quête:the question of t

Without a doubt, these productions leave a lasting impression and atmosphere, as already proven in our label head’s sets. The EP kicks of with "Silvio," featuring a rolling bassline reminiscent of the disco edits from the 2000s, like "Je Dàvu’s – Limitiert #9" or Rub n Tug’s classic edits, yet with a remarkably wild touch that gives the track its unique character. "Aus Music" might already be familiar to some from Dixon’s Cercle set and is, without question, a standout. It combines clever production with a certain spice that makes it a special companion in your usb stick and disco bag. Finally, "Mulher Gato" rounds out the EP, providing a fitting conclusion to a release that is set to resonate long after the last note.

Leng’s San Francisco connection has long been strong, with the 40 Thieves collective – and their friend Cole Odin – providing some of the label’s most memorable releases of the last decade. That Bay Area connection comes to the fore once more on the imprint’s latest release, which sees Odin join forces with fellow San Francisco resident Marshall Watson, a long-serving producer, engineer and live performer known globally for his Balearic-minded productions.
‘Voyager’, the pair’s first collaborative single, is a genuine meeting of minds. It combines Odin’s love of low-slung dub disco, dancefloor psychedelia and low-tempo cosmic house with Watson’s
picturesque Balearic synths, sparkling piano riffs and immersive sound design. It’s this blend that dominates on the EP-opening Original Mix, an infectious workout that gets progressively more blissed-out and saucer-eyed as it progresses. Listen carefully and you’ll hear some suitably psychedelic guitar solos nestling amongst the heady washes of sound, sun-bright piano riffs and weighty bass.


Those languid, stretched-out guitar parts naturally take a more prominent role on the Extended
Guitar Mix. On this alternative take, the pair deliver a lightly tweaked take on the original groove, stretching it out while overlaying eyes-closed guitar solos, pots-and-pans percussion and a more DJ-friendly outro. It’s effectively an extended club mix – the club in question being a Bay Area basement at 5am. To round off the EP, Odin and Watson dust off their dancing shoes and pay tribute to San Francisco great Patrick Cowley. On the appropriately titled Cosmic Rave Mix, the pair swap their bass guitar for a pulsating sequenced bassline, trance-inducing synth sounds, and locked-in electronic loops designed to take you to a higher state of consciousness. By the time the track’s familiar piano refrain drops midway through, you’ll be reaching for the lasers in no time at all.

Imagine a late-1980s British band who ignored the prevailing chest-beating roots rock and jangly indie, and opted instead for terrace chant pop choruses, lyrical wit and a high-fashion boot-boy image: Queen meets the Sex Pistols. But wait ... the band actually existed and quite possibly invented Britpop. Reviled by the press at the time, Boy Wonder's recently discovered recordings now sound remarkably prescient: Blur's London; the Sladeier side of Oasis; Supergrass' sense of fun; and the arched eyebrow of Pulp. Never previously available, Question Everything is a revelation.

Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur's court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word "Camelot" accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of "utopia." In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson's 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python's 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armored knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys's profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy's White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle's extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle's Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one's own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. "Back in Camelot," she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, "I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry." The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping "in the unfinished basement," an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above "sirens and desert deities." If she questions her own agency_whether she is "wishing stones were standing" or just "pissing in the wind"_it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of "multi-felt dimensions" both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of "Camelot," with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to "Some Friends," an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises_"bright and beaming verses" versus hot curses_which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020's achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory "Earthsong," bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to _ a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?) Those whom "Trust" accuses of treacherous oaths spit through "gilded and golden tooth"_cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry_sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in "Louis": "What's that dance / and can it be done? What's that song / and can it be sung?" Answering affirmatively are "Lucky #8," an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the "tidal pools of pain" and the "theory of collapse," and "Full Moon in Leo," which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and "big hair." But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle's confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on "Lucky #8," special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle's beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia's FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad "Blowing Kisses"_Pallett's crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX's The Bear_Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer_and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: "No words to fumble with / I'm not a beggar to language any longer." Such rare moments of speechlessness_"I'm so fucking honoured," she bluntly proclaims_suggest a state "only a god could come up with." (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world_including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth_but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the "charts and diagrams" of "Lucky #8," a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in "Full Moon in Leo," the bloody invocations of the organ-stained "Mary Miracle," and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with "Fractal Canyon"'s repeated, exalted insistence that she's "not alone here." But where is here? The word "utopia" itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek "eutopia," or "good-place"_the facet most remembered today_and "outopia," or "no-place," a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary. Or as fellow Canadian songwriter Neil Young once sang, "Everyone knows this is nowhere." "Can you see how I'd be tempted," Castle asks out of nowhere, held in the mystery, "to pretend I'm not alone and let the memory bend?"

. For Fans Of: The Weather Station, Weyes Blood, Adrianne Lenker, Phoebe Bridgers, Joan Shelley, Lana Del Rey, Cass McCombs, Angel Olsen & Neil Young. Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur’s court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word “Camelot” accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of “utopia.” In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson’s 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python’s 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armoured knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys’s profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy’s White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle’s extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle’s Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one’s own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. “Back in Camelot,” she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, “I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry.” The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping “in the unfinished basement,” an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above “sirens and desert deities.” If she questions her own agency whether she is “wishing stones were standing” or just “pissing in the wind” it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of “multi-felt dimensions” both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of “Camelot,” with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to “Some Friends,” an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises—“bright and beaming verses” versus hot curses which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020’s achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory “Earthsong,” bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to … a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?). Those whom “Trust” accuses of treacherous oaths spit through “gilded and golden tooth” cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in “Louis”: “What’s that dance / and can it be done? What’s that song / and can it be sung?” Answering affirmatively are “Lucky #8,” an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the “tidal pools of pain” and the “theory of collapse,” and “Full Moon in Leo,” which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and “big hair.” But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle’s confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on “Lucky #8,” special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle’s beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia’s FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad “Blowing Kisses” Pallett’s crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX’s The Bear Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: “No words to fumble with / I’m not a beggar to language any longer.” Such rare moments of speechlessness “I’m so fucking honoured,” she bluntly proclaims suggest a state “only a god could come up with.” (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the “charts and diagrams” of “Lucky #8,” a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in “Full Moon in Leo,” the bloody invocations of the organ-stained “Mary Miracle,” and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with “Fractal Canyon”s repeated, exalted insistence that she’s “not alone here.” But where is here? The word “utopia” itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek “eutopia,” or “good-place” the facet most remembered today and “outopia,” or “no-place,” a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary

Quantum Baby is the second instalment of Tinashe’s BB/ANG3L trilogy following last fall’s first instalment, BB/ANG3L. The album includes the explosive single “Nasty” which is currently rising up the charts and has become the song of the summer amassing over 200M+ global streams. Billboard Hot 100 - #61, Top 5 Rhythm Radio, Spotify Viral US - #1, TikTok Billboard Top 50 - #2. The genre-blending album contains elements of R&B, Pop, Electronic and Hip-Hop. This album features production from Grammy Award Winning producer Ricky Reed, along with Nosaj Thing and more! Tickets are currently on sale for the North American leg of Tinashe’s Match My Freak World Tour, which kicks off October ‘24. The vinyl is housed in a gatefold jacket with printed sleeve and insert booklet. Available in standard black and a limited Indie Exclusive Edition pressed on Blue & Orange Swirl colored vinyl. Quantum Baby is the second instalment in Tinashe’s BB/ANG3L album trilogy. The first in the series, BB/ANG3L, was released Fall ‘23 and was followed by the BB/ANG3L tour and Tinashe’s first Tiny Desk performance. Tinashe began teasing the hit single “Nasty,” this past Spring, debuting the song at Coachella 2024. The song quickly went viral, to become the song of the summer. This led to everyone asking the most prevalent question of the summer: “Is somebody gonna match my freak?” “Quantum Baby is about getting to know me on a deeper level. It's about exploring who I am as a person and who I am as an artist. I’ve never been one to be put into a box, so the name Quantum Baby encompasses all the different parts that make up who I am as a creative,” says Tinashe, describing the album as “forward, hot and lots of bass

Over two decades of toil have passed, the aeon of the end was declared, the parasitic wisdom gained, and the formula of undoing achieved. MITOCHONDRION awoke from a deep, dreamless slumber, and after 11 agonizing years, pried loose from the Cronian clutches to integrate the suffering once again. The singular death metal entity has prepared in cloistered meditation to ascend the peak and proselytize the harrowing word once more.

The new MITOCHONDRION album “Vitriseptome”, released almost 14 years after the band’s last full-length “Parasignosis” is an axe head the size of the known universe brought down with frightening force to sever the neck of all creation. Forged and fermented with the blood, sweat, and bile over a decade from conception to completion: This Great Work nearly took the life of all involved, leaving all to question the true meaning of Death: enantiodromian obeisance to the Abraxan force under Saturn's guise.

This double album is overloaded and unbearable: Pour in what little life you have remaining to be pulverized, conflagrated, calcified, fermented, and purified.

“Vitriseptome” is 11 Alchemical Death Metal works, split over 17 tracks, to form a trilogy of 3 parts, in two phases, which elapses nearly 90 minutes in length.

Only Love Remains is Yemen Blues’ boldest offering yet. The eleven-track album embraces the strengths of all four accomplished musicians and the richness of their individual cultures – the traditional to the modern and the sounds of the East to the West.

Co-produced by the band and New York-based Yemen Blues’ bassist Shanir Ezra Blumenkranz, known for his avant-garde work with John Zorn and Yo-Yo Ma, Only Love Remains is simultaneously a very direct and visceral emotional connection and an enigmatic spiritual quest, both enlightening and questioning.

At a time of dangerous political, religious, and cultural polarization and xenophobia, Yemen Blues and Only Love Remains lead by example, creating a color-blind, all-embracing celebration of gyrating togetherness with love firmly at its pulsing core.

Into The Woods is the fifth album from California-based quartet The Call, featuring the passionate singing and writing of Michael Been. The album was released in the US in 1987. While The Call’s earlier releases - notably The Call and Modern Romans - pointed out the world’s obvious problems, Into The Woods takes a more introspective look at life’s tougher personal questions. Into The Woods seems to be a study in contrast between beauty and danger where the imagery of the woods becomes a metaphor for self-examination.

Something About Livingis an album of live recordings by experimental jazz composer/multi-instrumentalist Robert Stillman. The music was captured over the course of Stillman's time as the solo support act for The Smile (Thom Yorke, Jonny Greenwood, Tom Skinner). The album weaves excerpts from various theater and arena shows along the tour's North American routing into a seamless whole, creating a 40-minute program that represents an expanded version of Stillman's ever-transforming live set.

Something About Livingis the product of a steady, on-stage evolution that happened over the course of the nearly 60 shows opening for the Smile across the EU, UK, US, Canada and Mexico. However, the creative origins of the set began in relative isolation during the pandemic, through Stillman's work on projects like his multi-media installationUnseen Forcesand his monthly broadcast for Margate Radio, both of which drew upon solo improvisation using saxophone, cassettes, Yamaha DX7 synthesizer, and effects.

"At the time The Smile asked whether I'd like to open for them on their first tour, I felt like I'd already been preparing without really knowing it," says Stillman. "I'd been doing this music constantly, but always for a hypothetical audience" During the pandemic, Stillman's solo set-up served as the research lab where he worked on all the concepts he was interested in: solo improvisation, creating and manipulating cassettes, FM synthesis, analogue delays chains, no-input mixing, and non-metric rhythmic pulses. So when he was offered the first Smile tour, the idea was to bring "the lab" onto the stage.

What Stillman could not have prepared for was the experience of playing in venues with capacities of up to ten thousand listeners. "The first tour was in summer 2022, so not that long after the worst of the pandemic, when I had pretty much made peace with the idea that I might never be able to perform for an audience again. Then all of a sudden I found myself in front of huge numbers of people, and felt the massive responsibility of being with an audience, of this thing I'd done alone for so longactually being witnessed, and it was completely overwhelming!" On the flip-side, Stillman also recalls, was a new appreciation of how powerful the live performance was as a social phenomenon. "It's a cliche, but also true: the moment of making and hearing music in a shared time and space has a very specific meaning and power; there was a sense that everyone in the venue was necessary to make it real, regardless of what they were doing, or how they felt about it. There was an inevitability about it that I'd never fully appreciated."

Over the course of the tours that followed, Stillman transformed this appreciation of the shared moment into an ethic of spontaneity that guided the development of his live set. "An important reference for this set has always been an Animal Collective show I saw when I first moved to New York, probably in 2001 or so, that has always set the high-water mark for what I wanted to do live- they were improvising a lot, and out of what would seem to be absolute chaos they'd find their way to something structured, and then back out again into the unknown. It was so thrilling to witness".

ThoughSomething About Livingcompiles recordings from different dates along the tour, Stillman has edited and mixed them into a work that seeks to reflect the ebb and flow between 'chaos and control' that characterizes his live set. Among the compositions featured are some from previous album releases ("Time of Waves", "What I Owe", "What Does it Mean to Be American") as well as some new compositions ("The Dream of Waking", "Renaissance 2.0," and the title track, "Something About Living").

The album/track title "Something About Living" is a reference to a line from Stillman's favorite film,My Dinner With André: "André Gregory is explaining the value of life experiences that, as he says, are'to do with living'.That really struck me, the way he articulated it. I strongly believe live music situations can ask these kinds of questions, for performers and audiences. I hope that's reflected in this music."

[a] 01: Time of Waves (Live in Miami FL) [Live]
[b] 02: What Does It Mean to Be American (Live in Forest Hills NY) [Live]
[c] 03: The Dream of Waking (Live in St Augustine FL) [Live]
[d] 04: Something About Living (Live in Richmond VA) [Live]
[e] 05: What I Owe (Live in Chesterfield MO) [Live]
[f] 06: Renaissance 2.0 (Live in Chesterfield MO) [Live]

On Still + Bright, her highly-anticipated follow up to, Wary + Strange, Amythyst Kiah shares a dozen songs that mark an evolution in her sound. Kiah says, “With this album, I’ve always been incredibly interested in stories and philosophy. Lots of the songs are inspired by the cosmos, space, meditation, and mindfulness. It’s a way to piece out what it means to be a human being in the modern world. It’s the general idea that we should all have the freedom to decide what path we want to choose.” Still + Bright is produced by Butch Walker (Fall Out Boy, Green Day, Weezer) and features special guests including SG Goodman, Avi Kaplan, and Billy Strings. All of the songs were brought to life by Kiah and co-writers, including Sean McConnell, Avi Kaplan, Sadler Vaden, and Tim Armstrong, among others. Still + Bright is set for release on October 25, 2024. “Years in the making, Still + Bright explores what it means to be a human being in the modern world. Songwriting is my way to marry big, overarching philosophical ideas and questions into a musical, more organized arrangement. Inspired by the cosmos, space, meditation, and mindfulness – this record directly challenges religious and political dogma, stating that we should all have the freedom to decide what path we want to choose.” Recently Kiah featured in Salon talking about her love of country and bluegrass music and was included in a New York Times T Magazine spotlight and documentary: The Next Generation of Black Folk Singers. Her episode of PBS’ The Express Way with Dulé Hill aired nationally on April 30, Kiah is featured in Episode 2: “Appalachia”. She recently appeared on a panel at the Television Critics Association Press Conference which was attended by over 200 television critics around the globe. This June she will be on the road opening for Iron & Wine.

Untenable is the sophomore full-length by Washington, D.C.’s Bad Moves. On this record, the band has leaned into the outer edges of their influences, expanding their power-pop umbrella to include hints of folk, garage rock, and ’90s “indie” while still keeping the hooks tuneful and sticky. Lyrically, the band explores the myriad anxieties of modern living -- from heady questions of self-definition and identity to day-to-day matters, like labor precarity, climate change, social media, automation and the surveillance state."

Andrew Choi doesn’t claim to have all of the answers when it comes to talking about work in America. But if anyone is uniquely well positioned to raise questions, it’s him. Over the course of two decades, the Midwest-born, New York-based singer-songwriter—who performs under the name St. Lenox—has been a musician, a clothing store employee, an underpaid graduate student and scholar, and a salaried corporate attorney. This tremendous amount of experience is channeled into Andrew’s latest album.

Opaque Mango Colored Vinyl. RIYL: Black Milk, Kendrick Lamar, Kamasi Washington, Mos Def, Blood Orange, Milo, Pharcyde, Blackalicious, Anderson Paak. Richmond, Virginia-based artist McKinley Dixon has always used his music as a tool for healing, exploring, and unpacking the Black experience in order to create stories for others like him. For My Mama And Anyone Who Look Like Her, Dixon's debut album on Spacebomb, is the culmination of a journey where heartbreak and introspection challenged him to adapt new ways of communicating physically and mentally, as well as across time and space. The language accessibility aspect of this project draws right back to communication and connecting," Dixon explains. "I think about the messaging, and how this can be a way for another Black person, someone who looks like me, to listen to this and process the past. Everything I've learned about communication for this album culminates with this bigger question about time. Is time linear when you're still healing and processing? Westerners look at time travel as something to conquer or control - it's a colonizer mindset. That's ignoring how time travel can be done through stories and non-verbal communication, and doesn't acknowledge how close indigenous people are to the land and the connections groups have because they've existed somewhere for so long. Storytelling is time travel, it's taking the listener to that place. Quick time travel. Magic." Never relying solely on beats, Dixon taps into a hybrid of jazz and rap, pulling in an array of piercing strings, soulful horns, percussion, and angelic vocalists throughout the album-plus features by Micah James, Lord Jah-Monte Ogbon, Pink Siifu, and more. Jazz instrumentals add a level of uncertainty, with the sounds and shifts evoking a lot of emotion and vulnerability. It's an energy he describes as "Pre-Kendrick Lamar To Pimp A Butterfly," the era when rap adopted more live instrumentation. The best way to sum up this album is: I was sad, I was mad, and now I'm alive," Dixon explains. "These things I talk about on the record have had harmful and brilliant effects on my timeline, and have forced me to be cognizant of the fact that living is complex. Rap has allowed me the language to communicate, and be someone who can communicate with people from all over. Knowing how far I've come, I think people will find trust in the message I'm sending."

The title alone sums up perfectly the 8th album of French artist My Jazzy Child. Inspired by Noam Chosmky's "universal grammar", it refers to man's innate ability to develop language. It is that English, Occitan, French patois, Hindi, Pygmy or French cohabit on this record, juxtaposing on rhythms and beats that appear as a fantasized primordial tradition.

If My Jazzy Child aka Damien Mingus, questions languages about Innéisme, he also questions musical languages, mixing Asian rites and free jazz, electronic wanderings and traditional percussions. A virtuoso and experimental collage that nevertheless knows how to remain melodic and, in the end, strangely pop.

Oliver Coates' Throb, shiver, arrow of time is a portal into somatic chiaroscuro, aglow with the embers of imperfect memories and smudged with the plumes of internal echoes, which augment in vast, mercurial dimensions. For his third album on RVNG Intl., the British cellist, composer and producer offers a capsule of personal resonance and remembrance, assembled over the past six years. Throb, shiver, arrow of time traces the familiar metallic anatomy and viscous string modulations of his 2020 release skins n slime, while recentering his inner compulsions following a procession of lauded score writing projects, including the films Aftersun (Charlotte Wells, 2022), The Stranger (Thomas M Wright, 2022) and Occupied City (Steve McQueen, 2023). While working on Aftersun, Wells asked Coates how music could signal that someone is going on a trawl through their memory_a question that has stayed with him ever since and fosters a heartbeat running through the record. Throb, shiver, arrow of time is "all about inaccurate transmissions from our memories, overlaid with emotions from other sources," says Coates. The release is imbued with the ache and glow of recollections mulched together, where the guttural dissonance of misremembering is shrouded by strange orbs of sentiment. At the record's inner core is "Shopping centre curfew," a swift yet cavernous track that emerged five years ago when two real world events, both occurring in South London during the pandemic lockdowns, became fused in a dream: the demolition of Elephant and Castle shopping center, and the discussion of a curfew as a real possibility for all men following a violent crime. A strange simultaneity occurred with this piece of music and Coates built the album out from there, a sense of temporal entropy refracting shimmers of lurking convulsions into lucid sonic topologies. The ten compositions of Throb, shiver, arrow of time find weightless melodies soaring across after-image gradients, magnified and compressed. Misted tones within "Please be normal" and "90" soften drone-soaked shudders of inner acoustics messing up. Vocal invocations appear from long-term collaborators Malibu and chrysanthemum bear, as well as drifting synth radiance from Faten Kanaan. Throb, shiver, arrow of time furthers Coates' reach in collapsing the digital into the analogue and vice versa, allowing serendipity to reorganize the material and push out against the confines of flatness. This sculptural approach to sound is deeply influenced by the intricate installations of artist Sarah Sze, whose permutations of visual matter with its own after-image form kaleidoscopic epitaphs for ephemera and emotion. Coates' thinking about Sze's work and processes flowed together with his own playing and editing techniques, superimposing the textural relief of a live take back into a composition, and allowing the sound to succumb to a dream of itself. As Coates expands, "The cello is a kind of melancholic instrument with a light ethereal spirit. When the sound is flattened into digital processes, with shifted frequencies and time stretching I'm trying to give it even more of those qualities. Sometimes I'm distancing myself from it, so it becomes a piece of discarded debris that has soul in it, a down-sampling. Or other times, it's trying to maximize the present tense in the act of playing, and collapse that vivid color into a burnished, photocopied kind of sound. So the music acts like weather, weathering the listener, or as flames licking at the sides of objects." As the record unfurls, the compositions swell in duration, until the granular glimmers of its finale "Make it happen" persist in almost violent delight. "There's a feeling of not wanting to let this album go, trying to defy the extinguishing sound at the end of the music, trying to push the colors beyond the confines of the structure, to defeat the silence." In the scramble to resist denouement, Coates suspends the arrow of time in its eternal flight, just for a moment, to reveal the solace of the dust settling in the afterglow. Oliver Coates' Throb, shiver, arrow of time will be released on vinyl, Japanese import CD, and digital editions on October 18, 2024. On behalf of Oliver and RVNG Intl., a portion of the proceeds from this release will benefit The Traditional Music and Song Association of Scotland, an organization fostering opportunities for people of all ages to participate in the traditional music and culture of Scotland.

. By his early 20s, Kurious was already an in-demand voice on the mic. His 1994 major label debut album, A Constipated Monkey, is a classic of its style, marked by heavy beats and nimble rhymes that are razor-sharp yet frequently hilarious. Despite being hailed as one of hip-hop's most compelling lyricists, he didn't release another solo IP for the rest of that decade, but he continued to be sought after. Rap fans the world over know him for his verse on "?," one of the standout songs from his longtime friend and collaborator MF DOOM's heralded Operation: Doomsday. As he prepares for the release of his new album, Majician-the nickname his peers blessed him with a generation ago-Kurious is well on his way to establishing the legacy he's long deserved. The LP, which was executive produced by MF DOOM before his passing, is a mesmerizing blend of technical wizardry and personal introspection. Take "Eye of Horus," where the pulsing drums convey an urgency that borders on panic; Kurious weaves a complex tapestry of history and insight, but does so while ducking through and under each pocket in the beat. Produced in its entirety by Mono En Stereo, Majician is filled with songs like "Eye of Horus," which dance on the line between confession and confrontation. "Separation Anxiety" is a personal bloodletting in the form of lyrical exercise; "Par For the Course," which features the elusive Mr. Fantastik, makes drum breaks from the early Reagan era sound totally revitalized. Through the radical amount of work Kurious put into the writing and recording of this material, he's removed all ambiguity from the question of whether he can stand as one of the premier MCs of his time.

On October 18th, Minnesota born singer-songwriter Breymer, aka Sarah Walk (she/they), will release ‘When I Get Through’ with One Little Independent Records. The album is a strikingly honest exploration of their relationship with gender and identity, and specifically it tracks Walk’s experience undergoing top surgery, from making the decision to the process itself.

Breymer utilizes a rich array of instrumentation elevated by a standout vocal performance, raw lyricism, and textured production by Grammy winning Tyler Chester. Exquisite, layered vocal harmonies across the record enforce its reflective themes, and at times the conversation seems to be internal, with much of the record posing questions such as “Am I better now?”, “Am I on the wrong path?”, “Who am I?”. ‘When I Get Through’ examines a journey of self-discovery, it’s introspective and transformative, and it’s a testament to the strength of its lead; someone willing not just to make the choice, but to document the emotional experience in its entirety.

On their decision to change their artist name, Walk explains that “this album feels really transformative to me. I was compelled to have some kind of separation between my artist existence and personal existence. Bremer is my middle name and has always been intriguing to me; I like that it’s androgynous and uncommon. I changed the spelling, and it feels like it suits my music, particularly parallel to this album, and I was ready for a fresh start. Choosing a name requires a certain amount of agency and intentionality. This album feels bold and gender non-conforming, and Breymer felt like it encapsulated all of that”.

Revelatory and radically insightful, ‘When I Get Through’ bares all as Breymer takes listeners through every stage of their pursuit for self-acceptance. Unlike anything that has come before it, Walk’s ideas surrounding their own physical and mental progress are candid, authentic and ultimately breathtaking. Amidst a body of deftly constructed songcraft and extraordinary poeticism, Breymer has penned a companion piece for anyone in search for their true selves.

On October 18th, Minnesota born singer-songwriter Breymer, aka Sarah Walk (she/they), will release ‘When I Get Through’ with One Little Independent Records. The album is a strikingly honest exploration of their relationship with gender and identity, and specifically it tracks Walk’s experience undergoing top surgery, from making the decision to the process itself.

Breymer utilizes a rich array of instrumentation elevated by a standout vocal performance, raw lyricism, and textured production by Grammy winning Tyler Chester. Exquisite, layered vocal harmonies across the record enforce its reflective themes, and at times the conversation seems to be internal, with much of the record posing questions such as “Am I better now?”, “Am I on the wrong path?”, “Who am I?”. ‘When I Get Through’ examines a journey of self-discovery, it’s introspective and transformative, and it’s a testament to the strength of its lead; someone willing not just to make the choice, but to document the emotional experience in its entirety.

On their decision to change their artist name, Walk explains that “this album feels really transformative to me. I was compelled to have some kind of separation between my artist existence and personal existence. Bremer is my middle name and has always been intriguing to me; I like that it’s androgynous and uncommon. I changed the spelling, and it feels like it suits my music, particularly parallel to this album, and I was ready for a fresh start. Choosing a name requires a certain amount of agency and intentionality. This album feels bold and gender non-conforming, and Breymer felt like it encapsulated all of that”.

Revelatory and radically insightful, ‘When I Get Through’ bares all as Breymer takes listeners through every stage of their pursuit for self-acceptance. Unlike anything that has come before it, Walk’s ideas surrounding their own physical and mental progress are candid, authentic and ultimately breathtaking. Amidst a body of deftly constructed songcraft and extraordinary poeticism, Breymer has penned a companion piece for anyone in search for their true selves.

Synth pop trio Bronski Beat's 1984 debut The Age of Consent is a rarity in musical history - an album that both defined a generation and challenged the status quo. Its four singles, and particular lead single 'Smalltown Boy', have endured with astonishing resonance, offering home to all listeners dreaming of escape from their familiar surroundings and situations.

Every track on the album places the listener 'in the room': they are in it, living it, rolling inside each song's thematic meaning. Through the blue-eyed wonder of singer Jimmy Somerville's vocal pirouettes, they too take the punch of hate in 'Why?', question the bible with alongside a male voice choir on 'It Ain't Necessarily So', and watch the same crappy TV advertising on 'Junk'. They are part of the trade-off between lust and commerce in 'Love and Money' and the heated near climax of 'Need A Man Blues.'

40 years later and The Age of Consent remains as prescient and vital as ever as it did on its original release; truly transgressive - defiant, queer, and laden with hooks. To celebrate this important anniversary, London Records revisit the album across a series of expanded formats, uncovering sonic archival gems, new mixes, essays and more.