Instead of trying to unsuccessfully make music you think other people will like, why don't you make something that you'd actually want to listen to for once' I wanted to make music that had the drive shaft of Neu!, the punishing low end of King Tubby, the interleaved melodic lines of Vince Clarke, the melancholic, otherworldly whimsy of Raymond Scott and Delia Derbyshire, the hypnotic drone of Spacemen 3, and the analogue intimacy of Le Car. I wanted to bring the euphoria and hypnosis of dance music to the rock kids, and the energy and excitement of rock music to the dance kids.

This was going to be a tough sell in the clique-y Toronto music scene, so I figured the best way to get the music out there would be by recording when I can and self-releasing a steady stream of EPs online. They would all be a series, a snapshot of the evolution of that initial idea. ABC represents a compilation of the best songs of the first three EPs, subtly remixed and remastered to best suit vinyl. I hope you love listening to it as much as I loved making it.'

This really is a remarkable record. Displaying all the PY traits of icy cool blasts of minimal synth, motorik grooves, melodic pop via passing nods to early mute and sky records. Never before did label head Dom think he'd get the chance to namecheck 2 musical heroes from wildly differing poles -Vince Clarke and Spacemen 3- into one LP PR sheet, so he's understandably excited for this one's release!

250 copies on yellow wax in hand numbered, reverse board sleeves. Sure to go real quick....