Search:the wanted

Ryjel was a band from suburban Pittsburgh, PA, that started out in the mid-1970s performing classic rock covers. The band was approached by a local entrepreneur who wanted to cut a single for the disco market, but a lack of financing scuttled the proposal. Nevertheless, the band was able to record a dozen of its original tunes in a professional studio for possible release, and among those songs were "Heart's On Fire" and "Baby Don't Stop."

Both tracks were recorded some 50 years ago having remained unreleased to this day. It needed the investigative work of the Tramp Records crew to discover them. Finally they are available on a strictly limited 45 RPM single release. In addition, the full length version of "Heart's On Fire" will soon be released on the upcoming Tramp Records compilation titled "CAN YOU FEEL IT Vol.5 - Modern Soul, Disco & Boogie 1977-88".

One of the best mid 70s roots tunes, reissued the way we always wanted to see it. The Officials (later known as Earth & Stone) "Babylonian" was released on a very rare Jaguar 45 as a solo vocal, but also had a lesser known release on a Dynamic Sounds compilation album. That album cut is a duo harmony vocal over a slightly different take of the rhythm, and never reissued on vinyl before. Both vocal cuts are now paired back to back in crisp master tape quality.

There’s no direct English translation for the word “hiraeth”. In the Welsh language, it describes a form of longing for an intangible something, somewhere or someone that no longer exists. Sofie Birch and Antonina Nowacka draw on the concept to guide their second collaborative album, a suite of vulnerable, open-hearted improvisations and reflections that attempt to grasp an image of the past that’s chimeric, dissolving almost as soon as it materializes. The duo’s process follows the same distant beacon; unlike Languoria, their critically acclaimed debut, Hiraeth is, at heart, an acoustic record, informed by in-person improvisations with voices and string instruments that gesture to an era before computers, AI and DAWs. It’s just as lush, but Hiraeth is warmer and more muted than its predecessor.
Nowacka and Birch conceived the album in the wake of a slew of collaborative live concerts, spurred on by serendipitous improvisations and an interest in paring down their setup. Unsound arranged a retreat in Sokołowsko, an idyllic village nestled in the verdant hills of Southern Poland, close to the Czech border. Sokołowsko surrounds a large ruined sanatorium that’s rumored to have inspired Thomas Mann’s 1924 novel The Magic Mountain, and has long been a magnet for artists. The two took the opportunity to rethink their approach completely, arriving with just a guitar, a zither and a portable Nagra reel-to-reel machine. Recording directly to tape, they sketched out ideas with just their voices and instruments, reflecting their surroundings without being distracted or mediated by modern technology.
“We wanted to get away from screens as much as possible,” says Birch, “to bring to the world something vulnerable and honest. Without advance preparation, every day we went out into the open air, finding places to sit, during sunset or the midday sun. We discovered new tunings on our instruments, picked up a melody, and started the machine, playing over
and over till we got a take.” In the autumn, they met again in a Copenhagen studio, sparingly and carefully layering old synths and organs to add more depth without muddying the mix.
Both Nowacka and Birch sing throughout, their voices threading the acoustic instruments and tangling with each other, almost becoming one. But it’s the environment of Sokołowsko, “the birds and the light, even the wind playing against the harps,” that’s woven into the music’s lining. Affected by time spent meditating and in nature, as well as the fact that Birch was pregnant whilst recording, the album feels alive and remarkably present. Even the sound quality of the tape machine gives Hiraeth a tactile, organic quality, as Nowacka puts it, “like being in a warm bath.”

They still have the raw recordings from Sokołowsko on old reels, physical souvenirs of their time spent making music in a “habitat for intuitive songs, a little ecosystem, alive and spirited.” The outmoded gear and remote setting helped the duo disengage from the modern world for a few moments and imagine an existence that’s been lost to time and nominal progress. With digital technology receding into the background, Nowacka and Birch had space to make “intuitive connections with frequencies and people,” as Birch explains. Hiraeth is a testament not to nostalgia, but to the power of kinship.

Crypt of the Wizard is proud to make available two legendary underground albums by Slutet on vinyl and digital formats.
Slutet originated in Uppsala well over a decade ago, first emerging as a loose idea around 2010. The original cluster of strangely like minded individuals - Dingir, Ryttersson, J.P., Sviatopolk, were equally set on starting a cult as they were a band, the former emerging as a loose collective known as The End Commune, while the latter eventually began rehearsing together as Slutet on September 1, 2013.
From this constellation three notorious demo tapes sprung which were self-released in very limited numbers, and only available by trading bodily fluids, blood, and/or hair for the cassettes. “A very loose guess but we made probably around 20-30 hand-drawn/custom demo tapes of the first three releases. We got blood and hair from many places, actually the very first offering was from INDONESIA. Slovakia, Germany, USA, Argentina, Norway, Canada, Finland followed.... if my memory serves..... hazy years indeed”
J.P. left early 2015. Later that year, after trying the band as a bass-drum-vocals outfit for a while, Fjalar joined on guitar. This is the classic constellation. Dingir, Ryttersson, Fjalar, Sviatopolk. The same troupe playing to this very day.
Following on from the compilation Slutet began work on their next offering entitled Jihad. While the departure of J.P. left them temporarily without a guitarist, a chance meeting with Fjalar at a rave ushered in a new era for the band. “I met the drummer and the bass player at a psytrance rave in the forest. I didn’t have any band and I wanted to play music and I saw this fucking weirdo with long dreads and a Hellhammer shirt and I just went up to talk to him”.
After Fjalar joined the rather chaotic fray, songwriting duties were spread out more broadly and Jihad was rehearsed and recorded in a haze. First released as a cassette by Manifest Of Hate Creations, and later on vinyl in an edition of 100 by Goatowarex the release quickly sold out and became as legendary, and as incredibly difficult to obtain as the previous releases. “It has got some psychedelic improvs, some very unorthodox and quite genius vocal work, some electronic undertones, some noisy ambience, a message of existentialism; all this wrapped up in some sloppy but very authentic and intense black metal-ish music.”
“After the vinyl compilation was out (early 2015) we felt probably a bit directionless, and, having parted ways with a befriended and talented guitar player, we felt maybe a bit morally weakened to continue. First, for a year almost, we toiled on without the 6-strings and rehearsed quite lengthy material for a proposed upcoming LP. However, that material never surfaced. Then we got a new guitar player (Fjalar) and created and recorded this mess”.
It is with great pride that we make these albums available to a general audience and in a wider pressing without need for bloodshed.

‘Confession' is an album of quiet upheaval. An album about closeness that arrives late and unexpectedly. About stability rubbing up against desire. About the way friendship can suddenly tilt into something charged — and how that charge unsettles everything around it. Where earlier work often observed from a distance, Confession turns inward. The voice is closer, warmer, less shielded. “This wasn’t the album I intended to make,” says Carla dal Forno. “I originally wanted something veiled and abstract, but I realised I couldn’t hide behind abstraction — the songs only worked when I leaned into emotional truth.”

This is dal Forno’s fourth LP, written and recorded over several years in a small country town, in a studio housed inside a partially abandoned hospital. Long corridors, humming lights, emptied rooms — a place built for care and waiting, now quiet enough for thoughts to echo. That stillness shapes the record: intimate, watchful, unadorned. “I live in a small country town that offers a stillness my life didn’t previously have,” she explains. “In that quiet, feelings I might’ve ignored in a busy city grew loud.” Dal Forno sings plainly and conversationally, with an emotional precision that sharpens the everyday into something quietly unsettling.

The album moves through paired states: going out and staying in, wanting and withholding, devotion and distraction. Domestic calm set against private unrest. A long-held relationship offers safety and routine, while a newer connection opens emotional fault lines — longing, jealousy, fantasy, self-exposure. “At the heart of the album is a friendship that became emotionally charged in an unexpected way,” dal Forno says. “That shift brought daydreaming, jealousy, tenderness, confusion, self-awareness — and eventually acceptance.”

The drama here is internal, incremental, lived. Musically, Confession feels lighter on its feet than its subject matter suggests. Melodic basslines anchor the songs while guitars, harmonies, and gently off-kilter rhythms move around them. There’s a looseness, even a playfulness — “like the sensation of tension lifting once you finally admit something to yourself,” as dal Forno puts it. The album traces a subtle arc: attraction blooming where it shouldn’t; obsession quietly taking hold; fantasy overtaking reality; clarity arriving slowly, sometimes painfully. Visually and emotionally, Confession returns to modest spaces: backyards, beds, night streets, overgrown paths. “The record exists in that contrast,” dal Forno reflects. “Peaceful surroundings, unsettled interior.”

Like all of dal Forno’s work, Confession resists clean conclusions. It doesn’t moralise desire or romanticise restraint. Instead, it lingers in the in-between — where love is stable but not total, where yearning teaches as much as it hurts, where solitude becomes a form of care. Plain-spoken but emotionally complex. Rooted and restless. Held together by bass, breath, routine, weather. An album about admitting what you feel —and living with what that admission changes.

Japan-born, London-based composer-producer Hiro Ama releases his new EP Booster Pack, out now via PRAH Recordings. Where his previous record Music For Peace & Harmony explored spacious, meditative soundscapes, Booster Pack is an energetic, groove-driven statement, a deliberate move toward music designed to get the body moving while retaining the textural detail that defines his work.

Opening track “Booster” sets the tone: a percussive, rhythm-first piece that builds into propulsive, rave-leaning momentum. It was the seed that shaped the rest of the EP, establishing a new direction rooted in groove, movement and physicality.

On the EP, Hiro explains that “After releasing ‘Music for Peace and Harmony’ I wanted to create something completely opposite. Something dancy, something intense. A total 180-degree flip. The album was all about stillness, subtlety, and emotional resonance. This time I wanted to lean fully into energy, fast paced songs, and groove. Create something that I never created and something that could shake you awake rather than calm you down.

“Instead of beginning with piano or harmonic ideas which is usually my starting point. I focused purely on beats and rhythms in the beginning. I didn't add any chords or melodies until I felt happy with the drums and groove layers. It was a new approach for me and it pushed me to think about music more physically and less emotionally.”

The EP features earlier single “Lava”, a rave-inspired, rhythmically intense track built from pulsing bass and a siren-like synth, designed to create tension, energy and movement while keeping the groove at the forefront.

Across the rest of the Booster Pack EP, Hiro leans into percussion, deceptive rhythmic patterns and taut bass to create forward drive; each track begins with groove before melodic elements arrive, resulting in a record that trades reflective stillness for kinetic urgency while maintaining his compositional precision.

At the beginning of the 1960s, at the Berklee College of Music, Byard Lancaster met some feisty friends: Sonny Sharrock, Dave Burrell and Ted Daniel. It is easy to see why he rapidly became involved in free jazz. Once he was settled in New York, he appeared on Sunny Murray Quintet, recorded under the leadership of the drum crazy colleague of Albert Ayler.

In 1968, the saxophonist and flutist recorded his first album under his own name: It’s Not Up To Us. The following year he came to Paris in the wake of... Sunny Murray. He would come back to France in 1971 (again with Murray) and in 1973 (without Murray for a change). This is when he met Jef Gilson, the pianist and producer who encouraged him to record under his own name again. On Palm Records (Gilson’s label), he would release four albums: Us, Mother Africa, Exactement and Funny Funky Rib Crib.

The recording of “Exactement” required two sessions in the studio: February 1st and May 18th 1974 – in between the two dates, Lancaster recorded, alongside Clint Jackson, the excellent Mother Africa. Two names appear on the cover of “Exactement”: Lancaster (Byard) and Speller (Keno). Byard Lancaster wanted to be precise, moving regularly from one instrument to another: first on piano, which was the first instrument he learned. On “Sweet Evil Miss Kisianga”, his inspiration is first and foremost Coltrane (even if leaning more towards Alice than John), this announces the storm to follow.

It is Lancaster’s horn-playing which really stands out: on alto (the sound of which is transformed by an octavoice on one track, "Dr. Oliver W. Lancaster") or soprano saxophones, as well as on flute or bass clarinet, the musician walks a tightrope making the most of all the risks he takes. Using the full register of his instruments, he has fun with the possibilities.

Then, Lancaster invokes or evokes Ornette Coleman, Eric Dolphy and even Prokofiev, before going into a danse alongside Keno Speller on percussion. Above all, he has a unique sound. Byard Lancaster, on whatever instrument he plays and by continually seeking, always ends up hitting the right note... ends up by playing exactement the note he had to play.

‘MASH DOWN BIRMINGHAM: THE EARLY RECORDINGS OF MUSICAL YOUTH’ NEWLY UNEARTHED EARLY RECORDINGS BY THE FIRST LINE-UP OF MUSICAL YOUTH Mastered from the original tapes by Guy Davie at Electric Needle Mythology, the label founded by music writer, author and broadcaster Pete Paphides, is thrilled to announce ‘MASH DOWN BIRMINGHAM: THE EARLY RECORDINGS OF MUSICAL YOUTH’ – an album of rare and unheard early recordings by Musical Youth, the Birmingham reggae group propelled to worldwide fame with the release of their chart-topping single PASS THE DUTCHIE. ‘MASH DOWN BIRMINGHAM: THE EARLY RECORDINGS OF MUSICAL YOUTH’ combines songs from Musical Youth’s first John Peel session, recorded in 1981 with newly unearthed recordings taken from quarter-inch reels stored for over 40 years by the group’s mentor and producer Toney Owens. The project was seeded as early as 2020, when Paphides sent a speculative message to Owens, after he saw his producer credit on the group’s independently released 1981 single Generals/Political. Paphides wanted to know if Owens had made more recordings of the group in a similar heavier roots reggae vein to those on their debut single. Happening upon the message by chance three years later, Owens allowed Needle Mythology access to his archive of quarter-inch tapes, dating back as far as 1978. The recordings gathered together on ‘MASH DOWN BIRMINGHAM: THE EARLY RECORDINGS OF MUSICAL YOUTH’ shine a light on the exceptional musicianship inculcated into the group by their first frontman Frederick Waite, formerly singer with revered Jamaican rocksteady group The Techniques. Backing Frederick Waite in the early lineup of Musical Youth (originally billed by Toney as Cultural Musical Workshop Youths, were two pairs of brothers) Patrick and Junior Waite, and Kelvin and Michael Grant.

Back in 1994 Ellis Dee self-released this mighty 12", a rather sought after release from his incredible backcat. I have wanted to repress this for years now but his discography is so big that its taken blinking years to finally get to this point... but so chuffed we got it sorted.

'We Fell In Turn' is the solo debut from Brooklyn-based trombonist, composer, and quartet leader Kalia Vandever. Vandever, who plays with Harry Styles and Japanese Breakfast, “sculpts her trombone’s golden tones into dazzling compositions” (Pitchfork), writing music that tends to “dip you into a feeling or a pattern or a breathing speed, and keep you there” (The New York Times). In 2022, Vandever released Regrowth, an album that “features the ecstatic, brilliant melodies that have become Vandever’s signature sound” (Bandcamp). This spring, Vandever brings contemplative reflection to We Fell in Turn, a brave and understated work from an ascending voice in American jazz.

Recorded over three days in upstate New York, 'We Fell In Turn' is improvisational — a stark palate of solo trombone, voice, effects, and little more. “My solo process has always been heavily rooted in improvisation,” says Vandever. “I wanted the process to feel similar to the way I perform. Lee Meadvin, who engineered and produced the album, had a heavy hand in the creative process as well. He would dictate prompts before I started improvising and those pieces ended up shaping a lot of the imagery that comes up throughout the record.”

Connecting the dots between Jeff Parker’s 'Forfolks', and early releases from Grouper, 'We Fell In Turn' is a study of space and patience, embracing vulnerability in its sparse adornment. At times, the album is reminiscent of Patrick Shiroishi’s 'Hidemi', both in its familial inspiration and solo instrument study, while sharing the ineffable feel of William Basinski’s 'The Disintegration Loops' — the traces of her trombone folding in on themselves in an organic loop. Emotionally generous throughout, Vandever acts as a torchbearer for jazz’s historical yearning for connection.

On 'We Fell in Turn' Vandever draws inspiration from childhood memories — events that shaped her approach to love, community, and partnership, and her maternal homeland of Hawaii. “We were exploring childhood memories, earliest experiences with disappointment and pain, and my Hawaiian roots,” says Vandever. “We Fell In Turn came after I titled the track "We Wept In Turn". Both come from the intangible feeling of waking up from vivid dreams, particularly the experience of falling right before waking up or waking up in tears.”

Through this exploration into her heritage, Vandever also found guidance. “In Hawaiian mythology, ‘aumākua are known as ancestral spiritual guides that manifest in different forms, whether physical or intangible,” says Vandever. “My ‘aumākua visits me in my dreams, usually with a reassuring hug or a reminder of my past. Memories and early experiences seem to escape me, but find their way back in dreams.” And now they’ve found their way into 'We Fell in Turn', Kalia Vandever’s stunning solo debut.

ROCK JUSTICE is a new hard rock/metal act featuring singer Maggy Luyten (Ayreon, Beautiful Sin, The Prize, ex-Nightmare) and guitarist Bas Maas (Doro, After Forever).

The upcoming debut album, You’ve Been Served, is the result of Bas Maas’s long-held dream. He teamed up with Maggy Luyten to shape the powerful, driving sound of ROCK JUSTICE. The album blends varied song styles, tied together by a nostalgic vibe and well-crafted production.

“The idea came to life when I was still playing in After Forever, where I didn’t get a serious chance to contribute to the songwriting. I had written a couple of songs that didn’t make the cut and realized that if I wanted to get my own music out there, I’d have to do it myself, or at least with other people,” says Bas. When he decided to form a band, he had two rules: he wouldn’t sing himself, and it wouldn’t be a female singer. Finding the right guy proved impossible and after several try-outs, one name kept coming up: Maggy Luyten. “Mag’s voice completely blew me away. I thought, ‘This chick sings like a dude and she delivers.’ Not long after that, we met at an Ayreon album presentation in Utrecht. She wanted to hear my songs to see if they inspired her. They did.” The rest is history. Maggy recalls with a smile: “When Bas came over to hear what I’d worked on, we both knew we had something. I still picture him driving back home: window down, our demo blasting, arm out, metal horns up, huge smile!”

In spring 2025, Abul Mogard and Rafael Anton Irisarri created the source material for their second album, Where Light Pauses in the Silence of the Sun, during a three-day residency at Morphine Raum in Berlin. Functioning as both recording studio and performance venue, the space has no stage, with the audience gathered around the performers. Working within an open framework, the duo reshaped the music each evening while recording the performances live to multitrack. Rotary speakers, modular synthesizers and bowed guitar formed the core of their sonic language, captured through a 1970s mixing console and microphones placed around the room.

Back in Mogard’s studio in Rome, the material was further crafted as motifs were stretched, fragments isolated, and tempos dissolved. Irisarri recorded additional guitar textures and treatments in New York, while passages recorded by Martina Bertoni and Andrea Burelli in Berlin reinforced the harmonic centres and brought breath, refinement and a new sensibility to their compositions. The process continued as Mogard’s layering and subtraction reassembled everyone’s parts into the final arrangement.

The album opens with “In the Eastern Wild,” building from a sparse outline into a monumental formation of low-frequency weight, its internal motion shaped by the rotating Leslie speaker. “Over the Domes” widens into a broader acoustic field, where sustained modular tones meet waves of softly plucked guitar. The music then turns inward with “A Blue Descent,” centred on Bertoni’s cello, whose growling timbre introduces a melancholic depth.

At the album’s centre, “In a Quiet Radiance” unfolds around a slow guitar ostinato, its luminous stillness opening into a more expansive and reflective state. Across its ten-minute span, Burelli’s violin lines and Bertoni’s lower cello phrases gradually surface, weaving through the harmonic field. Mogard brings Burelli’s processed voice to the fore, its emotive, operatic presence becoming one of the record’s pivotal moments. “Of Blessed Ages” suspends the sonic flow, shifting between parallel major and minor chords as lingering, slowly decaying melodies shape the music’s internal drift. The closing “Among Shadows” settles into a darker resonance as layered textures recede.

Mogard and Irisarri’s shared language balances restraint and maximalism. UK magazine Crack describes the music as “a tidal wave held in suspension,” while Dutch newspaper de Volkskrant writes, “What a colossal sound, and how this music strikes at the emotions.” Reflecting on the residency sessions, Irisarri recalls: “At moments I genuinely couldn’t tell if a sound was coming from me or from Abul. It stopped feeling like two people making decisions and began to feel like we were inside a system moving on its own."

Marja de Sanctis’ cover artwork revisits the vessel sculpture from the duo’s first album, Impossibly Distant, Impossibly Close. There it appeared as raw, unfired clay. Here it has been fired in the kiln and finished with a glaze. Light gathers on its polished surface and spills into the surrounding space. As she explains, “I wanted to convey the idea of continuity within the duo, and the vessel became a kind of container for that idea. However, their music felt different this time, and with the collaboration of Martina and Andrea, I felt it should have a sleeker, softer, more glamorous look, very distant from the first raw appearance.” The transformation of the vessel from raw clay to fired form suggests a passage from immediacy toward permanence, mirroring the music’s gradual expansion.

In spring 2025, Abul Mogard and Rafael Anton Irisarri created the source material for their second album, Where Light Pauses in the Silence of the Sun, during a three-day residency at Morphine Raum in Berlin. Functioning as both recording studio and performance venue, the space has no stage, with the audience gathered around the performers. Working within an open framework, the duo reshaped the music each evening while recording the performances live to multitrack. Rotary speakers, modular synthesizers and bowed guitar formed the core of their sonic language, captured through a 1970s mixing console and microphones placed around the room.

Back in Mogard’s studio in Rome, the material was further crafted as motifs were stretched, fragments isolated, and tempos dissolved. Irisarri recorded additional guitar textures and treatments in New York, while passages recorded by Martina Bertoni and Andrea Burelli in Berlin reinforced the harmonic centres and brought breath, refinement and a new sensibility to their compositions. The process continued as Mogard’s layering and subtraction reassembled everyone’s parts into the final arrangement.

The album opens with “In the Eastern Wild,” building from a sparse outline into a monumental formation of low-frequency weight, its internal motion shaped by the rotating Leslie speaker. “Over the Domes” widens into a broader acoustic field, where sustained modular tones meet waves of softly plucked guitar. The music then turns inward with “A Blue Descent,” centred on Bertoni’s cello, whose growling timbre introduces a melancholic depth.

At the album’s centre, “In a Quiet Radiance” unfolds around a slow guitar ostinato, its luminous stillness opening into a more expansive and reflective state. Across its ten-minute span, Burelli’s violin lines and Bertoni’s lower cello phrases gradually surface, weaving through the harmonic field. Mogard brings Burelli’s processed voice to the fore, its emotive, operatic presence becoming one of the record’s pivotal moments. “Of Blessed Ages” suspends the sonic flow, shifting between parallel major and minor chords as lingering, slowly decaying melodies shape the music’s internal drift. The closing “Among Shadows” settles into a darker resonance as layered textures recede.

Mogard and Irisarri’s shared language balances restraint and maximalism. UK magazine Crack describes the music as “a tidal wave held in suspension,” while Dutch newspaper de Volkskrant writes, “What a colossal sound, and how this music strikes at the emotions.” Reflecting on the residency sessions, Irisarri recalls: “At moments I genuinely couldn’t tell if a sound was coming from me or from Abul. It stopped feeling like two people making decisions and began to feel like we were inside a system moving on its own."

Marja de Sanctis’ cover artwork revisits the vessel sculpture from the duo’s first album, Impossibly Distant, Impossibly Close. There it appeared as raw, unfired clay. Here it has been fired in the kiln and finished with a glaze. Light gathers on its polished surface and spills into the surrounding space. As she explains, “I wanted to convey the idea of continuity within the duo, and the vessel became a kind of container for that idea. However, their music felt different this time, and with the collaboration of Martina and Andrea, I felt it should have a sleeker, softer, more glamorous look, very distant from the first raw appearance.” The transformation of the vessel from raw clay to fired form suggests a passage from immediacy toward permanence, mirroring the music’s gradual expansion.

In spring 2025, Abul Mogard and Rafael Anton Irisarri created the source material for their second album, Where Light Pauses in the Silence of the Sun, during a three-day residency at Morphine Raum in Berlin. Functioning as both recording studio and performance venue, the space has no stage, with the audience gathered around the performers. Working within an open framework, the duo reshaped the music each evening while recording the performances live to multitrack. Rotary speakers, modular synthesizers and bowed guitar formed the core of their sonic language, captured through a 1970s mixing console and microphones placed around the room.

Back in Mogard’s studio in Rome, the material was further crafted as motifs were stretched, fragments isolated, and tempos dissolved. Irisarri recorded additional guitar textures and treatments in New York, while passages recorded by Martina Bertoni and Andrea Burelli in Berlin reinforced the harmonic centres and brought breath, refinement and a new sensibility to their compositions. The process continued as Mogard’s layering and subtraction reassembled everyone’s parts into the final arrangement.

The album opens with “In the Eastern Wild,” building from a sparse outline into a monumental formation of low-frequency weight, its internal motion shaped by the rotating Leslie speaker. “Over the Domes” widens into a broader acoustic field, where sustained modular tones meet waves of softly plucked guitar. The music then turns inward with “A Blue Descent,” centred on Bertoni’s cello, whose growling timbre introduces a melancholic depth.

At the album’s centre, “In a Quiet Radiance” unfolds around a slow guitar ostinato, its luminous stillness opening into a more expansive and reflective state. Across its ten-minute span, Burelli’s violin lines and Bertoni’s lower cello phrases gradually surface, weaving through the harmonic field. Mogard brings Burelli’s processed voice to the fore, its emotive, operatic presence becoming one of the record’s pivotal moments. “Of Blessed Ages” suspends the sonic flow, shifting between parallel major and minor chords as lingering, slowly decaying melodies shape the music’s internal drift. The closing “Among Shadows” settles into a darker resonance as layered textures recede.

Mogard and Irisarri’s shared language balances restraint and maximalism. UK magazine Crack describes the music as “a tidal wave held in suspension,” while Dutch newspaper de Volkskrant writes, “What a colossal sound, and how this music strikes at the emotions.” Reflecting on the residency sessions, Irisarri recalls: “At moments I genuinely couldn’t tell if a sound was coming from me or from Abul. It stopped feeling like two people making decisions and began to feel like we were inside a system moving on its own."

Marja de Sanctis’ cover artwork revisits the vessel sculpture from the duo’s first album, Impossibly Distant, Impossibly Close. There it appeared as raw, unfired clay. Here it has been fired in the kiln and finished with a glaze. Light gathers on its polished surface and spills into the surrounding space. As she explains, “I wanted to convey the idea of continuity within the duo, and the vessel became a kind of container for that idea. However, their music felt different this time, and with the collaboration of Martina and Andrea, I felt it should have a sleeker, softer, more glamorous look, very distant from the first raw appearance.” The transformation of the vessel from raw clay to fired form suggests a passage from immediacy toward permanence, mirroring the music’s gradual expansion.

Arpy Brown & Kapote Announce Collaborative Album Memento Ludi via Toy Tonics

A sun-drenched fusion of yacht rock, house and modern indie dance energy – out June 26, 2026
BERLIN, GERMANY — Toy Tonics is proud to announce Memento Ludi, the first collaborative album by label founder Kapote and multi-instrumentalist producer Arpy Brown, arriving June 26, 2026.
The album is a funk-driven journey that bridges the warmth of 1970s analog recordings with the pulse of contemporary dance music. Blending neo-soul grooves, yacht rock harmonies and modern house rhythms, Memento Ludi captures the spirit of classic musicianship within a forward-looking club context.

But Memento Ludi is more than a typical house record. The album moves fluidly between dancefloor tracks and fully developed songs. Every instrument was performed live by the artists themselves: guitars, bass, keyboards and percussion recorded in the studio by Arpy and Kapote. After jamming and recording the basis of every song in a live procedure they carefully resample the parts to create the organic, human touch that defines the Toy Tonics sound.

The title Memento Ludi — Latin for “remember to play” — reflects the album’s philosophy: bringing joy, spontaneity and musicality back into dance music at a time when many club tracks feel increasingly mechanical and formulaic.

The collaboration arrives during a particularly busy moment for both artists. While spending countless hours in the studio, Kapote and Arpy Brown have also maintained intensive international touring schedules with the Toy Tonics crew, road-testing many of the tracks as “secret weapons” in their DJ sets from Melbourne to Los Angeles via their homebase Berlin.

“We wanted to make a record that felt like a lost studio session from 1978 — resampled and synthesised in 2026,” says Kapote.

The third and final(?) 12" in the series comes in the form of this four track 'Within Without' EP.

'Invidia' & 'Deep Breath' originally released on Capture Records in 2005, these are the most wanted tracks from her small yet mighty discography. Playful, driving, emotive, pure Blueless!

Both remastered for an extra bit of punch. On the inner tracks we have 'The Pleasure Is All Mine' & 'Much More', which came to life a lot more recently with some help in the studio from Oliver.r.
Two sun shining jams, moving and grooving, house music for all.

Thank you Blueless, for the music new and old, and giving us the opportunity to shine a much deserved light on them!

May 2026 marks the arrival of TYGAPAW (aka Dion McKenzie)’s first full-length album on Tresor Records, entitled Together You Gather All Power Applied Worldwide. An acronym of its creator’s name, TYGAPAW’s third studio album is a deeply personal collection of music building worlds where Black queer and trans siblings can thrive, while unifying dancefloors worldwide. A proposition that collective wisdom liberates us from the matrix of domination we live within. The album unfolds as the latest chapter in TYGAPAW’s ongoing techno opera opus, continuing to center the voices of Black women, which surface as layered incantations rather than lyrics - powerful, haunting, sensual, activating.
With the process of creating the album starting in 2023, as TYGAPAW (Dion McKenzie) was in the first year of their transition, the music reflects the intensity of that period, where they were experiencing deplatforming as a response to the shift in their physical appearance: Tracks like ‘M32 Riddim’ and ‘Helicopter hovers over my Crown Heights Apartment’ feature high-paced rhythms intersecting with intense siren-like synths to form demanding compositions echoing a heightened sense of alert. Yet throughout the album, relief comes in the form of TYGAPAW’s vocal features, co-conspirators, and chosen family, whose voices are treated with reverb and echo, a sonic fingerprint that leads back to the pioneers in the legendary studios of TYGAPAW’s native land, Jamaica, an important reminder that the past will always inform the future. It is an album for dancers first and foremost, where joy, defiance, and integration with the natural body coexist, and every drop feels less like a climax than a transformation. Expect a bass that permeates your soul and melodic synthesized sequenced phrases echoing the dancehall eras of TYGAPAW’s youth, reshaped into hypnotic melodies that glow over industrial kicks designed to command attention, reasserting Jamaica's pioneering yet often overlooked contribution to electronic music.
In the opening track, ‘Can I Live’, Precious Okoyomon’s words feel like the beginning of a ritual; setting the intentions for the rest of the proceedings. As McKenzie puts it, their “work is about regeneration, resetting, getting integrated into nature, and about rebirth. That’s the tone I wanted to set at the outset of the album.” Ms Carrie Stacks continues this thread of support in ‘Don’t Panic’ with heavily processed vocals on top of a beat that takes inspiration from another important ingredient in the antidote to the oppression of isolation: Ballroom culture. “ I feel like I found my queerness in Ballroom, that’s why this track is very important to me.”
Echoes of NYC Black queer nightlife scene also permeate in the energetic drums of ‘Exorcise the Language of Domination’, in which Julianna Huxtable’s spoken performance complements the various movements and tones of the music. “My producer brain thought this was the one that Juliana’s vocals would be best suited for. I hinted: ‘what do you think of this one?’ She just went into her notes and picked some passages to go with the first section of the track. From there, it was a year-long process of development. It required time and space for this thing to evolve, but I think it’s one of the most powerful tracks on the album.” London’s SUUTOO contributes the album’s only musical collaboration on ‘B2B’, a track that emerged from sessions in McKenzie’s New York studio where the real objective was to connect and have fun; a time out from the demands of life outside.
The album closes out with a double hit of emotion in the form of ‘Effects of Resistance and Black Trans Masculine Experience’. The former features South African scholar Khanyisile Mbongwa drawing connections that exist between Africa and the Black diaspora, whilst looking to the future and calling for a shared sense of community.
The latter piece, an instrumental version of the piece which featured on the IMMIGRANT E.P. of 2025 is a gentle and deeply affecting end to the record, a place of peace and acceptance. This end-of-cycle tone is mirrored in the sleeve photography, which also ties back to IMMIGRANT by finally revealing what was hidden: a portrait of the artist fully self-actualized; a step towards true inner liberation. TYGAPAW is sonically defiant across this album; bass frequencies feel tactile — less heard than inhabited — infectious lead synth melodies remain with you long after the track ends. An overall sound that leaves asserting an urgent need for connection. From Detroit to New York to Berlin to Jamaica, despite geographic distance, this album reminds us that we remain in solidarity, recognising that meaningful world-building requires collective input and action, both personal and communal, if we are to move toward liberation.

This is not a Ben Vida, Booker Stardrum, and Will Epstein record; it’s a Play Time record. That’s a subtle but important distinction, for a couple reasons. One, the sound of Magic Object—a polymetric blend of improv and pulse minimalism for saxophone, drums, and Moog—doesn’t really sound anything like any of their many other ensembles or respective solo projects. And two, it was only while making Magic Object, their debut album, that Play Time realized they were a band at all.

Let’s back up. The roots of the trio date to 2020-21, when Will and then Booker moved to the Hudson Valley, where Ben was already living. The three got into the habit of playing together at Ben’s house, and they soon realized that their hang sessions felt fundamentally different from making music in some falling-down studio in Bushwick. Where those experiences were rushed and cramped, a new sense of time and space now suggested itself. Where once they rat-raced the music, now they relaxed into it.

Early gigs yielded similar revelations. A booking at Tubby’s, the beloved Kingston venue, evolved into a kind of residency. Tubby’s is a small space, fitting around 100 people, with a bar in the front room and a stage in the back. Play Time decided that they didn’t want to play on the stage; they wanted to play in front, among the people in the bar. Rather than hogging the spotlight and overpowering the other voices in the room, they blended with the energy of their surroundings and emerged as a sort of minimalist-jazz-krautrock bar band.

Gradually, they discovered a newfound “elasticity”—Ben’s word—that reshaped the music from inside. “It’s this communal thing,” he says. “It’s vibes. And it’s embedded in the community up here, which feels really vital and nourishing.” They were jamming, but it wasn’t just a free-for-all; they found themselves listening to each other in new ways. “Ben and Booker joke that they’re always playing in different time signatures,” Will says. “We’re all going forward with our own ideas, but we’re open to each others’ as well, and they’re all sort of dancing together.”

“We all have our painterly solo projects,” Will says—where, Booker adds, “we do a lot of studio arranging and thinking and composition that takes shape over a period of time.” Play Time, on the other hand, is all about being in the moment. That spontaneity was key to the process of recording the album. They booked two days in their friend Joey’s studio, a converted wooden barn. “It’s just a live room,” Booker says. “There’s no separation or anything. So we’re all in the space together and it’s got this beautiful, woody sound, and that’s very much the sound of the record.” For two days, they just jammed, for seven or eight hours each day. When it was over, they went through, edited down the portions they liked, and added very judicious overdubs designed to enhance the original recordings without fundamentally altering them, staying true to the spirit of the sessions.

The result is something like a snapshot and a mission statement all rolled into one. “You’re hearing us discover the voice of the band in real time,” Ben says. “We finished those sessions and we were like, ‘Oh, that’s what our band sounds like now.’”

Now, with Magic Object, the rest of us get to find out too.

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Balmat is a label with a cloudy outline. Jointly shepherded by Albert Salinas and Philip Sherburne, two friends living in Cardedeu, Catalonia, and on the Balearic island of Menorca, Balmat grew out of Lapsus Radio, a weekly show born almost ten years ago. Balmat’s mission is simple: to foster new ideas, expand upon personal obsessions, and put enveloping sounds out into the world.

“Balmat” means “empty” or “void” in Catalan. But quite apart from any negative connotations, we prefer to think of it in terms of possibility: a space waiting to be filled.

An’archives presents 'sensitive', a new album, and the first solo vinyl release, by Japanese keyboardist and synth player, Mitsuhisa Sakaguchi. A deftly assembled suite of glistening electronic tonalities, 'sensitive' is the latest in a lengthy run of excellent, idiosyncratic albums by Sakaguchi. A low-key yet productive artist, Sakaguchi has released banks of solo titles via his own Bandcamp page, and is also an in-demand improvisor for electronics: see, for example, recent collaborations with Yoshiki Ichihara ('TO(R)RI INFRANTA', 'Ftarri', 2025), Tatsuhisa Yamamoto ('non equal mad', self-released, 2020), and the - trio with Yamamoto and Uchihashi Kazuhisa ('self-titled', Modern Obscure, 2023).

'sensitive' is a startling album for many reasons, not least its rich attention to detail. Sakaguchi’s ear is sensitized to the complexity of electronic sonority, something he’s developed through decades of performance and improvisation, though he’s not limited to that language. “I mainly use multiple synthesizers and process the sounds with effects,” he clarifies, detailing his approach to his music. “I also use a lot of acoustic sounds such as field recordings and percussion; sometimes I also use sounds such as prepared piano.”

Indeed, you can hear this see-sawing balance between the electronic and acoustic written across 'sensitive' – see the activated cymbals that twist and stutter through the first half of “metatoxic”, which are soon replaced by a similar stream of burbling synth-flow. The opening “sensitive rot” folds field recordings into Sakaguchi’s electronic kit to such a degree that the differing forms dissolve into each other; on “green shrine”, the field recordings are more present, yet still poetically framed, taken as they are “from the mountains of my hometown, Yawata City, Kyoto,” Sakaguchi explains.

The tender balance achieved by Sakaguchi as he moves between practices, tonalities and temporalities helps manifest the guiding conceptual force behind 'sensitive', where Sakaguchi explores a cleansing reverie. “What I wanted to portray with this album was to create an album of sounds that shattered and reassembled my current ‘sense’ and ‘toxins’,” he nods, “along with the ‘nature’ around me. Electronic sounds, our bodies, the environment around us, and nature all blend.”

From there, Sakaguchi attempts a transformation, or transmutation – an alchemical process of exchange. “I am attempting to explore whether it might be possible for the sounds to come closer to each other,” he concludes, “or perhaps even to interchange places.” On the five pieces that comprise 'sensitive', you can hear this fusing and exchange. Inhabiting similar spaces as the music of Nuno Canavarro, Asmus Tietchens, Omit, and other like-minded visionaries, 'sensitive' traverses curious, quixotic terrain between electronic composition, electro-acoustics, and improvisation.

Death Is Not The End collaborate with Uzbek label Maqom Soul to deliver an LP counterpart to last year's mixtape of the same title, compiling specially picked & fully licensed individual belters from the ex-soviet studios of Central Asian republics between 1978 and 1989 - incl. Uzbek, Tajik, Kurdish & Uyghur artists pulling traditional folk motifs together with pop & rock and psych elements.

"These recordings do not form a smooth or coherent history. They feel more like a sequence of discoveries made at different moments and in different circumstances. Songs and instrumental pieces that once lived inside specific contexts radio broadcasts, philharmonic programs, touring routes now sit side by side, revealing hidden connections as well as clear fractures between them.

Nasiba Abdullaeva appears here as a voice from the end of an era. Trained within a conservatory system, she worked inside the format of the Soviet pop song while filling it with melodic logic that did not come from Moscow or Leningrad. Her voice is soft and sustained, shaped by Eastern melisma, and it never functions as decoration. Even in tightly structured songs there is a sense of resistance, an effort to preserve a musical language rooted in Uzbek tradition rather than fully adapted to an all Union standard.

The ensemble Sintez, later renamed Navo, represents a different path. Beginning as a student rock group, the band was gradually absorbed into the official VIA system with all its limitations and compromises. Yet it was precisely within those boundaries that Sintez and Navo developed a recognizable sound. Electric guitars and jazz rock harmonies do not overpower the folk material but remain in tension with it. Their recordings feel like negotiations between what the musicians wanted to play and what they were allowed to perform.

The Tajik ensemble Gulshan reflects an institutional approach carried to a high professional level. Formed under television and radio structures, the group treated folk material almost as a written score. Carefully constructed arrangements, close attention to orchestration, and restrained use of pop techniques define their sound. There is less spontaneity here, but a strong sense of discipline and structure, where national melody becomes part of a carefully controlled sonic framework.

Koma Wetan occupies a very different space. Formed in the 1970s, this Kurdish rock group approached poetry and folklore as tools of cultural assertion. Their psychedelic rock never feels like a stylistic borrowing. Instead it functions as a contemporary vessel for language and themes that might otherwise have remained unheard. Even today these recordings sound fragile and stubborn at the same time.

The Uyghur ensemble Yashlik, closely connected to a musical drama theatre, operated somewhere between stage performance and popular music. Their songs are built on folk melodies but shaped for wide audiences. What emerges is a constant attempt to preserve the recognizability of Uyghur musical identity without freezing it in a folkloric frame. Yashlik's music exists in a state of balance between representation and development.

Digging Central Asia does not attempt to establish hierarchies or offer a single wayof listening. Names and dates matter less than the sound itself. Tape noise, abrupt transitions, and unexpected timbres remain part of the material rather than flaws to be corrected. This music existed at the crossroads of multiple routes geographic, cultural, and ideological. Heard today in a new context, it no longer feels peripheral. Instead it stands as a reminder that the history of popular music is far more fragmented, layered, and polyphonic than it is usually allowed to be."