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Continuing our quest to get all of the classic early AMT albums released on vinyl, we turn to 2004’s 'Mantra Of Love’, and with the help of Makoto Kawabata’s studio wizardry, we’ve made it possible.

This latest instalment in the ‘Acid Mothers Temple Vinyl Archives - First Time On Vinyl’ series (as with the three previous SOLD OUT releases in the series) have all been meticulously put together with the help of Makoto Kawabata with the original CD artwork recreated for these vinyl editions from archive photos stored in the vaults at the Acid Mothers Temple in Osaka, Japan and the original audio remastered by James Plotkin.

Here’s what others had to say upon it’s original CD only release back in 2004 …

“Acid Mothers are strong folk. You'd think they'd tire quickly, all tucked away on their island, strewn about on tree roots while baking their lungs and throats to a knotty green tinge. But instead of waltzing through life like hippies, they manage to not only tour and put out records every year, but also to fill those albums with 30-minute jams and assorted freakouts. And while evil jam bands would fill that space with guitar work taken from the Classic Rock Manual of Clichés, Makoto Kawabata and company assault listeners with frighteningly dense walls of white noise, psychedelic swirl effects and, yes, even guitar solos-- albeit ones that are more Merzbow or Keiji Haino than Gary Rossington. Truly, AMT's endurance and threshold for cosmic lashings are both worthy of admiration.

But how much AMT can you take in one sitting? If there's anything this band has taught us-- via records such as 2002's Electric Heavyland and the ferocious Acid Mothers Temple & the Melting Paraiso U.F.O-- it's that they're not afraid to reach for the upper regions of consciousness. On Mantra of Love, they offer two titles over the course of one hour, never faltering along the way, and it's as if we listeners are just brief visitors passing through a never-ending, spontaneous group trip. For all I know, Kawabata has hundreds of hours of this stuff on his hard drive-- at any single moment, this record's sheer volume of sound is a clamor to behold. However, if you aren't dialed into that the particular space AMT inhabits (for me, it's the mystical fire-baptism standby), you might not hear their glorious noise for all the, well, glorious noise.

"La Le Lo" begins as a lengthy psychedelic ballad sung by Cotton Casino (who doubles on "beer & cigarettes"), who is accompanied by her own ghostly backing vocals. The band is playing a mantra as Casino waxes earth-mother stylings to the moon. The serenity is broken by a patented AMT rave led by Kawabata's electric sitar (!) solo. Ace rhythm section Tsuyama Atsushi ("monster bass") and Koizumi Hajime hold things together, as does the generally decent recording quality (not a given for these guys), but the real money is in effects-- lots and lots effects. Much like France's Richard Pinhas or AMT's countrymen in Les Rallizes Denudes and High Rise, the band understands the collaborative power of solo + overdriven Moog sirens and screams. And, also like those artists, Acid Mothers can go on all night if need be. About 25 minutes into this piece, any hell that hadn't already broken loose gets its due, and the band speeds to a fiery climax before winding down into glimmering astro-ambience.

The second track, "L'Ambition dans le Miroir", also begins as a minor ballad featuring Casino's haunting solo vocal. The Mothers set her up with a faux-blues drag and a thick buffer of synth-rays; when Casino actually enters, she fights for airtime with an array of falling stars and cosmic dust. However, this time there is no overwhelming solo to power the comedown. Casino intermittently coos in the background while droning horns keep the auxiliary pixie haze from evaporating. As they showed on In C and La Novia, AMT are more than adept at creating calmer storms-- listeners just have to catch them in the right light. Mantra of Love doesn't necessarily capture the most inspired moments in their canon but as usual with this band's records, it's rarely at a loss for moments of horror or grandeur.”

Acid Mothers Temple & The Melting Paraiso U.F.O. : Cotton Casino - Vocal, Beer & Cigarettes - Tsuyama Atsushi - Monster Bass, Vocal, Cosmic Joker - Higashi Hiroshi - Synthesizer, Dancin' King - Koizumi Hajime - Drums, Percussion, Sleeping Monk - Kawabata Makoto - Guitar, Bouzouki, Electric Sitar, Violin, Hammond Organ, Speed Guru

To commemorate the 30th anniversary of Therapy?'s Troublegum album , this 2LP set contains the original album pressed on 180g silver vinyl plus a further 14 tracks rounding up B-sides and bonus tracks of the era pressed on 180g lavender vinyl. By the time Therapy? released Troublegum in 1994 they were already well established, but it was the first time many had encountered the group's intensely melodic blend of hard rock and indie, an arresting combination of old and new, striking in its immediacy. Formed by schoolfriends in Larne, Northern Ireland, Therapy? consistently pushed the rock trio to its limits, often saying that their use of feedback was their fourth instrument. Singer, guitarist and writer Andy Cairns, bassist Michael McKeegan and drummer Fyfe Ewing had been playing together since 1989, and were signed to indie label Wiiija the following year on the strength of their live reputation. After two albums with Wiiija, they were signed to A&M Records, and their 1992 album, Nurse, reached the UK Top 40. The group paired with Mission producer Chris Sheldon and went to Chipping Norton Studios to record a follow-up. The results were stunning. Lead single "Screamager" (on the Shortsharpshock EP) reached the UK Top 10 in March 1993; follow-up "Turn" made the Top 20. By the time Troublegum was released in February 1994, it contained both singles, plus "Nowhere" and "Trigger Inside", further hits from the album. Troublegum is warm and powerful, showing that grunge was not just the preserve of bands from the western seaboard of the US. Mixed without any discernible gaps between tracks, the album offers 45 minutes of attack. Amid the originals, the band's post punk roots are shown by their storming cover of Isolation by Joy Division. Widely acclaimed, Troublegum reached No 5 in the UK charts, went Gold and was nominated for the Mercury Music Prize. It sounds as fresh today as it did in 1994.

It's already hard to describe what Deerhoof sounds like. So we'll skip that part and say this sounds a lot like Deerhoof with a different singer. And in keeping with 30-year Hoofian tradition, melodies soar, big hit earwigs abound, harmonies are complex, and keys change frequently and unexpectedly. Arrangements are in a constant state of impatient agitation. Emotions run high but delivery is usually a falsetto deadpan. We Sang, Therefore We Were is grief delivered in code. Greg plays everything save for a few birds who join in singing now and again. He keeps the instrumentarium severely limited, the sound shambling and anti-slick. It turns out Greg is a really good bass player and guitar player, if a bit more rudimentary and slicing compared to his Deerhoof bandmates. He does play more angry guitar solos. But don't expect another Chippendale/Saunier speed-drum freakout; the songwriting is gorgeous and sophisticated, and drums are almost an afterthought. Here, song is Queen. The singing is high and whispery, tending towards the three-part harmony. What we're saying is: We Sang, Therefore We Were sounds a bit like Deerhoof fronted by The Andrews Sisters. This is a peek inside the mind of one of indie rock's most celebrated drummers, many of whose fans may not even realize the relentlessness of his musicianship and compositional prolificacy. Mozartian chords and sounds insinuate themselves here and there on this record, finally taking over in a big climax at the end, when the drums break off unexpectedly into a laugh-or-cry orchestral outpouring that ironically may be the rawest part of a very raw album. "Satomi, Ed, John and I were chatting between shows in Austin in early December. They encouraged me to make a record on my own. With no one to please but myself, it came together way faster than usual. It was basically done by the holidays. I had been excited by the announcement that the new Rolling Stones record was going to sound 'angry.' I thought, 'Yes, I'm angry too.' But Hackney Diamonds turned out more like cotton candy than punk rock. So I went back to Nirvana. I always loved the catchy melody over massive distortion, the way their songs refused to conform to simple major or minor scales, the dark sarcasm which still resonates in this age of phony blue-check-washing of fascism." The album cover is all text, penned by Greg on the familiar topic of interspecies absurdist operatic anti-Cartesian revolution. The songs' lyrics are all drawn from this epic poem. White House spokespersons are recast as The Queen of the Night from The Magic Flute, The Queen of the Night is recast as a mockingbird singing all night in a battle for survival, and ultimately the mockingbird is recast as a campy drag artist taking pleasure in her own aggressive, tireless music-making.

LTD 200 copies / Printed sleeve

Somehow between speed Hardtek, Speedcore fairway : a straigth spaceship ! Fresh from the Nederlands !

Limited expanded 4 x LP Boxset edition, including 2 double gatefold records; one of the original album and one of remixes and rarities
Includes an exclusive 60 page hardback 12” x 12” book, documenting Orbital’s story and history Also features a 12” Slipmat, and 3 printed repro A6 flyers, randomly placed throughout the book

This is techno, but not as we know it from the Vigenere. Sparagamos (a fitting name given the word originally means to render, tear apart, or mangle) is behind these freaky beats but we nothing more about the artist.

Suffice it to say they sure do have a fine grip of their studio and can manipulate sound in some thrilling ways. The opener is a warp-speed warehouse banger with distorted bass and manic energy, track two explores sludgy acid techno underworlds and track there is a twitchy cosmic workout with serene pads.

'Track 4' is a world of dystopian robotics while the flip side offers tripped-out, double-time dub techno, more acid intensity and experimental mind melters with exceptional sound design.

The truest Freaks Of Nature, Sleep D, are following up their hot ‘n’ heavy “F.O.N” series with Vol. 2; rammed start to finish with juiced up club exhilarations - you can’t afford to miss this.

Australia’s notoriously prolific duo are celebrating all things bass, the 3 tech-tinged party starters are a force to be reckoned with, an official warning of high voltage (and speed). Welcoming back Butter Sessions alumni Ivy Barkakati & Furious Frank, the sun kissed acid anthem Ahora Sí metamorphosizes into a peak-time prog punisher Border Control where sensual whispers weave their way through a slick sexy drum maze, a darker rendition merging past, present and futuristic fantasies. Post Pump elevates tech house to immaculate status, undeniable deep groove unlocked through their signature bump and bounce; a combination of wild A side audio energies finding their home on freaky finale Bass’d In Berlin. Close your eyes, strap in and surrender control, Sleep D once again showcasing what they do best; modern dance from down under.

Limited edition 666 copies including insert and vomit orange colored vinyl. Ball is back from the grave! Wasted and slimy Swedish heavy psych speed freak power-trio. Dionysian fuck ‘n’ roll soaked in diabolical occult havoc. Drugged and toxic. Funky-proto-metal with a solid groove. Fucked-up, subhuman fuzz guitars. Depraved, screaming vocals. Gut-rumbling bass and caveman groove drums. This is hard rock from hell. “...this is what black metal would sound like if it was from Detroit ’68.” --Jus Oborn (Electric Wizard) Parental advisory – inside contains XXX-rated content. Buy at your own risk!

Bathed in a green haze, the crowd oozed to the mutant rock and roll roaring from the basement's dusty depths — everything and everyone was sweaty and sticky. But as Speedy Ortiz crammed into the back corner, their grins just inches away from ours, D.C.’s Dougout became a moshed-and-sloshed sauna of 20-somethings delirious on rock euphoria.

After spending much of the new millennium bored out of my skull by network soap indie, Speedy Ortiz — not to mention its pals in Pile, Ovlov, Grass is Green and the rest of New England’s burgeoning basement scene — was rock's wild howl. The songs were unpredictable, yet weirdly memorable, swaggering with a winky and wry sense of self. Riffs would twist with a topsy tenderness, then slam a ruptured discord. Sadie Dupuis' sphinxian-yet-sensitive lyrics were not only matched but accentuated by her coil-sprung vibrato. How could Speedy Ortiz not immediately become my new favorite band?

What began as a short-lived solo project recorded in Dupuis' off-hours as a rock camp counselor became a four-piece band in Northampton, Mass., by the end of 2011: Dupuis on guitar and vocals with drummer Mike Falcone, bassist Darl Ferm and guitarist Matt Robidoux. They made cool mixtapes, cracked inside jokes and gushed about teenagers that opened for them on tour. They freaked out (via LiveJournal) when they met the bassist from Polvo or Helium's Mary Timony, but also rolled their eyes at '90s indie-rock comparisons. The band's first single — the gender-bending got-laid grunge yowler "Taylor Swift'' — elicited that rare response of the simultaneous giggle and headbang. The Sports EP amped up the taut yet rubbery riffery.

Released July 9, 2013, Major Arcana is filled with wedding chapel exorcisms, oiled-down attractants and criminally twisted puny little villains — this is Dupuis' haunted lexicon as she scales the toxic Aggro Crag of a breakup. And while Dupuis wrote these songs, the band's convulsing arrangements and diverse influences sprawled the squigglier edges of feedbacked fuzz to mete out matters of the heart. Falcone — who, it's worth noting, has a knack for vocal harmony — swung as much as he smashed the drums. In easily tipoverable songs, Ferm's burly bass and percussive overdubs gave the unruly glee its momentum. Robidoux ripped skronky guitar solos and countered Dupuis' riffs with decorative splatter. Over a four-day marathon session at Sonelab in Easthampton, recording engineer Justin Pizzoferrato sparked the studio imagination of Speedy Ortiz — not only leaning into gritty tones but layer-caking dense dynamics that made these songs pop and pulverize.

For all her sweet-toothed seething, Dupuis was not easy on herself. Everyone's allowed the idiot growing pains of your 20s and the misery that follows, but I can only imagine the emotional exhaustion that playing these songs on the road, night after night, must have wrought. "But you left something on my lips: a mark so sick," she repeats over the doomy destruction that ends the album. Thinking back to the many Speedy Ortiz shows I caught in those early years, including an unofficial after-after party for my own wedding, "MKVI" often served as the noisy down-and-out closer — heads would bang in solidarity as the crowd became co-authors in the chaos, the biting phrase now a hex, Speedy Ortiz forever our coven. —Lars Gotrich

To celebrate the 10th Anniversary of Major Arcana, Speedy Ortiz release a remastered edition on Carpark Records.

When punk arrived in late 1976, the scene acted as a catalyst for an explosion of independent labels which swiftly sprung up around the UK. Named after a classic track by Manchester’s The Drones, ‘Just Want To Be Myself’ boasts classic sevens on imprints such as Small Wonder, The Label, Rough Trade, Dining Out, Deptford Fun City and Cherry Red (all London), Zoom (Glasgow), Attrix (Brighton), Heartbeat (Bristol), Good Vibrations (Belfast) and Bent (Manchester).

Many of the individuals and bands featured would later enjoy success in various incarnations – for example, The Pack mutated into Theature Of Hate, The Outsiders’ Adrian Borland attracted acclaim with his band The Sound, ‘O’ Level’s Edward Ball made an impact with various acts including The Times and Leyton Buzzards evolved into pop combo Modern Romance!

Pure Hell and The Electric Chairs’ Wayne County were American but eligible here because the tracks were recorded in the UK

Channeling the speed of youth and the heaviness of a fleshy, lived life in equal proportion, Upchuck’s second LP, Bite the Hand That Feeds, is a Trojan Horse par excellence, craftily smuggling in waves of sentimental emotion and clever pop songwriting under a veil of pulsing rhythms and scorching riffs. What binds Upchuck together is a purity of intention, an organic loyalty to a thick knot of uncalculated friendships, struggles, and desires. These are songs about the joy of continuing to live, songs that find each other in the rush of a crushing reality, propelling the listener onward towards a collective release, however brief it may last. Themes of surviving through the night, youth-blinded love, cheap champagne soaked back-alley parties, and chaotic street protests are subsumed under a single unifying thread: the needs we have for one another, our shared hunger for connection. In a world saturated with arbitrary rules and paper-thin moralism, Upchuck offer free¬dom through sensation, a type of unserious transcendence found through the swirl of bodies melting into one another in the passion of dance. With Bite the Hand That Feeds, Upchuck isn’t trying to tell anyone how to live. Rather, they are simply trying to find a way to make life more worth living for both themselves and their friends—if the music compels you to move, you might as well consider yourself their friend too. Shortly after the release of their debut album Sense Yourself, Upchuck absconded to Southern California to record Bite the Hand That Feeds, enlisting the production talents of Ty Segall and the airy reprieve of his secluded Topanga Canyon home studio. Upchuck credits Segall, who recorded the entire record live to tape over the span of five days, with helping to elevate the arrangements of their second record to bold new heights—fans of Segall’s extensive catalog will undoubtedly recognize the shadow of his creative touch in Bite the Hand That Feeds’ commanding, layered drum polyrhythms, tasteful use of oddball effects, and fuzzed out, every-guitar-pushed-into-the-red ethos. All the same, final credit for Upchuck’s evolution from Sense Yourself to Bite the Hand That Feeds must be paid to the band itself. Following the release of their debut LP, Upchuck embarked upon a break-neck string of live shows, touring alongside the likes of Segall’s Fuzz, Amyl and the Sniffers, Negative Approach, OFF!, and Sub¬humans. The razor tight focus of Bite the Hand That Feeds was forged in the fire of these live shows, speaking directly to the power of their in-person presence—these are songs meant to be heard pressed up against a barricade, blasted through dimed guitar amps placed so close to your ears that you can practically reach out and touch them. In its totality, Bite the Hand That Feeds offers a sonic portrait of what it feels like to be young and caught up in the thrill of it all, coursing between ripping dance grooves and thundering dirges, anti-self-serious crowd anthems and charming pop hooks.

Northern California psychedelic sorcerers Carlton Melton are brain surfers, mind trippers, … “psychlists,” if you prefer. The band will take your head for a ride, occasionally rushing at superluminal speeds through a wormhole or gliding softly on a gentle breeze in a leafy glade. Sometimes your brain needs to rage, and sometimes it needs to repose. For a decade and a half, the band has yo-yo’ed, almost schizophrenically, between these two modes: walloping space jams with furious guitar solos in one hemisphere of the brain and ethereal, feather-light splashdowns in the other. Not to mention a track here and there that builds from the latter into the former. But with two new releases in 2023, the band has evolved. Whether psych rock or ambient trance, their sound remains driving, organic, and flowing. With the addition of Anthony Taibi (White Manna, DDT), however, the group’s metal freak-outs are Hawkwindier and their droning kraut trances are Spacemen 3-er. In January, the quartet released the playfully spacey Resemble Ensemble, recorded in Taibi’s home studio 3D Light. October now sees the band Turn To Earth, a work with scents of Autumn, a season of death and transition. The cover art evokes a vine-covered, electric crucifix. The sound is, well, earthy but also gritty and striving towards change. The album was recorded in Fall 2022 and now harvested in Fall 2023. Phil Becker (Terry Gross, Pins Of Light) contributed drums and percussion to a few tracks on Turn To Earth, recording the album at El Studio in San Francisco.

With Becker at the helm, the synths have become more prominent (“Cosmicity,” “Roboflow,” “Migration”) and the tone heavier on the doom (“Cloudstorming,” “Unlock The Land,” title track): several moments could even serve as background music for epic dark fantasy films like Conan the Barbarian, Fire and Ice, or Heavy Metal. As exquisite as Turn To Earth is, Melton are best appreciated as a live act: their recordings as well as their gigs are largely improvised – not so much composed as birthed. And yet their most recent tour ended abruptly and perilously. The group had to cancel its final three shows once members were admitted to Arnhem hospital in the Netherlands. Five years later, reinforcements have strengthened the band and restocked its arsenal of great tracks. After the rockus interruptus of that 2018 tour and the tantric tease of the intervening Covid lockdown, Melton have some unfinished business. An October 2023 tour is poised to set the freshly minted quartet back onto the stages of Europe and within the cerebral folds of its fans. Turn To Earth, sure … but keep your head in outer space. Carlton Melton is: andy duvall – drums/gtr; clint golden – bass; rich millman – gtr/synth; and anthony taibi – synth/gtr.

Freak Frequency was a fitting title for the new material Greg Obis was planning for Stuck, the frenetic and twisted post-punk outfit he formed in 2018. Inspired by the doomy social economics of Mark Fisher’s Capitalist Realism, the bleak worldbuilding of horror games Demon’s Souls and Bloodborne, and the bombastic yet arty satire of Devo, Obis channelled his audio analogy into Freak Frequency, an album ringing out with explosive sounds and ideas.

Stuck formed after Obis’ previous projects, Yeesh and Clearance, called it quits in short proximity. Obis is on guitar and vocals, which span from booming theatrics to ecstatic yelps. The project’s rhythm section is completed by shoegaze guitarist-turned-chugging bassist David Algrim and tightly wound drummer Tim Green—also a graphic designer, and the artist responsible for Stuck’s distinctively unified visual aesthetic. Original co-guitarist Donny Walsh contributed freely inventive lines for the first few years of the project, including on Freak Frequency; Ezra Saulnier of Red Tunic, the newest member of the band, now brings calculated contrapuntal riffs to match Obis’ parts.

The building blocks of Stuck include the egg punk eccentricities of Uranium Club and The Coneheads filtered through noise rock power, à la Jesus Lizard or Slint; that melange is glittered with the precision microtones of Unwound and Women. “I want the feeling of immersion and chaos and tension, with a big guitar amp playing a big chord,” says Obis of his inspirations, citing friends and peers Cloud Nothings and Preoccupations. “But I want it delivered by having a lot of smaller points of light poking through.”

In fact, writing for Freak Frequency began while Content’s recording was still underway—beginning with “Scared,” which features acoustic layers under feedback squalls. “Time Out,” with motoric guitars in the sputtering lineage of Wire, was also composed in late 2019. Obis wrote it about the cycles of compulsion and shame woven into social media use, and the way negativity drives algorithmic engagement. It became an exciting exercise for the group in ramping up speed; “I thought I knew how far I could push Tim’s tempos,” Obis recalls. “But Tim kept insisting we do it 20 bpm faster than what I had. He is an absolute monster for playing that.”

Album opener “The Punisher,” a spiral staircase of disembodied guitars and rhythmic slams over a 2/4 beat, came in the aftermath of the January 6 insurrection. It felt immediately emblematic to Freak Frequency, and Obis describes it as his favorite Stuck track: one he wishes he could write again and again. “It hits all the boxes that Stuck can do: it’s goofy, but there’s a lot of intricate guitar interplay, and at the end, there’s a big payoff,” he explains. The last song written was “Do Not Reply,” a pre-album single that came to Obis after engineering for Melkbelly and channelling their earworm melodies. Algrim wouldn’t let it on the record unless Melkbelly’s front person Miranda Winters dueted on vocals; she was happy to oblige, and the gritty epic closes Freak Frequency.

With slippery snark, percussive heft, and funhouse mirrors of sludge, Freak Frequency delivers its needed screeds with gratifying nuance. If Stuck’s interpretation of this messed-up world goes down like a bitter pill, it’s only because its sugar coating is too delicious to keep from eating.

New York City's loudest band A Place to Bury Strangers have had their intense live performance captured and immortalized directly to 12” wax. The post-punk legends are the 9th & latest entry in the Live at Levitation archival vinyl series. “Levitation 2021 was our second show as a new band and I felt so psyched to bring the new band members to such an epic festival. It was like a homecoming for me. Bob Mustachio was doing lights and playing with Ringo Deathstarr, Kikagaku Moyo & the Black Angels all on the same bill had me so rev’d up and excited. I knew it had to be an epic show. I remember right when we started I was flailing around so much like a freak on speed that I almost flung my guitar off the stage. By the time we got out into the crowd I thought I was gonna pass out. I remember we rented this PA speaker from Rock N Roll Rentals and for some reason they trusted us with this top of the line like $5000 12” monitor that we rolled around in the crowd while I was screaming at the top of my lungs. I love Levitation and Austin Psych Fest. They are always a UFO of a good time.” - Oliver Ackermann (APTBS)

Like meeting an old friend again, Dalmata Daniel welcomes DJ Overdose back to their catalog. Six years ago the infamous Dutchman's '05 Poly 800 Loop' EP was released, which served as a powerful launch to Dalmata Daniel, opening the first chapter in their story. Later in 2019, a split release with Sematic4 was also a highlight in the life of the label; and now, 3 years later, DJ Overdose checks in with the 'Powers of Ten EP' with a J. Mono remix, available both in digital and vinyl format, the latter having 2 bonus tracks.

The distinct, crunchy sound of DJ Overdose, bearing aspects of old school hip-hop-infused sampling and contemporary analog vibes creates the perfect blend of both worlds. 'Garden of Lust' opens up the adventure with a combo of warm basslines and solid drum-programming. This initial track feeds us these cardinal elements as the bread and butter they are: subtle variations and fine spices do appear here and there as the track goes along, but the key, beating pulse in 'Garden of Lust' brings massive hits stable as a sledgehammer in the hands of a blacksmith.

'Feed The Beats' elevates the game to cinematic territories: its majestic string-like central melody makes me alert and ablaze, making me feel like I'm in a late 80s L.A. setting facing malevolent zombie-aliens in my Wayfarer shades. Blasting beats and Carpenterian coolness all over the place, while the spooky bassline just keeps sneaking up on me endlessly.

If you are wondering when's the best time of the year to bring out your boombox at last, then this is your lucky day: with 'BOB', the first bonus track on the vinyl, we can experience some roarin' bassdrums, snappy snares, MCs with the speed of light and all that jazz. The low-bit sampling and vinyl scratching come and kick you right in the face so hard that it becomes pretty obvious you'll can't help but start some serious beatbox battles in your bathtub with your rubber duck.

A feverish groove in the prime time of a funky bash, in the haze of a sensual rave-up: that's all one really wants when going for a Saturday night out. We definitely get this and much more from 'Room 714', another vinyl-only bonus track. A berserk voice and ethereal chords guide us through this mysterious track, but while we are busy trying to impress our crushes on the dance floor, things around us are slowly getting very, very freaky, maybe a bit way too freaky.

As wobbly and jolly as it gets, our Dutch friend ends his session with 'Ðr ¡v€ M€ ¢r@z¥', a vocoder-heavy disco banger, full of merry vocal FX and smart rhythmic glitches as he completes his flight. To close the EP, our local hero, J. Mono delivers an insane remix of 'Ðr ¡v€ M€ ¢r@z¥': one can clearly imagine how he grabs and turns the BPM knob all the way up, fires up some arpeggios on his mighty synths and casts a complete reimagination of the original track.

A question popular among followers of Thrash Metal is undeniably this, “Which is considered the fastest Thrash Metal album of all time?”. There would be a high percentage of answers supporting “Reign In Blood”, Darkness Descends” or “Pleasure To Kill”. Now here’s a startling reality. Wehrmacht’s debut album makes those albums sound as if they were meant to be listed under progressive Metal. The sheer ferocity of these guys is enough to convince you why they were considered the fastest Heavy Metal band in the underground. So what is it that makes this record worthy of being called an underground classic? Right from production to musicianship, the concoction of several different ideas results into one colossal and inevitably unique style of their own. Many of you would probably wonder that there might just be a natural leaning towards sloppy playing especially considering my description of their astoundingly fast nature earlier. But the major surprise here is that all the musicians are extremely tight and precise with no single riff, solo or beat falling out of place. Tito Matos is one of the most versatile Thrash singers one has ever heard till date. His clarity of words and ability to keep up with the rest of the band with his lightning fast singing is simply commendable. The songs in here are all ridiculously speedy pieces of Thrash Metal with practically little or no remorse for the listener. The title track with that brilliant rendition of the famously eerie “Jaws” theme kicks off the onslaught with a tearing main riff that shreds away with speed and precision. Teutonic, Bay Area and a few east coast Thrash Metal bands have been instrumental in forging the whole genre altogether but taking the intensity a couple of notches higher was undoubtedly achieved by bands like Cryptic Slaughter, Soothsayer and finally Wehrmacht. For a year that was 1987, “Shark Attack” was way ahead of its time and has been highly regarded as the release that influenced many a band in the Grindcore and Black Metal genres. To testify this statement of mine, U.K Grindcore pioneers Napalm Death have covered Wehrmacht on one of their studio compilations, thus proving the exemplary effect this band had in the years to come. Yet the irony still stands out as to why only the most devoted of Thrash Metal/Crossover freaks know about this band. As for some of you guys, quit wasting your time listening to the senseless offshoots of Grindcore and shitty Black Metal and get a hold of this classic instead.

This is the second Haress album, a five piece from Shropshire. They channel the sounds of Fairport Convention, Lungfish, Papa M, Earth, Robert Wyatt, John Fahey, and Talk Talk. Taking influence and making it their own. The first vinyl press comes with a bonus flexi disc telling the story of the week the band spent recording the album, the weirdness, the positively supernatural happenings. On this album the core duo of Elizabeth Still and David Hand are joined by David Smyth (Mind Mountain, Kling Klang) on drums, Chris Summerlin (Hey Colossus, Kogumaza) on guitar, Thomas House (Sweet Williams, Charlottefield) on vocals and Nathan Bell (Lungfish, Human Bell) on trumpet. In early 2020 the group travelled to a disused water mill in North Wales for a week to record with engineer Phil Booth (JT Soar) and his mobile studio. The stories of what occurred are told on the flexi disc that accompanies the LP but the group’s plans for a relaxing break in the country were scuppered by events that were either highly unusual, or positively supernatural (depending on your own beliefs in such things). Well-made plans were abandoned and the recording was forced to develop according to the location it was being made in. Chance and accident were welcomed as a collaborator rather than a saboteur and the group exited the sessions extremely freaked-out but with the makings of an album. Ghosts is an incredible piece of work and posits Haress on their own when it comes to developing new approaches to traditional musical forms. The music contains many moments of immediate joy - the relative pop of House’s vocals on White Over, the wild horns of I Think I Think, the rush of warmth as Time To Drink morphs into focus. But it also stretches the sound Haress have carefully developed almost to breaking point with sections of music that feel like somebody - something - else is steering the ship. The 2 final songs – Litres Into Metres and Sussurus – are joined together by a collage of site-specific sound. It was decided to add the output from a detuned long wave radio to this section on the final night of recording. Static hissed from the device but as soon as the record light illuminated, a rich male baritone voice sang loud and clear from the radio, taking a solo right where it was needed and then disappearing into space forever like the Ghosts of the title.

This first-ever vinyl reissue, remastered from the original analog tapes, includes a gatefold jacket and inner sleeve with restored, new, and alternate art and photos by Terry and Jo Harvey Allen; an insert with lyrics, original notes, and Terry’s letter to H.C. Westermann about the songs; and a high-res download code. Deluxe CD edition features a trifold jacket and inner sleeve. Recorded exactly two years after acclaimed visual artist and songwriter Terry Allen’s masterpiece Lubbock (on everything), the feral follow-up Smokin the Dummy is less conceptually focused but more sonically and stylistically unified than its predecessor it’s also rougher and rowdier, wilder and more wired, and altogether more menacingly rock and roll. Following the 1973 Whitney Biennial, in which songwriter and visual artist Terry Allen and fellow iconic artist Horace Clifford “Cliff” Westermann both exhibited, Allen maintained a lively long-distance correspondence and exchange of artworks and music with Westermann, whose singular and highly influential art he admired enormously. In a February 1981 letter to his friend and mentor, written shortly after the late 1980 release of his third album Smokin the Dummy, while he and his family were living in Fresno, California, Terry explains the genesis of the album title: Westermann died shortly after receiving this letter, enclosed with a Smokin the Dummy LP, the minimalist black jacket of which Allen suggested that Cliff fold into a jaunty cardboard hat if he didn’t like the music. That response was unlikely, since Westermann loved Terry’s music, calling his debut record Juarez (1975) “the finest, most honest and heartfelt piece of music I ever heard.” The Panhandle Mystery Band had only recently coalesced during those 1978 Lubbock sessions, Lloyd Maines’s first foray into production. Through 1979, they honed their sound and tightened their arrangements with a series of periodic performances beyond Allen’s regular art-world circuit, including memorable record release concerts in Lubbock, Chicago, L.A., and Kansas City. Terry sought to harness the high-octane power of this now well-oiled collective engine to overdrive his songs into rawer and rockier off-road territory. His first album to share top billing with the Panhandle Mystery Band, Dummy documents a ferocious new band in fully telepathic, tornado-fueled flight, refining its caliber, increasing its range, and never looking down. Alongside the stalwart Maines brothers co-producer, guitarist, and all-rounder Lloyd, bassist Kenny, and drummer Donnie and mainstay Richard Bowden (who here contributes not only fiddle but also mandolin, cello, and “truck noise theory,” the big-rig doppler effect of Lloyd’s steel on “Roll Truck Roll”), new addition Jesse Taylor supplies blistering lead guitar, on loan from Joe Ely (who plays harmonica here). Jesse’s kinetic blues lines and penchant for extreme volume were instrumental in pushing these recordings into brisker tempos and tougher attitudes. Terry was feverish for several studio days, suffering from a bad flu and sweating through his clothes, which partially explains the literally febrile edge to his performances, rendered largely in a perma-growl. (By this point, he was regularly breaking piano pedals with his heavy-booted stomp.) Like the album title itself, the songs on Smokin the Dummy ring various demented bells. The tracks rifle through Terry’s assorted Obsessions especially the potential energy and escape of the open road, elevated here to an ecstatic, prayerful pitch and are populated by a cast of crooked characters: truckers, truck-stop waitresses, convicts, cokeheads, speed freaks, greasers, holy rollers, rodeo riders, dancehall cheaters, and sacrificial prairie dogs, sinners seeking some small reprieve, any fugitive moment of grace. A reigning deity of a certain kind of country music since the mid-70s. – The New York Times // The kind of singular American artist who expresses the fundamental weirdness of his country. – The Wire