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For over 25 years, David Madson (aka Odd Nosdam) has been stationed away from the light of the mainstream, diligently working the nightshift. Every so often, we awake to find another of his bleary and beautiful missives slung into the waking world – albums whose assemblages of sampled grooves, atmospheres and voices are unified by a hallucinatory sense of melody, like disparate visions strung together through ribbons of sleep-talk. From his earliest days as a member of the seminal group cLOUDDEAD, through his remixes for artists such as Boards of Canada and Black Moth Super Rainbow, Nosdam has been reporting back from his rounds upon the perimeters of culture and consciousness, forging a musical language all of his own.

On Patrol is the second Odd Nosdam LP to be released on The Notwist’s imprint Alien Transistor – following on from the 2019 album Mirrors – and continues a collaborative history that begun with a 2008 remix of The Notwist song, “Sleep”. It’s a love letter to the vinyl format, produced with the aim of optimizing for a single LP. This objective permeated every aspect of the album’s production, from the duration of each side through to the vinyl mastering (Jessica Thompson) and lacquer-cutting (Dubplates & Mastering, Berlin). As we've come to expect, the album is built almost entirely from found sounds, many of which were taken from obscure and second-hand vinyl gathered during Nosdam’s ceaseless crate-digging escapades. Other sources include field recordings made in 2022 at the Catalonia summer home of artist Salvador Dalí, which are baked into the swirling sci-fi glide of “Here to Know (Adéu Mix)”, and a sumptuous clunking bass line courtesy of Organi’s Mike Walti, which runs like an infinite highway through the fuzzy, sunbaked sprawl of “Deepsimple”.

Odd Nosdam’s work has always swept the entire atmospheric spectrum, from rhythmic vigour to levitational beauty. On Patrol is perhaps his finest assimilation of these extremes. “Sgt. Pepsi” is the perfect case in point: a formidable slow groove capsizes into vinyl crackle after a mere minute, before the song resurrects itself through sweeping strings and vocal harmonies, sliding against each other like the overlain romantic denouements to a dozen Hollywood films from the 1940s. Elsewhere, “Get You In (Belong Mix)” drapes shoegaze guitar over a trundling funk backbeat, straddling the physical world and the outer realms, while hushed voices point toward the song's implied themes of cultural cliques, critical consensus and the plight of the eternal outsider: “Sure, I can get you in... these people are my friends, I’m one of them - I belong.”

This is music that both endures and disappears. Odd Nosdam has always wielded a strange relationship with time, scrambling association with any specific era, weaving together numerous tempos simultaneously. There is no master clock. Each track could happily hold up as an infinite loop, yet Nosdam clearly favours the potency of the gone-too-soon, applying the fadeout just as hypnosis starts to crest. Indeed, the songs are both the product of meticulous long-term construction and spontaneity. While the foundations of On Patrol have come together over several years, the recording process involved channeling vibes through a vintage Roland Space Echo and bouncing song fragments back and forth from hard disk to cassette 8-track, gifting a phased permanence to creative decisions made on the fly – a hat-tip to the production processes of Nosdam's longtime hero, Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry. Like a recurring dream, On Patrol appeals to both the plains of momentary ephemera and the long-established backchannels of the unconscious, equal parts revelation and deja vu.

Text by Jack Chuter
Artwork by Ian Ferguson

Fishtailing across a trimmed sod lawn, the parking lot of a box-store strip mall, a fast food drive-thru––it’s a hyperreal Americana fantasy that calls Caroline Rose (she/they) home on 'Gentling the Horse at the Walt Whitman Mall'. The release doubles as the debut of SUCK records, the LA based artist’s own imprint—a fitting next form for an enigmatic musician whose work resists settling into one shape.

'Gentling the Horse at the Walt Whitman Mall' stretches the ordinary into the uncanny. The record pairs sharply observed, memoiristic songwriting with expansive guitar textures that render the everyday with violent clarity and mythic scale. Beneath its melodic sweep and signature hooks runs a current of violence and American dream leakage.

It’s Ennio Morricone with an AR15: surf guitars, spaghetti westerns, and suburban dread colliding until they become their own sharp vernacular. Reality is unstable, so we’ll keep telling stories—and for Rose, the sinister slickness of the everyday grows a new head.

Working with producer John Congleton, Rose built the record through humor, layering, and instinct rather than polish. Songs like “Conversations with Shiv,” “Goddamn Train,” and “Everything in its Right Place” were recorded in studio for the first time, with sessions that prized first impulses over perfection. The result is panoramic but never precious—songs that feel meticulously constructed while always threatening to mutate.

Over the last six years, Rose’s music has evolved alongside their work organizing around stronger labor protections and collective bargaining rights for musicians and crews. Creative and political practice have increasingly become the same project as Rose’s career has taken on its hyper-independent form. Those concerns echo throughout 'Gentling the Horse'. Its landscapes are populated by inherited systems that feel absurd yet inescapable, where humor becomes a survival tactic and satire reveals the quiet violence embedded in everyday

Third time’s a charm, or possibly an anomaly. Johannes Volk returns to Running Back for another five exercises in perception, memory and dance-floor physics.
Following Extra Dimensions and Lightweave, this third instalment finds Volk continuing his particular way of making machine music feel strangely human and vice versa.

Shining Force starts somewhere above ground. Gliding across an unfamiliar planetary surface, optical illusions and physical anomalies slowly interfere with the senses. Unknown landscapes,
peculiar vegetation, nature behaving unnaturally: techno as field research. Switching From Bicycle to Spaceship does exactly what it says on the tin, more or less: trading pedal power for propulsion as a deceptively simple groove gathers speed, sheds gravity and quietly leaves the atmosphere behind.

Hidden In Dark belongs to a more immediate kind of archaeology: fog, strobes, bodies and those inexplicably intense emotions that only seem to exist on a dance floor at the right (or wrong) hour.
Back Alley Dancers turns the telescope around and looks backwards. Vocal fragments, pitched, delayed, reversed and removed from their original meaning trigger half-memories of youth, and of
encountering music and culture before you quite understood what any of it meant. Familiar feelings in unfamiliar shapes.
Finally, Drumatury dispenses with introspection and gets down to elementary forces. Morphing bass drums meet a Chicago jacking snare-roll massacre. Drama becomes drumaturgy. Or the other way around.
Five tracks, several states of consciousness, one Johannes Volk. No protective equipment supplied.

Earlier this year, Blue Hour released his debut album Selva, a record steeped in the imagery of lost and forgotten worlds. Now, rather than let that world stand still, Blue Hour opens it up, inviting a handpicked crew of fresh talent to step inside and make it their own.
The result is a remix companion that reimagines Selva through fresh eyes and ears. Each remix artist brings their own sonic fingerprint to the source material, some peeling back the original's dense atmospherics to expose skeletal rhythms underneath, others pushing further into the album's dreamlike haze. What emerges isn't a simple tribute, but a genuine dialogue: new talents in conversation with an album that was already asking questions about memory, erosion, and what gets left behind when a world disappears.
It's a fitting extension of Selva's original premise: if the debut album conjured ruins and jungles swallowed by time, this remix project treats those same soundscapes as living, mutable spaces, ready to be excavated, reinterpreted, and given new life by a new generation of voices.

Despite the widespread popularity of reggae music in the UK, following its explosion onto the international music scene in the late 1960s, many of these in charge of Britain's mainstream media were reluctant to give the exciting new sound coverage, wither in print or over the airways.

In an attempt to counter this prejudice, Trojan Records took the bold step of embellishing recordings from Jamaica with sophisticated orchestration, with the resultant ‘commercial reggae’ sound immediately finding favour with the country’s reggae fans.

Consequently, the company not just maintained, but in fact extended the procedure, employing producers to record the country’s finest British-based reggae acts. The result was the release of an abundance of superbly crafted recordings, the production values of which rated with the best that British pop had to offer.

Mit ’Fix Your Face’ präsentiert MASEGO sein drittes Album. Auf 16 Tracks verbindet der GRAMMY
nominierte Künstler seinen charakteristischen Sound mit neuer emotionaler Offenheit, Selbstreflexion und
Spiritualität. Gastbeiträge von Buju Banton, Keyshia Cole, Leon Thomas und Musiq Soulchild unterstreichen die musikalische Vielfalt des Albums - jetzt auch auf Vinyl.

The songs of Jules de Corte are condensed, folky gems with an almost effortless charm. Poised between the intimate and the universal, between lightness and darkness, they touch on religion, love, loss, and the small dramas of everyday life. Yet they resist easy translation. Packed with wordplay, de Corte’s signature alliterations, humor, and local cultural references, the songs inevitably lose something in another language. Still, when a Belgian quartet of improvisers takes them on, joined by American songwriter Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy, the songs are reborn rather than merely transposed: literal fidelity gives way to interpretation, and what is lost in words is often gained in spirit.

Even without tracing every change, their overall effect is fascinating. Songs are slowed down, often doubled in length, and filled with unexpected musical intrusions. They gain fuller arrangements and are placed in an entirely new context. Replacing de Corte’s piano with guitar can create a radically different vibe, as in “Mariska.” An added solo can heighten the contrast between childlike perspective and the almost matter- of-fact brutality of “Little Anita.” In “The Stranger,” another use of contrast unsettles the everyday harmony, transforming it with a subtle, disorienting twist.

Ultimately, these performances show that interpretation is not successful simply because it is literal. With the groundwork laid by Linus, Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy further liberated the songs from their original versions. Lyrics and melodies become malleable, shaped by his recognizable cadences, timbre, and personal quirks. Like his collaborators, he allows himself the freedom to bend the material to his own approach. There is no radical break between this performance and his other records. Listeners familiar with the originals may be puzzled at first; for those new to de Corte, it is a wholly different experience.

Does it really matter that the original “Little Jesus, Mighty God” is a 100-second nugget combining playful naivete with biblical fervor? In the hands of these five explorers, the song becomes an intriguing contemplation, with subtle musical shades and a recitation in which every syllable carries a maturity that offers a new perspective. Then there is “The Outsider,” which feels as genuine as any original American folk song. The musicians’ process is more than reinterpretation—it is reimagination, bringing new musical compatibility and emotional depth. Whether that depth was there from the start, waiting to be uncovered, or created in the process is beside the point. What matters is that Linus and Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy have made the essence of these songs their own, paying homage yet dancing to their own tune.

Linus is the Belgian duo of guitarist and banjo player Ruben Machtelinckx and reedist and synthesiser player Thomas Jillings. Across five previous albums — Onland (2014), Linus + Skarbø / Leroux (2015), Felt Like Old language at the crossroads of folk, jazz, minimalism, chamber music and free improvisation. Their music is adventurous, shaped by a particular sensitivity to texture, timbre and the subtle interaction between musicians.

What began as a duo gradually grew into a flexible musical world, bringing Linus together with musicians such as Nils Økland, Ingar Zach, Niels Van Heertum, Øyvind Skarbø and Frederik Leroux. Yet each new constellation has remained recognisably Linus: music in which carefully considered forms leave space for intuition, interaction and the unexpected.

For their sixth album, Linus takes a new step by moving into the world of song and text. Inspired by a shared love for the late Dutch songwriter Jules De Corte, the album is a reimagining of De Corte’s unique repertoire. More than simply interpreting De Corte’s songs, they absorb and reshape them, bringing them into dialogue with their own musical language. In keeping with this open approach, they are joined by celebrated vocalist Bonnie “Prince” Billy. With albums such as 1999’s I See a Darkness appearing on several greatest album lists, Bonnie “Prince” Billy is a cult figure in the alternative folk scene, and his highly intuitive way of singing seamlessly matches the subtle interplay Linus has developed over more than a decade.

IRST ALBUM IN 10 YEARS.
TOURING WITH TROPICAL FUCK STORM IN NOVEMBER (DATES BELOW).
PRODUCED BY DAN LUSCOMBE (THE DRONES) WHO IS ALSO PART OF THE LIVE BAND.
PREVIOUS ALBUMS ON HARDLY ART/SUB POP AND REMOTE CONTROL.
VERY LIMITED BLACK VINYL AND INDIES ONLY PINK VINYL . NON-RETURNABLE.

‘Jarrod Quarrell, creator of Lost Animal, is one of the most underrated songwriters in Australia and one of our all-time favourites. He creates poetic expressions. His work is very interesting in a highly original way and richly emotional. The songs reveal themselves more over many listens and always feel fresh. His powerful, beautiful, transformative, and unforgettable songs possess the vast depth of the human spirit.’ - GIMMIE GIMMIE GIMMIE ZINE

‘Quarrell has developed a collaged techne​ that embodies a heart-on-sleeve attitude. Lush melodic delays wash with an influx of lyrics that pierce with uncanny imagery and diction.’ - VICE

It’s not every day you hear about a new Lost Animal album. In fact, it’s been ten years between drinks. The debut Ex Tropical (Hardly Art/Sub Pop) was released in 2011, and followed by You Yang (Remote Control) in 2016. So what happened, and where’s frontman/mastermind Jarrod Quarrell been for the last ten years?

From the horse's mouth, “I don't give a fuck about productivity”. A humbling reply. It confirms Quarrell's MO: here’s an artist as a non-conformist. And when he does see fit to bless us with his unique vision of what music can sound like, it has the ability to completely charm and disarm. Amongst a sea of rock bands, LA is essentially a solo act. Simply put; LA is JQ. But on the other hand, amongst an ocean of solo acts, LA possesses the grandiosity of a full band, punk in spirit, but without being fast, or heavy.

Armed with keys and synths, timbres align more with what a toucan might listen to, as opposed to what's heard commonly throughout Melbourne's gig economy. Strings are gently plucked and horns are tenderly blown. These are the colourful brush strokes that decorate the upper frequencies. They’re the ticket to a far away land;exotic, and potentially very dangerous. If the crew from Hear My Eyes are reading this, consider Lost Animal performing Give Some Get Some as the soundtrack to the next time you screen The Hangover Part 2. Yeah, the one where shit gets super fried in Thailand.

The album examines the underbelly of what a ten year journey might rub up against. As one may expect, a lot of that action is below the belt. Tracks like Do That Thing, and In
Rewinding, a few things have happened in the past ten years that are worth illuminating. Shags is no longer commandeering the bass full time. Though he does make an appearance on a couple tracks. The main difference from present day to yesteryear LA is Dan Luscombe (The Drones). Luscombe has jumped into the role of producer (and also part of the live band). One could say he’s a producer of the Spector-ilk: playing a hands-on approach and assisting Quarrell's song crafting. He may have suggested to add a chorus or two, but the chord progressions remain distinctly Lost Animal. You'll recognise them easily by their beauty, combined with either fragility or rigidity. Luscombe is arguably the defining force that made this album happen. Perhaps he had Quarrell at gunpoint. Yet to be confirmed. Regardless, thank fuck for Luscombe because it may have been another decade.

But the album's defining feature is arguably Quarrell's lyricism. He may not cross-examine where he's been, but his voice does unmask where he is: absolved and reincarnated. The decade-long journey has resulted in him looking inwards and unlocking himself. The album's many mantras suggest that he may be a bird (I'm a Bird Now), or that he is living on another planet (Never is Forever). Whatever and wherever he may be,
Give Some Get Some invites the listener to reflect on their own journey over the past decade. Because the game's got a price. So ask yourself what have you taken, and what have you given? Life ain't a box of chocolates. It's a bowl of berries. And when fruit symbolizes temptation, get some.

IRST ALBUM IN 10 YEARS.
TOURING WITH TROPICAL FUCK STORM IN NOVEMBER (DATES BELOW).
PRODUCED BY DAN LUSCOMBE (THE DRONES) WHO IS ALSO PART OF THE LIVE BAND.
PREVIOUS ALBUMS ON HARDLY ART/SUB POP AND REMOTE CONTROL.
VERY LIMITED BLACK VINYL AND INDIES ONLY PINK VINYL . NON-RETURNABLE.

‘Jarrod Quarrell, creator of Lost Animal, is one of the most underrated songwriters in Australia and one of our all-time favourites. He creates poetic expressions. His work is very interesting in a highly original way and richly emotional. The songs reveal themselves more over many listens and always feel fresh. His powerful, beautiful, transformative, and unforgettable songs possess the vast depth of the human spirit.’ - GIMMIE GIMMIE GIMMIE ZINE

‘Quarrell has developed a collaged techne​ that embodies a heart-on-sleeve attitude. Lush melodic delays wash with an influx of lyrics that pierce with uncanny imagery and diction.’ - VICE

It’s not every day you hear about a new Lost Animal album. In fact, it’s been ten years between drinks. The debut Ex Tropical (Hardly Art/Sub Pop) was released in 2011, and followed by You Yang (Remote Control) in 2016. So what happened, and where’s frontman/mastermind Jarrod Quarrell been for the last ten years?

From the horse's mouth, “I don't give a fuck about productivity”. A humbling reply. It confirms Quarrell's MO: here’s an artist as a non-conformist. And when he does see fit to bless us with his unique vision of what music can sound like, it has the ability to completely charm and disarm. Amongst a sea of rock bands, LA is essentially a solo act. Simply put; LA is JQ. But on the other hand, amongst an ocean of solo acts, LA possesses the grandiosity of a full band, punk in spirit, but without being fast, or heavy.

Armed with keys and synths, timbres align more with what a toucan might listen to, as opposed to what's heard commonly throughout Melbourne's gig economy. Strings are gently plucked and horns are tenderly blown. These are the colourful brush strokes that decorate the upper frequencies. They’re the ticket to a far away land;exotic, and potentially very dangerous. If the crew from Hear My Eyes are reading this, consider Lost Animal performing Give Some Get Some as the soundtrack to the next time you screen The Hangover Part 2. Yeah, the one where shit gets super fried in Thailand.

The album examines the underbelly of what a ten year journey might rub up against. As one may expect, a lot of that action is below the belt. Tracks like Do That Thing, and In
Rewinding, a few things have happened in the past ten years that are worth illuminating. Shags is no longer commandeering the bass full time. Though he does make an appearance on a couple tracks. The main difference from present day to yesteryear LA is Dan Luscombe (The Drones). Luscombe has jumped into the role of producer (and also part of the live band). One could say he’s a producer of the Spector-ilk: playing a hands-on approach and assisting Quarrell's song crafting. He may have suggested to add a chorus or two, but the chord progressions remain distinctly Lost Animal. You'll recognise them easily by their beauty, combined with either fragility or rigidity. Luscombe is arguably the defining force that made this album happen. Perhaps he had Quarrell at gunpoint. Yet to be confirmed. Regardless, thank fuck for Luscombe because it may have been another decade.

But the album's defining feature is arguably Quarrell's lyricism. He may not cross-examine where he's been, but his voice does unmask where he is: absolved and reincarnated. The decade-long journey has resulted in him looking inwards and unlocking himself. The album's many mantras suggest that he may be a bird (I'm a Bird Now), or that he is living on another planet (Never is Forever). Whatever and wherever he may be,
Give Some Get Some invites the listener to reflect on their own journey over the past decade. Because the game's got a price. So ask yourself what have you taken, and what have you given? Life ain't a box of chocolates. It's a bowl of berries. And when fruit symbolizes temptation, get some.

ATA00BS will be released in a Number Stamped Edition, with Full Cover Art made by Pepe and will be Sealed / Shrinkwrapped.

'Keep it simple' 103636;"Reissue- Tracklist A1. Unknown A2. Pain Is Full B1. Damaged Memory B2. Damaged Memory ( Iori Remix ) Shortinfo: Roberto Bosco has selected Kiny's music to better prepare his first 12, consisting of four tracks, named 'Damaged Memory'.The track Unknown (A1) leads off the dance of the release on Last Drop Records imprint. It's a proper exploration in an unknown sonic territory to most of the people, and also a difficult element to make out for those who are novice to the visonary component in the musical poetic of Kiny. The track starts with rounds of recurring sirens, almost deafening, framed by dark and ghostly noises. Something not easily identifiable, ambiguous and unknown, as the title itself says, is perceptible in its sound. All this helps to shape a bad presage that fades away into the mystery. On the same side we find Pain Is Full (A2) that, according to the producer, was born in a moment of pain which can be overcome only by fighting. In fact, the track is characterized by a more combative and insistent tone, made up by the sound of snare and tom entering since the start and determining an atmosphere of contrast able to shake the listener until the end. Shouts of encouragement suggest an initiation rite in which there is struggle for survival. The titletrack, Damaged Memory (B1) has more quiet register with less ghostly vocals, perceived at times, unlike the previous tracks. The sounds have a vanished effect, such as when you create a halo on a white sheet with the dust of a pencil just sharpened. You will hear a sort of democracy among the sounds held together by the voice, a metaphor of a damaged memory, as the title itself recite, that always makes the same process till the end: it commences by recalling but then forgets. Last, is the version of the producer Iori, Damaged Memory (B2), on the same side.

Finnish-born, New York raised, and now Melbourne based Jani Ho has crafted a distinctive sound that can only be described as machine music with undeniable soul! Jani's hardware-driven live performances and studio productions are legendary and has earned him global recognition with multiple quality releases on the highly acclaimed soiree records. His contribution for the dolly TS series draws those direct lines with Detroit's soulful machinery techno and echo's the perfect union of rhythm and emotional depth, touching the deepest territories of techno.

Mining the rich seam between transcendental escapism and crushing physical pressure, Sciama delivers his first album for Samurai Music. Exploring an energetic pitch between half-time and full-tilt 170, the London-based producer sculpts brooding soundscapes of sheer peaks and deep pits, driven by unrelenting but light-footed forward motion and an imposing strain of sound design. As Sciama, Michael Watters has been marking out his exacting sound since 2019 with an assured run of albums on ASC's Auxiliary label. His second EP for Samurai — the Wave Interaction 12" released earlier this year — pointed to his current area of focus inspired by the teachings of electronic music pioneer Daphne Oram. Contemplating the relationship between precise electronic frequencies and human perception, Celetal Form now delivers the full findings of his exploration. Oram coined the term 'celetal' in her 1972 book An Individual Note of Music, Sound and Electronics, trying to sum up a connection between the celestial and electrical. It's this spiritual dimension contained within sound waves Watters is concerned with, and the shape of the music on Celetal Form follows suit. In an opening statement of abyssal ambience, 'Overload Into Silence' establishes an atmosphere that endures throughout the album. Caught between steely textures, vaporous reverb tails and subtle harmonic interactions, the glacial shift of the many layers under Watters' control reveals an intense amount of detail at play even before drums and bass come into play. From there on in, the intensity ramps up from one heavyweight stepper to the next. There is agile, brittle top-end percussion at work on the likes of 'Induced Resonance' and 'Consuming Pulse', perhaps the most closely connected to D&B, while 'Rational Echoes' and 'Scanning Waveband' deal in urgency and techno-coded tension. A half-time roll guides the huge kick drum undulations of 'No Panacea', and 'Celetal Emergence' opens up into more spacious surroundings to let the subtle microtonal inflections of the synth tones set a curious mood. The two 'Intermodulation' tracks bring Watters' exacting approach into sharp focus, pushing the drums back and foregrounding alien frequencies that coalesce into unfamiliar yet strangely uplifting forms. Throughout Celetal Form this uncanny sensation charges the music with a power that reaches beyond its immediate, surface level impact. This intentional reflection on Oram's visionary thinking charges the current sound of Sciama with energetic intrigue that stands apart and invites a mindful, maybe even spiritual, engagement.

YARN welcomes René Audiard for its tenth release with "Makes Me Feel", a four-track EP from one of underground electronic music’s most singular voices.

Across years of dub techno, minimal and leftfield electronic experimentation, René has developed an approach to stripped-down music that feels anything but limited. Where minimalism can often become an exercise in taking things away, his work finds possibility in what remains. "Makes Me Feel" is a particularly fitting example: immersive, at times strange, but always full of feeling.

‘Lovin’ opens the EP in familiar Audiard territory: murky low-end, locomotive groove, reduced rhythmic compositions and an understated framework swimming in a pool of detail. 'Possession' lets in more light. Vocal echoes, persistent rhythms and occasional string phrases give it a cinematic quality, while a groove that seems to circle endlessly takes on an almost shamanistic pull. The EP’s 11-minute behemoth, 'Flesh', fills most of the release’s B-side while making a convincing case for patience and sophistication. There are echoes of minimal’s golden age here, but Audiard never mistakes repetition for standing still. Tiny rhythmic fragments sit alongside expansive orchestral gestures, with samples working at every scale of the arrangement. Warmth and cinematic drama run through the track, but it's the playful programming underneath that keeps it moving. 'Night' closes the record on a different note, recalling Audiard’s work with Ali Çakır in Düve. Percussive samples, accordion and Middle Eastern guitar phrases bring a more acoustic character to his reduced 808-infused broken beats, making for a playful, occasionally melancholic ending with a distinctly microtonal feel.

What makes René Audiard’s music so rewarding is how readily you recognize his hand in it. There is a particular grain to the sounds, a way of placing details within a groove, and a willingness to follow an idea wherever it leads. Across “Makes Me Feel”, those instincts give four quite different tracks a shared identity. Even when working within familiar forms, Audiard makes them sound entirely his own. It’s the holy grail of music production: a personal sound signature. And a thoughtful addition to YARN’s growing repertoire of reduced, sophisticated dancefloor music.

It’s one thing to edit a song; extending sections, taking parts out, even adding a kick. Karizma uses his Knevrm!nd moniker to completely re-imagine tracks, producing completely new music and re-arranging vocals to create something completely different.

After building up a substantial catalogue of these in demand cuts we thought it was time to make some available on vinyl for the first time.

Knevrm!nd Vol.1 comes blasting out of the gate with four essential jams from the vault.

Murder tbs is back with a special three-part vinyl series, paying homage to the genres that have influenced the label since its inception. The first various artists release is dedicated to ELECTRO & WAVE, while Parts II and III will focus on TECHNO and EBM. 
 Written & produced by various artists: L.F.T., Le Syndicat Electronique, The Exaltics, Electro Nation, Leroy Se Meurt, and Charlou. Mastered by Daniele Antezza at Dadub Studios. B1 mastered by Thomas P. Heckmann. Artwork by ZIMMMERIT. Curated by Davit Japaridze. Dedicated to Juan Mendez (Silent Servant) and Simone Ling. Murder tbs © 2026. All rights reserved MURDERCH01

Doppler Effect is the brainchild of singer and songwriter James Straight. Formed in Boston in 1981, the band explores what Straight describes as the “encyclopedia of electronic music”. Since its inception, the project has explored and incorporated almost every style of electronica, from Ambient and Industrial to Techno, Synth-pop, EBM, House, Darkwave, Acid and Disco, with touches of Punk and Funk around the edges. It all depends on the song, as Straight sees his work as a series of mini-films he is directing, a sort of “seeing with your ears”. Utilizing the entire palette to achieve the desired effect, his only rule is that it must work for the song.

“Genesis: Studio Recordings” compiles a selection of recordings made between 1981 and 1985, including numerous previously unreleased songs and early versions ranging from synth-punk and new wave to minimal wave and synth-pop. Limited run of 300 copies on black vinyl with insert.

Dich lieb ich, Erde! trauerst du doch mit mir! Und unsre Trauer wandelt wie Kinderschmerz In Schlummer sich und wie die Winde Flattern und flüstern im Saitenspiele

The third stanza of Friedrich Hölderlin’s poem ‘Dem sonnengott’ evokes a narrator who is tortured by Spleen until slumber makes his childlike gloom disappear with music. Although today’s readers might judge these nineteenth century musings of the Imagination as mere stylistic platitudes, they also still speak beyond the grave as universal truths. A mere two hundred years later similar anxieties and hopes are still channeled through various art forms, with changing success and reverberation. Brannten Schnüre are one of those neo-romantic music experimentalists who add to a long tradition of celebrating folk tale and exoticism. Their meticulously crafted loops, hesitant melodies and heavily nostalgic lyricism could easily be translated to what the late philosopher and music critic Mark Fisher called ‘hauntology’, a postmodern longing for a lost future. To describe the beauty of ‘Geträumt hab’ ich vom Martinszug’, however, the term seems somewhat dissatisfying. Romanticism is a hard nut to crack in the Anthropocene, and Brannten Schnüre’s realms of the cerebral are too deeply ingrained in a German tradition of story telling to define them within popular paradigm.

‘Geträumt hab’ ich vom Martinszug’ was recorded in 2014 in Würzburg and functions as the autumn part of the band’s seasonal cycle quadrilogy (the other segments being ‘Aprilnacht’ (SicSic), ‘Sommer im Pfirsichhain’ (Aguirre) and ‘Durch unser zugedecktes Tal’ (Youdonthavetocallitmusic)). It deals with the Saint Martin’s parade, a mostly European tradition to celebrate the medieval spirit of Saint Martin of Tours, friend of children and patron of the poor. Around 11 November children come out on the streets with lanterns and sing ancient songs in exchange for sweets. It’s a period of snugness and expectation, of yearning and dreaming, and therefore a consummate subject for the duo to scrutinize.

To the adult’s ear the dream of the Saint Martin’s parade isn’t all that consolatory. The dark and slow loops of Christian Schoppik rather sound like motifs for a welcome paralysis. Sometimes as a gentle backdrop for vocals by Katie Rich and Schoppik himself, the repetitive structures serve as tricksters that trade innocence for the uncanny. The dream becomes a fever dream which quickly absorbs the listener into a vacuum, an eternal post-panic attack semi-relief. Maybe that’s the amazing paradox of Brannten Schnüre. The space they occupy is never comforting – as if being locked up inside a Carl Grossberg painting – but it’s also a subliminal aural zone you do not want to leave. It’s music as being, as a stream, devoid of climax or catharsis. And because it is flux and being, and exists to be taken, it speaks in art’s purest form. ‘In place of a hermeneutics we need an erotics of art’ Susan Sontag famously concluded her essay ‘Against Interpretation’ with. Well, look no further …

Quiet, from the Latin quies, evokes a state of being still. In its verb form, quiet means to clear so that something can gradually come into focus. Kind Stranger by Amedeo Cappelletti is where quiet materializes in a more transient, even foreign, way. Each track takes a step back from noise, borne out of a slow return to music, a different pace, and a familiar place left behind for years.

Kind Stranger, released on Aurora Edition on July 24th, is about the strangeness of a return. Cappelletti's melodic scores work their way between faint noise and disquiet, and sonically muse upon the familiar. That is, when given enough time and distance, the familiar can become unrecognizable, demanding stillness to resituate oneself within it.

The album began taking shape when Cappelletti performed at Aurora Edition at Silent Green, just after he had returned to music following a three-year hiatus. In one month, he wrote forty-five minutes of new material from scratch. Then Cappelletti left Berlin after eight years and returned to the Tuscan countryside where he had grown up, back into slowness.

The album develops as an atmosphere in the truest sense. Resampled voices, found sound, and years of sound design practice converge as compositions form by overlapping texture with spatial depth. Kind Stranger cultivates a quietude that envelops the listener.

Vocal recordings made with Matthew Walsh and Sarah McInerney, collaborators Cappelletti met by chance in a Berlin ice cream shop, appear throughout the album like a current, shaped during a residency at MONOM, Berlin's spatial sound institute. Thematically, the record moves through digital addiction, fragmented attention, and the grief of work done in the darkness.

Kind Stranger is an offering to whoever finds themselves here within the quiet, in this particular quality of sound between return and lingering.

You know the pattern: someone calls their album "Balearic," and you immediately expect chill-out terraces, pan-flute samples, and the umpteenth return of the Café del Mar sunset. Devi G. refuses this reflex almost maliciously. The title is a trick—an invitation to disappointment for those hoping for postcard exoticism. What is actually being negotiated here is erosion, but that of the body itself: the abrasion one inflicts upon oneself in the excess of the night, when partying turns into wear and tear, and a rush becomes a graze that only becomes visible in the morning. No backdrop, then, but a wound one has voluntarily acquired.

Instead of the usual Ibiza xylophones, Devi G. digs into the rift between idyll and wear. The result reads like a séance—less José Padilla, more as if Kevin Martin had re-recorded a Manuel Göttsching record on a dying four-track deck. The target area lies somewhere between the waterlogged ambient sketches of Huerco S. and the faded dub-afterglow of Actress, but Devi G. remains consistently on his own, grainier frequency.

Balearic Abrasions (title track) opens without haste, demanding almost without impatience: no motif, no rhythmic handhold, just a slowly tilting balance between warm texture and rough surface. The grain never feels forced—it is not a lo-fi costume, but an integral part of the statics themselves. Where other ambient producers strive for perfection, Devi G. consciously seeks the breaking point. Rhythm remains a tool, never an ambition. Those expecting quick resolution will be disappointed; those willing to listen will receive a depth effect that is rarely this vivid.

Exit Through Thee Gift Shop tips into harder territory: dub-techno reduction meets industrial edge, carried by a stoic kick drum that knows no mercy. Metallic textures slice through the sub-bass, while repetitive chords hypnotize like a defective loop. Central to this is a rare Terence McKenna recording, which functions less as spoken-word ornamentation and more as a disruptive spirit between memory and media archaeology. The title—Banksy reference included—turns this into a biting punchline: radical electronic abstraction positioned against the hyper-commercialized art world.

Morning Depth pushes the claustrophobia further, somewhere between post-industrial and deep-sea dub. The track refuses any peak-time logic, preferring to disintegrate into itself, subcutaneously, methodically. At the end, a casual, almost banal vocal sample (“i defiantly prefer chocolate”) breaks into the cool machinery—a small, profane fissure that makes the coldness of the rest of the piece all the more apparent.

Desiré Algorithmic is the album's most calculated moment: a stoic, repetitive bassline as a foundation, topped with fragile melody fragments that flash like glitches in faulty code. The title reads like a promise from nightlife—a figure that suggests much and delivers nothing, because behind the façade there is simply nothing, only simulation. The track carries exactly this principle: promise without substance, desire without body, just rendering. Only in the final third does a melancholic saxophone break into the sterile structure—organic, imperfect, and for that very reason more credible than everything before it. It is the moment in which the real briefly flashes through the surface of the dummy before it closes again.

All-inclusive Residue concludes the album as sedimentation rather than dramaturgy: dub-techno remnants, industrial patina, salty ambient surfaces that settle rather than compose. The refusal of consumption as a sonic principle—brittle, stubborn, with a gravity that lingers long after.

Verdict: Balearic Abrasions is not easy listening with a sea view, but an exercise in patience and friction. The restraint with which Devi G. avoids climaxes will frustrate some—for everyone else, that is exactly where the record's strength lies. No sunset. Rather, what remains on the rocks afterward.

After the storm of their self-titled debut, Geneva duo Bound By Endogamy return to Pinkman with an album that trades brute force for precision. The rage remains, but it's sharpened, disciplined, and driven by melancholy rather than rupture. Their minimal synth and industrial instincts rise to the surface, carving out room for melody without softening their confrontational edge. Angular basslines coil beneath Kleio Thomaides' voice, at times detached and at times devastating, while Shlomo Balexert's drum programming and synth work build a taut metallic tension. The result is both intimate and mechanical: love songs for disenchanted souls, post-punk electronics stripped to the bare wire. Bound By Endogamy have always blurred the line between performance and survival, and here they do it with minimal gestures and maximum impact.