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Originally released on February 17, 2015, Aaron Watson’s The Underdog made music history by being the the first independently distributed and promoted album from a solo male artist to debut at #1 on Billboard's Top Country Albums chart. Though it was Aaron’s twelfth album, The Underdog’s success sent shockwaves though Nashville, and the music world as a whole, launching hits and fan favorites “Freight Train,” “That Look,” “Getaway Truck,” “Bluebonnets” and the Texas independent music anthem “Fencepost”. Produced by Keith Stegall and Aaron, The Underdog took Aaron’s career to new heights and helped re-shape the country music landscape. It was a pivotal shot in the arm for DIY / independent country artists around the globe.
NOW... available commercially for the first time on vinyl, this stunning two record 10th Anniversary set
features the original 14 songs/recordings as they were meant to be be heard - with that warm analogue vinyl sound. As an added bonus, Side D features a custom etching of the album cover and the trailblazing and career defining lyric “I’d rather be an old fence post in Texas” (than the king of Tennessee) from the album’s closing sing along song “Fencepost”. From the humble honky-tonks of Texas to multiple sold-out tours around the world. Rolling Stone calls Aaron "Texas country's reigning indie underdog”. Aaron Watson is here to stay and is currently writing and recording a forty song album, aptly titled Horse Named Texas, which is slated for release in early 2026.

First vinyl edition of Carme López’ debut album of entrancing bagpipe arrangements. Unravelling forms of early music and funereal, queered droneworks full of strange tonalities, phased harmonics and curious subversions.

Carme López is a researcher and teacher of traditional Galician oral music, and ‘Quintela’ features her debut recordings for the Galician bagpipe, split into four longform movements totalling 40 minutes of supremely engrossing drone flourishes. Misunderstood by many, the bagpipe is here brought into the experimental realm as a form of decontextualisation, fashioning the instrument’s naturally peculiar timbres into soft, wavering tones.

Despite its unusual resonance, in López's hands the bagpipe almost becomes a pipe organ, producing long, swaying, sustained tones that highlight the instrument's complex timbral qualities. López plays with its breathy overtones, placing microphones on the bag itself to pick up residual sounds while she sculpts its squeals into cavernous siren calls, and then extracting half-rhythms from its reeds on the elegiac closer 'iv: CACHELOS. a César De Farbán'.

The instrument’s inherent wheezing and anomalous timbre lend the recordings a wavering foundation that feels designed to unsettle, but somehow becomes nothing short of entrancing through almost imperceptible harmonic shifts and odd tunings. It’s meditative music that requires active participation, focussed listening - so as to make sense of all the infinitesimal shifts and faults - in a way that feels unique to this most maligned, misunderstood, almost mystical instrument.

After two pandemically conditioned ‘reaction’ albums - Yay! (2023) and Neigh!! (2024) - a few non-album singles and a compilation album, a downsized and sleek Motorpsycho is back where we all know and love them, with an epic, sprawling double album, filled to the brim with inventive, organic and ecstatic rock-based music. Rejoyce Psychonaut! This eponymously titled, 11 song work, has exactly as much variety & diversity, accord and discord, as one expects from a band that has released a few albums before, and that these days must be regarded as an institution in European rock. From concise 3min-something pop-rockers, to 20mins plus progressive epics, via acoustic intimacies and psychedelic wig-outs, this is concentrated Motorpsychosis: commenced Rebis, countdown initiated. Ever closer. Ever sharper... Since the traditional 3 or 4 piece rock band seems to be a dying breed these days, and MP always was a band in flux anyway, a new pragmatic era has begun in the Psychoverse. The band has, in what one might call alchemical terms, been ‘dissolved and purified’, and is by now again reduced to the core two founding members HMR & BS. This is nothing new, it has happened a few times before, but these days they are also the owners and creators of the record company NFGS, which is now the hub of all recorded band activity, and Motorpsycho marks the final severance of existing ties to other labels for the first time in 35 years. If ‘freedom is free of the need to be free’, this is it. Yikes! The minimalist title of the album is then not just easy to remember, it’s also a statement: a new era has begun in the Psychoverse, a state of affairs reflected in execution and details as well as title, if not perhaps, in ambition or size: “Senex psittacus negligit ferulam” *. This is a time of new beginnings for a band that has spent two years consolidating and reseting before charging ahead anew on a new path, trumpets blaring (...and trumpets don’t come much more blaring in the Psychoverse than with this grandiloquent hyperbole. Good fun! ). New day rising indeed. The core band was adroitly helped by a gaggle of greats from all over the Scandinavian musical landscape on these recordings: drummers Ingvald Vassbø and Olaf Olsen, string arranger/violinist Mari Persen, vocalist Thea Grant, and - as usual - honorary psycho, brother Reine Fiske, were all fellow travellers on this musical journey. Motorpsycho was co-produced by the band and Deathprod, and mixed by Andrew Scheps. Motorpsycho are not the best at what they do, they’re the only ones that do what they do. NFGS2025 *: “Senex psittacus negligit ferulam,” or “An old parrot doesn’t mind the stick.”

After appearing with Archie Shepp at the landmark Pan-African Cultural festival in Algiers in 1969, African-American trumpeter-cornetist Clifford Thornton recorded a set of his own compositions in Paris later that year. The result was Ketchaoua, an important political and spiritual as well as musical statement that reflected the inspiration that he took from Islam. Indeed, the title of the album refers to the awe-inspiring mosque in Algiers.
Clifford Thornton’s superb band comprised his compatriots, saxophonists Archie Shepp and Arthur Jones, drummer Sunny Murray, trombonist Grachan Moncur III, pianist Dave Burrell, and bassist Earl Freeman, as well as French bassist Beb Guérin. Together they brought energy and ingenuity to the leader’s compositions, which were characterized by vivid atmospheres, exploratory, mysterious sounds and haunting themes. And the song titles conveyed an important social and cultural message. Pieces such as ‘Brotherhood’ pointed to the sense of unity and kinship that African-American artists felt with the citizens they encountered on their journey to North Africa and Europe.
This newly remastered deluxe edition of Ketchaoua provides an opportunity to hear one of the major entries in Clifford Thornton’s relatively small yet nonetheless highly impressive discography. It is an album that marks him out as a figure in the avant- garde movement of the late 60s and early 70s who deserves far wider recognition.

Loyle Carner will release his highly anticipated sophomore record, 'Not Waving, But Drowning' on 19 April via AMF Records.

'Not Waving, But Drowning' follows Loyle's BRIT (Best Male, Best Newcomer) and Mercury Prize nominated, top 20 debut 'Yesterday's Gone'. The bedrock of honest and raw sentimentality that you heard on 'Yesterday's Gone' left an inextinguishable mark on music in general and UK Hip Hop in particular, standing out as an ageless, bulletproof debut.

'Not Waving, But Drowning', Loyle's new album, gives yet more evidence - as if it were needed - of his razor-sharp flow and his unique storytelling ability. Yes, he can rap, but he allies that with the sensitivity of a poet, the observational skills of a novelist, and warmth of your best friend. The album opens with 'Dear Jean', a letter to his mother in which he's telling her that he has found the love of his life, 'a woman from the skies', and he's moving out.

It goes without saying that Loyle's music is hard to categorise, but what is even more impressive is that for someone who grew up listening to Mos Def, Biggie Smalls, Roots Manuva, and Wu Tang Clan, he doesn't sound like any of them. Although he might from time to time give lyrical nods to them, he's no imitator.

Loyle loves cooking. There are two tracks on this album named after chefs. The British-Israeli chef Yotam Ottolenghi, and the now deceased Italian chef Antonio Carluccio. 'Ottolenghi' the first single from the album was featured on the BBC Radio 1 B-list, BBC 6 Music A-list and has already been streamed over 5 million times.

Loyle refers to real life for everything, the title of 'Yesterday's Gone' came from a song of his step father, the title of his new album 'Not Waving, But Drowning' comes from a poem by his grandfather, which in turn came from a Stevie Smith poem. What you hear on the track 'Krispy' is real. He is pouring his heart out to his best friend Rebel Kleff after their relationship went downhill, he invites him on the track to say his piece but he doesn't turn up, so we get a flugel solo instead.

Loyle also has his own personal black consciousness movement. When he refers to his 'fathers' in the track 'Looking Back' he really is referring to two fathers. His biological father, a black man who he knows, but knows very little of, and his step father, a poet and musician who happens to be a white man but died a sudden unexpected death from epilepsy (SUDEP). With no real emotional ties to his biological father, but a deep connection with a deceased step-father, where does a young child turn He succinctly captures many of the great, unspoken, cultural and historical paradoxes of multicultural Britain on 'Looking Back'.

An album like this is hard to find. It is for those who like their Hip Hop to have soul, and their soul to have spirit. This is because it works on so many levels, but it is reflecting the personality of its creator. There are a host of collaborators here, Jorja Smith, Rebel Kleff, Kiko Bun, Kwes, Jordan Rakei, Sampha, Tom Misch and more, but none are overpowering. They blend righteously into place.
Loyle is not bitter with people who have let him down, or a society that lets so many down, but the combination of anger and love he has gives his voice the perfect blend of strength and vulnerability. This might be a coming of age album, but it's also a coming of ageless album. Loyle's 2019 Spring tour - which includes London's Roundhouse - sold out within 20 minutes of being on sale.

Not Waving, But Drowning



A rapper that raps about family is hard to find. The boys in the 'hood' tend not to be that interested in how much a 'brother' loves his mother, or how much he misses his dad, or even how much he misses his best friend. The boys in the 'hood' tend to be obsessed with the size of their cars, girls, bank accounts, and other personal 'possessions'. Loyle Carner's Mercury and BRIT Prize nominated debut 'Yesterday's Gone' (Released 2017), made it clear that he wasn't that kind of rapper. In fact, every time I talk to him about his work we talk about the world, and we tended to confuse ourselves by calling his work rap, poems, or songs, sometimes in the same sentence. They are in truth all of these things.



Here's some poetry.



Honestly I need them.

I hate them but I grieve them

I think I've finally found the reason

Trust

Like the fire needs the air.

I won't burn unless you're there.





'Not Waving, But Drowning', Loyle's forthcoming new album, gives us yet more evidence, (if it were needed), that he still has what rappers call, flow, but he hasn't lost any of his story telling qualities. Yes, the boy can rap, but a rapper with the sensitivity of a true poet, the observational skills of a novelist, and warmth of your best friend. The album opens with 'Dear Jean', a letter to his mother in which he's telling her that he has found the love of his life, (a woman from the skies), and he's moving out. He really loves the woman from the skies, but he still loves his mum, and so he reassures her that there is no competition, and tells her that 'She's not behind me or behind you, but beside we and beside two', his words. Or to put it another way, moving out without moving out. My words.



It goes without saying that Loyle's music is hard to categorise, but what is even more impressive is that for someone who grew up listening to Mos Def, Biggie Smalls, Roots Manuva, and Wu Tang Clan, he doesn't sound like any of them. Although he might from time to time give lyrical nods to them, he's no imitator. He says finding his own voice was something he always found easy. Although young, (in terms of a musical career), he has confidence in his own words and his own voice, and has never been tempted to sound like he's been hanging out in the USA, or rolling in 'Grime' on the mean streets of East London. And so when it comes to the creative process he doesn't simply find a beat to jump on and ride. Beats are important, but they are tenderly layered with samples, keyboards, or live drums, all imaginatively assembled for the laying on of words. Some tracks start with the idea, some with poetry, and some with a verse from a singer or some other melodic inspiration, but there is no formula.



Here's some poetry.



Don't hold any memories of us

Rather hold you everyday until the memories are dust

Yo we only caught the train

Cos you know I hate the bus





A prolific reader, who has dyslexia is hard to find. Add ADHD (Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder) to that and life should become even more difficult. To deal with your difficulties you devise coping strategies, which can differ from person to person. Loyle loves cooking. There are two tracks on this album named after chefs. The British-Israeli chef Ottolenghi, and the now deceased Italian chef Antonio Carluccio. Loyle describes himself as 'weird' because he is happy to read a cookbook as if he was reading a novel or a book of poetry. He has opened a cookery school for young adults not just because he loves food and wants to make more of it, but because it is one of the few things that can focus the ADHD mind. And when it comes to his other love, football, his approach is the same. Focus. He wanted to be a striker he says, up front scoring goals, but found his best position was in midfield because he was able to focus, check options, and see passes ahead of time, providing passes for other players just when they needed them. He says, 'You don't grow out of ADHD, you grow into it.' Loyle is also working with Levi's® on their music project where he is mentoring young musicians over a six month period, culminating at Liverpool Sound City festival.



More poetry.



When the going is tough

I wait till it falls on deaf ears

Hearsay

Without the boundaries of love



He also said, 'Ask most people and they will say that they love their mothers, but most are not going to rap about her'. On his first album Loyle's mum Jean wrote about the 'scribble of a boy' that growing up would take things apart to see how they worked. On this album she speaks with pride about a man who has found his place in the world.



Yes, poetry.



I'm still looking for the answers

Trying to find the right questions

Still waiting for my fathers

But can't break them in to sections



This poetry is serious. Loyle has his own personal black consciousness movement. He told me that he always felt safe at home, and being the darkest one in the family never meant a thing, but then when he had to face the outside world he felt hostility. It shook him up. Now he had to start asking questions, but what were the questions. This is serious. When he refers to his 'fathers' in the verse above taken from the track 'Looking Back' he really is referring to two fathers. His biological father, a black man who he knows, but knows very little of, and his step father, a poet and musician who happens to be a white man but died a sudden unexpected death from epilepsy (SUDEP). So to whom would a young black (or mixed race) kid turn He succinctly captures many of the great, unspoken, cultural and historical paradoxes of multicultural Britain when he says, 'My great grandfather could of owned my other one.' We are a people descended from enslaved people on one hand, and enslavers on the other, something we are still struggling to come to terms with, and this can be apparent in one family. A big book could have told you that, but here we get it in one line on the track, Looking Back.





Loyle refers to real life for everything. The album is peppered with captured moments that he records on his phone. These moments can range from conversations with taxi drivers, to capturing the moment when England scores a goal in the world cup. The title of 'Yesterday's Gone' came from a song of his step father, the title of his new album 'Not Waving but Drowning' comes from a poem by his grandfather, which in turn came from a Stevie Smith poem. What you hear on the track 'Krispy' is real. He is pouring his heart out to his best friend after their relationship went downhill, he invites him on the track to say his piece but he doesn't turn up, so we get a flugel solo instead. Yes people, this is real.



An album like this is hard to find. It is for those who like their Hip Hop to have soul, and their soul to have spirit, this is an album for those who have, (I'm sorry, I'm going to say it), emotional intelligence. This is because it works on so many levels, but it is reflecting the personality of its creator. There are a host of collaborators here, Jorja Smith, Rebel Kleff, Kiko Bun, Jordan Rakei, Sampha, Tom Misch and more, but none are overpowering. They blend righteously into place. Loyle is not bitter with people who have let him down, or the society that has let him down, but the combination of anger and love he has gives his voice the perfect blend of strength and vulnerability. This might be a coming of age album, but it's also a coming of ageless album. His first album worked, and this second album is a continuation of that work. Not creating a form, but being formless, as someone like Bruce Lee once said.

And here's some poetry from mum.



We talked long in to the darkest hours

Until we saw the burnished sky

And our eyes stung

As our words blurred and became thoughts

As we were silenced by the dawn

We clung to each other like sailors in a storm

Like a passenger riding shotgun on a road trip, The Villagers Companion offers its own unique perspective and story to tell. Featuring tracks recorded alongside last year’s acclaimed villagers, TVC captures the miles between the start and destination—the faded gas station pit stops, the plastic saint statue stuck to the dashboard for safe travels or luck. It embodies the essence of the journey without the burden of driving—the experience of the ride itself.

The album takes us through the heart of Califone’s magic: reverb-drenched piano chords, electronic whirs, and layers of experimental noise. Guided by Tim Rutili’s abstract, fragmented lyrics—both strange and familiar—delivered through his warm, well-worn vocals, it creates an experience as evocative as it is haunting. Often passing through what seem to be the spaces between radio frequencies, the stations never meant to be heard. Crackles of static, feedback loops, and fleeting signals bloom into meditative moments, with each sound given space to breathe, unravel, and shimmer in slow decay. The result resonates deeply, transforming what might be noise into something profound, hypnotic, and totally immersive.

As with villagers, Rutili and company continue to explore what it means to get lost while surrounded by modern technology. Like a ghost in a machine or a whispered prayer stuck in a telephone line, Califone adds soul—be it damned or saved. And they do so with the kind of transformative magic granted perhaps only to artists a quarter of a century into their craft. The kind that turns a photograph into a tableau, or any darkened space with a microphone into a makeshift confessional. A song into a hymn, and a hymn into a soundtrack to a life.

Like a passenger riding shotgun on a road trip, The Villagers Companion offers its own unique perspective and story to tell. Featuring tracks recorded alongside last year’s acclaimed villagers, TVC captures the miles between the start and destination—the faded gas station pit stops, the plastic saint statue stuck to the dashboard for safe travels or luck. It embodies the essence of the journey without the burden of driving—the experience of the ride itself.

The album takes us through the heart of Califone’s magic: reverb-drenched piano chords, electronic whirs, and layers of experimental noise. Guided by Tim Rutili’s abstract, fragmented lyrics—both strange and familiar—delivered through his warm, well-worn vocals, it creates an experience as evocative as it is haunting. Often passing through what seem to be the spaces between radio frequencies, the stations never meant to be heard. Crackles of static, feedback loops, and fleeting signals bloom into meditative moments, with each sound given space to breathe, unravel, and shimmer in slow decay. The result resonates deeply, transforming what might be noise into something profound, hypnotic, and totally immersive.

As with villagers, Rutili and company continue to explore what it means to get lost while surrounded by modern technology. Like a ghost in a machine or a whispered prayer stuck in a telephone line, Califone adds soul—be it damned or saved. And they do so with the kind of transformative magic granted perhaps only to artists a quarter of a century into their craft. The kind that turns a photograph into a tableau, or any darkened space with a microphone into a makeshift confessional. A song into a hymn, and a hymn into a soundtrack to a life.

Free jazz poetry by a spry, 85 year old Joe McPhee, adapting his renowned improvised practice to words - juxtaposed with Mats Gustafson’s sparing brass and electric gestures. It’s an utterly timeless and transfixing salvo, another shiny notch for Smalltown Supersound’s Le Jazz Non Series.

As a common ligature to the OG free jazz scene of ‘60s NYC, with formative binds to its European offshoots and the experimental avant garde, Joe McPhee is a true force of nature who has represented jazz at its freest over a remarkable lifetime. In duo with Swedish free jazz and noise standard bearer Mats Gustafson, he upends expectations with an astonishingly vivid and upfront example of his enduring contribution to freely improvised music. In 11 parts he variously reflects on everything from the neon sleaze and scuzz of NYC to contemporary US politicians and laugh out loud imitations of his previous sparring partners such as Peter Brötzmann, with a head-slapping immediacy that leaves you reeling, spellbound.

McPhee’s flow of rare, organic cadence, ranging from urgent to contemplative and dreamlike, is blessed with a unique turn-of-phrase that surely mirrors his decades of instrumental work. Gustafsson, meanwhile, dextrously takes up the mantle with a multi-instrumental spectrum of sounds, leaving McPhee unbound and able to float and sting on the mic. There’s obvious wisdom in his perceptively penetrative observations, as derived from a rich cultural life well spent, but also a playful naivety and levity in his ability to veer from almost melodic speech to explosive aggression and a knowing, bathetic wit. It’s perhaps hard to believe that McPhee only started incorporating and performing spoken word in his work in the past ten years, a half century since his declaration of “What Time Is It‽” announced his arrival on a legendary debut ‘Nation Time’ (1971), ushering in one of free jazz’s most singular characters in the process.

Oscillating between discordant reflections on life as a touring musician, set to Gustafsson’s skronk and culminating in a snort-worthy imitation of Peter Brötzmann’s gruff German accent, on ‘Short Pieces’ or the glowering growl and noise exhortations of ‘Guitar’, he evokes a more sweetly consonant calm in ‘When I Grow Up’ and eerie threat of ‘The Dreams Book’, and viscerality of ‘Disco Death’, where Gustafson’s tonal versatility comes into hugely mutable play, whilst McPhee’s extraordinary, unaffected voice is a constant. It’s perhaps McPhee’s balance of cool measuredness and wellspring of barbed energies that allows us, at least, to get the most out of this one; not stifling with mannered or manicured enunciation that can trigger certain icks; keeping close to the nature of spoken word in a way that avoids cliche and becomes inherently critical of it within his purposeful, non-hesitant clarity and unflinching approach.

This is the eponymous debut studio album by the American Rock band the Modern Lovers, originally released in 1976. Six tracks (“Roadrunner”, “Astral Plane”, “Old World”, “Pablo Picasso”, “She Cracked” and “Someone I Care About”) were produced by John Cale.

The Modern Lovers were formed in 1970 by teenage singer, songwriter, guitarist Jonathan Richman, augmented with Jerry Harrison (keyboards) -later of Talking Heads-, Ernie Brooks (bass) and David Robinson (drums) -later of The Cars-, with Richman’s friend and original band member John Felice joining them occasionally.

The Modern Lovers influenced numerous aspiring punk rock musicians on both sides of the Atlantic, including the Sex Pistols, whose early cover of “Roadrunner” was placed on The Great Rock ‘n’ Roll Swindle. The album was included in Robert Dimery’s 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die. In 2003, the album was listed on Rolling Stone magazine’s list of the 500 greatest albums of all time.

The Modern Lovers is available as a Limited numbered edition of 4000 copies on “Cool Blue” coloured vinyl

Gary Marks ‘ Gathering’ is exactly what you would call a miracle. Self-produced in 1974 and engineered at Vitra Sonic Recording Studios in New York, the album introduced the crispy talent of the guitarist/pianist and producer. A genuine blend of folksy harmonies and jazzy arrangements, the record could have been possibly the missing link between Tim Buckley ‘Starsailor’ and some early seventies Impulse ! session. Now it’s about time to get a hold of this masterpiece

”Gathering includes guitar legend John Scofield, the amazing jazz pianist Michael Cochrane, and one the of the top vibraphonists in the world, David Samuels. But at the time none of them were known to the general public. In fact, Gathering was the recording debut for all of us.” (from Gary Marks liner notes)

Original artwork / Black vinyl / 505 mcn paper / Lucid lamination / Greyscale 30 x 30 cm insert printed on 300 mcn DNS paper with condensed interview to Saheb Sarbib and exclusive pictures.

Personnel:
Daunik Lazro - Alto Saxophone, Bass Clarinet, Percussion
Saheb Sarbib - Double Bass, Reeds, Flute, Percussion
Jonathan Dickinson - Drums, Percussion
Manuel Resende - Electric Piano, Piano, Percussion


Notes:
The bass, that metronome that marks the time for musicians of every style, of every era, that secluded, silent, but essential character for a band. Without the bass, the music would be deflated, the heart notes would leave a wasteland of rowdy high frequencies without any rules. But bass players who have character can elevate those low frequencies and even make them loud at times. Who knows if free jazz, if we want to call it that, is exalted by the Arabic background, those semitones between the first and second degree that also make the bass sparkling? In his records, Saheb elevates the bass to a mother instrument, gives it life as vibrant as the spring that is coming. Solos are on par with that of the reeds and stand up to listening without waiting for another antagonist to return to take back the scene. This is one of the most playful and entertaining records we have reissued to date. Take a tour of the world of Saheb!

2023 was a whirlwind year for Oracle Sisters. The trio—Julia Johansen, Chris Willatt, and Lewis Lazar—followed the release of their debut album Hydranism with a globe-spanning tour that captivated fans and critics alike. From the highways between Knoxville and Nashville to sold-out clubs in rain-soaked Seattle, and festival stages across the UK, they logged countless hours on the road. Their journey was a tapestry of exhaustion and exhilaration, falling apart, brawls and disputes, love and acceptance. By the year’s end, just two days before Christmas, they found themselves in Tokyo, reflecting on the fleeting nature of time and the fragments of inspiration gathered along the way. It was there the seeds for their next album, Divinations, began to sprout. Composing as a true trio for the first time, Oracle Sisters pieced together sketches formed during stolen moments on tour. These fragments coalesced into Divinations, an album shaped by the band’s nomadic existence. The recording sessions spanned cozy Parisian studios, a barn in northern France, and the storied Valentine Studios in Los Angeles. Their creative process embraced experimentation—swapping primary instruments, playing with toy drum machines, and crafting melodies on quirky tools like the OP-1 and a baby Casio keyboard. This spirit of discovery lent the album a sense of spontaneity and wonder. At its core, Divinations channels mysticism and timeless storytelling. The band’s songwriting draws on diverse influences, from the surrealist poetry of Baudelaire and Rimbaud to the introspective philosophies of Carl Jung. Musically, echoes of Talking Heads, Air, and Leonard Cohen resonate throughout the album and tracks like “Riverside” delve into existential questions— “How far are you going? Is it more than money can buy?” Elsewhere on the album “Marseille,” born in the city that gave the song its name, kicks off as a trance with lyrics that play between the sincere and desperate self-help affirmations, we give ourselves while trying to find a bridge between our individual lives and a universal feeling. Lead-single “Alouette” is Oracle Sisters at their most direct; propelled by a driving bassline and exuberant strings, the track summons the sound of 80’s, 90’s, and early 2000’s rock n roll as they sing about “getting out of dodge, finding a pirate ship and sailing home.” Inspired by the book Caliban and the Witch, “Blue Left Hand” is a lyrical tapestry weaving together history, philosophy, and cultural critique. The lyrics, “It’s in the harbor of every page / It’s in the corner of the playwright’s stage / And every player and every fake / And every witch that we burned at the stake,” reflect on the forces that shaped the capitalist society we know today. Across Divinations’ 11 tracks it’s not only geographic boundaries that were crossed but also the boundaries of time and circumstance. While their work may not consciously reflect specific worldly events, they seek to embrace the universal and offer a space for healing. “Good music would make sense to a farmer in 17th century France as it would to a pastry chef in Slovenia in the 21st century,” shares Lazar. “It’s not written for any temporal powers that be. It’s about expressing our common humanity and taking it from there.” This intuitive approach fuels Oracle Sisters creative process - whether composing in a frozen French farmhouse or performing live with an ever-expanding lineup of collaborators, the band remains committed to exploring the unknown. Through Divinations, they hope to leave listeners feeling transcendent, levitating on waves of intuition and discovery.

‘Insides is a cracking album of shifting ambient moods, riding on the cusp of technology without forgetting emotive credence’ 9/10 FUTURE MUSIC
Originally released in 2009 Insides is Jon’s third solo album and will be made available from the 18th December 2020 on the Just Music label, following on from his first two Just Music albums, Opalescent and Contact Note. It paved the way for both Immunity (his hypnotic breakthrough solo album) and Diamond Mine (his collaboration with King Creosote) which attracted Mercury nominations and for his recently released fifth solo artist album, Singularity.
The epic Light Through The Veins from Insides, which bookends Coldplay’s Viva La Vida album, is always a crowd favourite and is played by Jon as one of the closing tracks at almost all of his venue and festival shows. Small Memory, also from Insides has been streamed almost 57 million times on Spotify alone where Jon has 355, 462 followers and nearly 2 million monthly listeners.
Cited by The New Yorker as “One of the most celebrated electronic musicians of his generation”, electronic artist, producer and composer Jon Hopkins has forged a reputation for music that marries the dance floor to the devotional, and for live performances that are visceral, generous and charged with a rapt, sensuous beauty.
Jon has remixed artists as diverse as Flume, David Lynch, Moderat, Disclosure, Four Tet, Wild Beasts and Purity Ring. Other projects include collaborations with Natasha Khan of Bat For Lashes and Bonobo, as well as productions for London Grammar and Coldplay. His film credits include his Ivor Novello nominated score for the indie sci-fi classic Monsters, The Lovely Bones (scored with Brian Eno and Leo Abrahams), How I Live Now, Uwantme2killhim? and Rob and Vanentyna in Scotland. He also scored the National Theatre Live production of Hamlet and his work has appeared in many films and adverts.
‘Lilting piano and strings give way to industrial glitch with a calculated force, shifting the mood from tranquillity to terror’ 7/10 CLASH
‘Hopkins is a conjurer, an illusionist, symbolically combining imagery and sounds that shouldn’t work together, creating new dimensions of listening’ KRUGER

Red w. Black Smoke Vinyl

After 25 years, eight albums, and countless gigs, BLEEDING THROUGH persist as a tried-and-true outlier in heavy music and culture. The Southern California stalwarts wield an enigmatic and unmistakable signature sound born at the cross roads of no-holds-barred hardcore, cutthroat thrash, and cinematic black metal.
Mastering a drastic push-and-pull, they have always occupied their own elevated realm in the extreme space, exhibiting a rare ability to not only incite a moshpit, but also invite complete immersion. It’s why they’ve endured changing tides and trends and stood strong as a force of nature with consistent critical acclaim and packed shows. However, the six-piece - Brandan Schieppati vocals, Derek Youngsma [drums], John Arnold [guitar], Ryan Wombacher [bass], Marta Peterson [keys, vocals] and Brandon Richter [guitar] - assuredly perfect this vision in 2025 on their aptly titled ninth full-length offering, NINE.

Colin McCann, Brian Gossman, and Eric Fiscus periodically return to the grid from the remote mountains of Northern California to document their evo/involution as Vulture Feather. Touring the states throughout much of 2024, they brought the sharpened machine back to Tim Green's Louder Studios to capture their second album, It Will Be Like Now. In literary terms, the record is a work of man versus nature, except man and nature are both secret identities of a third, unnamed thing. Tears and the ocean and death are the main characters, and the initiated may get the sense that these too, belong to the absolute. It all ultimately resolves as a terrifying and beautiful love story. Sonically speaking, It Will Be Like Now reports from a place where PiL and Jah Wobble never parted ways, where Johnny Marr righted the ship, where songs only need one part: the good part. The heads will know McCann and Gossman from their time in the prehistoric Don Martin Three (recently re-issued catalog by Numero Group) and later, Wilderness (Jagjaguwar). While prior efforts are beside the point, this is undeniably the sound of people who have been making music together for 25+ years. Glistening as much as howling, the guitar and vocals function as duet, delivering The Only Story Ever Told over a concise and thunderous rhythm section. It's the sound emulating from everywhere, all the time, through thick carpets of clouds, reverberating off canyon walls, through troubled waters, and finally to your devices, your ears, your heart, if you choose to hear it.

Honeymoon is the excellent debut album from Beach Bunny, the four-piece band out of Chicago. Recorded at the iconic Chicago studio Electrical Audio with producer Joe Reinhart (Hop Along, Algernon Caldwaller), the nine songs on the LP burst with energy that capture their vital and life-affirming live shows. Songs like the swooning and anthemic singles "Dream Boy" and "Ms. California" encapsulate the highs and lows the exiting the honeymoon stage of a relationship. The long-awaited debut LP “Honeymoon” from Beach Bunny follows their breakout hit on Tik-Tok, "Prom Queen” (65 million global streams, 518K+ TikTok videos).

ED/MCL (pronounced Ed Michael) and IDN (Ibisazi Designers Nyabyo) have collaborated to create MOSH - both the title of the EP and its proposed genre. Mosh is music to mosh to, like dance is music to dance to. Jungle breaks are slowed down to the tempo of a metalcore breakdown. Super low 808s rumble below the beat. Sampled and recorded sounds are textured to evoke heavy metal guitars. And there are rhythmic shouted phrases, for shared chanting. This EP is being released on Interference Pattern because Tyler Pope saw ED/MCL playing on the street in Williamsburg.
IDN (Ibisazi Designers Nyabyo) is an artist collective based in Rwanda. Their vocals are shouted in a language of their own invention, yet they have crafted catchy vocal hooks designed for call and response. The vocals heard on MOSH were recorded with ED/MCL while they were visiting them in Kigali. The final track is a 10 minute long performance by IDN, from which ED/MCL remixed the preceding five mosh songs.

In Todmorden, the oddly-named market border town in West Yorkshire with a habit for embracing the weird and wonderful, a burst of sunshine is a precious thing. Through the thick of Winter, through every season in fact, the town’s folk are used to the wind and rain, fog and mist. As much a part of the town as the trademark deep valley it sits in, here the lay of the land invites the weather in, just as it does the many musicians, artists, and unique characters that have come to call the place home over the centuries.
Bridget Hayden is one such soul who found a home among these hills. The experimental musician, who invites the ghosts in for the classic folk songs that make up her stunning new album, knows only too well about such weather, how rare and treasured the breaks from it are. Her favourite thing to do in the valley, she says, is “to make the most of every tiny minute of sunshine.”
Such aspirations nearly derailed the recording of Cold Blows the Rain, her new eight-song collection released via the Todmorden- based label Basin Rock. Having hired the town’s Oddfellow’s Hall to record these new songs in the late summer of 2022, Hayden says the weather was so good she ended up basking in every second of it, only moving inside to begin recording when the sun was setting, working deep into the night to make up the time.
There’s a good chance, however, that it had to be this way. The songs that make up Cold Blows the Rain are not made for the sunlight. They come, instead, wrapped in mist and coated with drizzle, those elements shaping the album as much as the voice and the instruments held within, as real but ambiguous as the ghosts that linger in the shadows. The sound of the dark valley floor.
Mostly centred around meditative and experimental improvisation, Bridget’s work to-date has seen her spend more than two decades recording and performing on the underground music scene. She’s also toured internationally both as a solo artist and as part of bands such as Schisms and The Telescopes, while working on various side-projects with the likes of Folklore Tapes.
For all of this sonic exploration, so much of her work has been formed around elements of traditional folk aesthetics and, over time, she began to piece together a collection of reinterpreted traditional songs that she absorbed as a child from her mother: through The Dubliners and Muddy Waters, to Bessie Smith and The Leadbelly Songbook. Harvesting her love for Nina Simone, Karen Dalton, Margaret Barry, and more, Bridget takes these traditional songs and transforms them into something uniquely evocative
"It goes back to the womb,” Bridget says of that connection. “I would not call it a memory as it is so deep within my blood and bones. My mum was the source, she sang all the time, as part of life. So it was a very lulling and natural introduction. It seemed common to hear her singing – unbeknownst to her – in time with a raindrop dripping at the window,” Bridget continues. “I’ve always wanted to do a folk record as I love these songs so much. It comes much more naturally to me to sing other people’s words, especially when they’re as beautiful as these old verses.”
Underpinned by waves of analogue reverb, and led by Bridget’s stirring and weather-beaten voice, the songs on Cold Blows the Rain drift and crawl like low heavy clouds on flat-top hills, shaped by the land. The backdrop is equally as arresting, all subtle gloom cast in shadow, a gentle but pronounced swirling of textures, crafted from harmonium and violin courtesy of The Apparitions (Sam Mcloughlin and Dan Bridgewood-Hill).
“The weather speaks the most eloquently about human loss,” Bridget says, articulating such sentiments. “It’s good to feel enveloped by something so much vaster than ourselves. The rain and the tears all become one.”

As Jess Sylvester finished his Hardly Art debut as Marinero in the fall of 2020, he realized it was time for a change. Sylvester grew up in Marin County, on the doorstep of San Francisco. It was a nurturing community for a high-school punk with a pompadour and, later, for a sober songwriter with a proclivity for moody psychedelia. But he wanted to be challenged and inspired by a new setting and scenario around strangers who prompted him to approach his music in unexpected ways. So in September 2020, as the world continued to reel in lockdown, Sylvester headed several hours south to Los Angeles, a city that, despite the relative proximity, the film buff knew largely from classic and cult films situated there. When he arrived, he kept digging into that cinematic past-Robert Altman's The Long Goodbye, with John Williams' classic theme, or classic 90s movies about East LA, many featuring Edward James Olmos. They shaped his understanding of his new town just as it began to open. This is one pillar of the multivalent and endlessly lush La La La, Marinero's new album about sobriety, identity, and fantasy that is playfully named both for the city that helped shape it and the sophisticated pop it contains. Sylvester wrote about characters outside of himself, whether considering the heroine reckoning with her own version of keeping clean or the screenwriters whose work was deemed communist simply as a political convenience. He linked those songs with motivational anthems about self-acceptance and playful numbers about flirting through food, shaping a 12-song set rich with humor, empathy, and encouragement. Sure, La La La is a continuation of the slippery genre play Sylvester started with 2021's Hella Love, 2019's Trópico de Cáncer, or even before that. But it also feels like a fresh beginning for Marinero, as Sylvester realizes how boundless this project can be. He began to think about the music of his childhood, how his mother is from San Francisco with Mexican roots, and how he'd heard so much salsa growing up as an impetuous teenager. So he wrote "Taquero," a red-hot salsa tune that uses tacos and their trappings as a source of endless metaphors for come-ons. And then there was the Ray Barreto or Santana-inspired "Pocha Pachanga," with organ gliding and percussion pulsing beneath his yearning vocals, warped as if by desert winds. In Los Angeles, he found a wealth of players who spoke this music like language itself (including Chicano Batman's Eduardo Arenas), all ready to play with and push these familiar forms. Sylvester has also been sober for 21 years, since a cross-country sojourn to attend college in Boston ended in a chemical haze. Today, he sees friends facing the same decisions he made two decades ago, and he brings bits of that experience to bear in songs that feel like self-help anthems. Recorded with a musical hero (and labelmate) of his, Chris Cohen, "Sea Changes" feels like sunshine breaking through dark clouds, as Sylvester acknowledges the newfound confidence and clarity in a friend who has stepped away from destructive habits. In the past, Sylvester has been intractably linked to his identity as a Mexican-American, born to parents from Mexico and Irish- American descent who settled in San Francisco. That can be limiting, of course, tying him to notions of sound and style that aren't always correct. On La La La, he simultaneously steps into and out of those preconceptions, singing tracks above salsa in joyous Spanish or pondering the dynamics of the Hollywood Ten and blacklists above mysterious lap steel and teasing trumpet. His identity, then, should now be clear: He is a Californian, making music shaped by the diversity of encounters and experiences that are a central part of that state's fabric. Never before has he presented himself so fully and unabashedly on tape as with La La La, an album Sylvester built with new inspirations to deliver new charms.

Volume 1 of this expertly curated project of 90s Italian House - put together by Don Carlos.

If Paradise was half as nice… by Fabio De Luca.

Googling “paradise house”, the first results to pop up are an endless list of European b&b’s with whitewashed lime façades, all of them promising “…an unmatched travel experience a few steps from the sea”. Next, a little further down, are the institutional websites of a few select semi-luxury retirement homes (no photos shown, but lots of stock images of smiling nurses with reassuring looks). To find the “paradise house” we’re after, we have to scroll even further down. Much further down.

It feels like yesterday, and at the same time it seems like a million years ago. The Eighties had just ended, and it was still unclear what to expect from the Nineties. Mobile phones that were not the size of a briefcase and did not cost as much as a car? A frightening economic crisis? The guitar-rock revival?! Certainly, the best place to observe that moment of transition was the dancefloor. Truly epochal transformations were happening there. From America, within a short distance one from the other, two revolutionary new musical styles had arrived: the first one sounded a bit like an “on a budget” version of the best Seventies disco-music – Philly sound made with a set of piano-bar keyboards! – the other was even more sparse, futuristic and extraterrestrial. It was a music with a quite distinct “physical” component, which at the same time, to be fully grasped, seemed to call for the knotty theories of certain French post-modern philosophers: Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, Paul Virilio... Both those genres – we would learn shortly after – were born in the black communities of Chicago and Detroit, although listening to those vinyl 12” (often wrapped in generic white covers, and with little indication in the label) you could not easily guess whether behind them there was a black boy from somewhere in the Usa, or a girl from Berlin, or a pale kid from a Cornish coastal town.

Quickly, similar sounds began to show up from all corners of Europe. A thousand variations of the same intuition: leaner, less lean, happier, slightly less intoxicated, more broken, slower, faster, much faster... Boom! From the dancefloors – the London ones at least, whose chronicles we eagerly read every month in the pages of The Face and i-D – came tales of a new generation of clubbers who had completely stopped “dressing up” to go dancing; of hot tempered hooligans bursting into tears and hugging everyone under the strobe lights as the notes of Strings of Life rose up through the fumes of dry ice (certain “smiling” pills were also involved, sure). At this point, however, we must move on to Switzerland.

In Switzerland, in the quiet and diligent town of Lugano, between the 1980s and 1990s there was a club called “Morandi”. Its hot night was on Wednesdays, when the audience also came from Milan, Como, Varese and Zurich. Legend goes that, one night, none less than Prince and Sheila E were spotted hiding among the sofas, on a day-off of the Italian dates of the Nude Tour… The Wednesday resident and superstar was an Italian dj with an exotic name: Don Carlos. The soundtrack he devised was a mixture of Chicago, Detroit, the most progressive R&B and certain forgotten classics of old disco music: practically, what the Paradise Garage in New York might have sounded like had it not closed in 1987. In between, Don Carlos also managed to squeeze in some tracks he had worked on in his studio on Lago Maggiore. One in particular: a track that was rather slow compared to the BPM in fashion at the time, but which was a perfect bridge between house and R&B. The title was Alone: Don Carlos would explain years later that it had to be intended both in the English meaning of “by itself” and like the Italian word meaning “halo”. That wasn’t the only double entendre about the song, anyway. Its own very deep nature was, indeed, double. On the one hand, Alone was built around an angelic keyboard pattern and a romantic piano riff that took you straight to heaven; on the other, it showcased enough electronic squelches (plus a sax part that sounded like it had been dissolved by acid rain) to pigeonhole the tune into the “junk modernity” section, aka the hallmark of all the most innovative sounds of the time: music that sounded like it was hand-crafted from the scraps of glittering overground pop.

No one knows who was the first to call it “paradise house”, nor when it happened. Alternative definitions on the same topic one happened to hear included “ambient house”, “dream house”, “Mediterranean progressive”… but of course none were as good (and alluring) as “paradise house”. What is certain is that such inclination for sounds that were in equal measure angelic and neurotic, romantic and unaffective, quickly became the trademark of the second generation of Italian house. Music that seemed shyly equidistant from all the rhythmic and electronic revolutions that had happened up to that moment (“Music perfectly adept at going nowhere slowly” as noted by English journalist Craig McLean in a legendary field report for Blah Blah Blah magazine). Music that to a inattentive ear might have sounded as anonymous as a snapshot of a random group of passers-by at 10AM in the centre of any major city, but perfectly described the (slow) awakening in the real world after the universal love binge of the so-called Second Summer of Love.

For a brief but unforgettable season, in Italy “paradise house” was the official soundtrack of interminable weekends spent inside the car, darting from one club to another, cutting the peninsula from North to centre, from East to West coast in pursuit of the latest after-hours disco, trading kilometres per hour with beats per minute: practically, a new New Year’s Eve every Friday and Saturday night. This too was no small transformation, as well as a shock for an adult Italy that was encountering for the first time – thanks to its sons and daughters – the wild side of industrial modernity. The clubbers of the so-called “fuoriorario” scene were the balls gone mad in the pinball machine most feared by newspapers, magazines and TV pundits. What they did each and every weekend, apart from going crazy to the sound of the current white labels, was linking distant geographical points and non-places (thank you Marc Augé!) – old dance halls, farmhouses and business centres – transformed for one night into house music heaven. As Marco D’Eramo wrote in his 1995 essay on Chicago, Il maiale e il grattacielo: “Four-wheeled capitalism distorts our age-old image of the city, it allows the suburbs to be connected to each other, whereas before they were connected only by the centre (…) It makes possible a metropolitan area without a metropolis, without a city centre, without downtown. The periphery is no longer a periphery of any centre, but is self-centred”.

“Paradise house” perfectly understood all of this and turned it into a sort of cyber-blues that didn’t even need words, and unexpectedly brought back a drop of melancholic (post?)-humanity within a world that by then – as we would wholly realise in the decades to come – was fully inhuman and heartless. A world where we were all alone, and surrounded by a sinister yellowish halo, like a neon at the end of its life cycle. But, for one night at least, happy.