Buscar:tides

The three players in Chicago’s Moontype orbited each other for years before they came in phase. Bodies of Water, their debut album for local label Born Yesterday, documents travel, insecurity, friendship, and the titular element—all of which are representative of the band members’ strong connection to place and to one another. “Being rooted in the landscape became important to me while studying geology, which completely changed how I think about the world,” offers songwriter, vocalist and bassist Margaret McCarthy of the album’s central themes. The arrangements themselves feel like open-hearted negotiations; sparse fingerpicking gives way to saturated tube-screaming as naturally as the changing of tides. Over twelve tracks, Moontype revels in the woozy concoction of its many influences, but always lands on punchy hooks, shifting between arrangements both spacious and mystifying without abandoning their conversational warmth.

Conservatory students at Oberlin College’s prestigious music program, each member focused on exploring different sounds. Guitarist Ben Cruz, who came up on classic rock shredding and migrated into jazz performance, admired the indie pop of Fountains of Wayne, the groundbreaking composition work of pianist Vijay Iyer, and the genre-morphing folk of heavy hitters like Neil Young and Joni Mitchell. He played in several projects alongside Emerson Hunton, who’d drummed from age six and entrenched himself in the Twin Cities improvised music scene before even heading to college. Margaret—who grew up outside of Boston playing piano, singing in choirs and writing on guitar—spent her time creating knotty, riot grrrl-and-hyperpop inspired songs for bass and voice, as well as noise soundtracks for art installations. Inspired by artists like Adrianne Lenker and Gillian Welch, she recorded the EP bass tunes at home in an apartment over the town’s optician, releasing it upon graduation. A week later she migrated even farther west to Chicago, where Ben and Emerson had already enmeshed themselves in several projects, from avant garde ensembles to a country group.

Ben was instantly impressed by Margaret’s songs, at once “challenging and unlike anything I had played before.” The duo decided to try performing together, but knew this special music would be even better fortified with drums. Emerson was the obvious choice—as Ben puts it, “He’s our great friend and also the best drummer we know. Who else do you call?” Moontype-as-trio gigged around town, eventually embarking on a first fall tour in Emerson’s Prius. On that trip, they felt the music morph into something living, and the care and trust between them intensified. They decided to put together songs for a record, recorded at the end of 2019 with Jamdek Recording Studio’s Doug Malone, a dependable collaborator whose patient process perfectly captured the magic of their newfound familiarity. While Margaret’s skeletal demos still informed the bulk of Moontype’s full-band debut (some of which are re-recordings of bass tunes cuts), the resulting arrangements are songs reborn and strengthened by the three musicians’ absorption of one another’s ideas.

On Bodies of Water, Margaret’s soothing, unadorned alto is often peppered by the gliding, eerie harmonies of her bandmates. “We love the act of singing together,” explains Ben, who describes it as “connecting and grounding and wholesome.” The push-pull search for common ground characterizes the instrumentals as well. Round basslines occupy higher octaves, trading space with guitars chugging in lower registers, and all the while drums break apart and glue back together in idiosyncratic grooves that never lose the pocket. Of the complicated rhythms that sometimes result: “Any mathy moments are based on how the lyrics fall naturally, which feels like it frees us up from having to stay in one time signature,” says Emerson. “Rhythmic elements never feel like they’re being added in, more like they’re already there and we just float on through.”

Touring’s restlessness informed these songs, but so did the DIY scene that welcomed Moontype to Chicago—including, according to Margaret, the “wild harmonies” of Ohmme, the “deadpan explanatory rock” of Ratboys, and the “luxe math rock pattern music” of The Knees. Working at beloved venue Sleeping Village inspired Margaret’s observational vignettes; “We are sitting at the desk and you are mixing all the bands,” she reports in the middle of the dextrous folk hammer-ons of “3 Weeks,” gently admitting, “I am trying to have fun and I am trying to get paid” in a world of bikes, trucks, and velvet. “About You,” a robust power-popper written about a post-gig romp around Richmond with artist Bebé Machete, opens with a Phair-ian quip: “Looking at you with my fuck me eyes / Do you wanna get inside of mine?” Meanwhile, the spectre of lost camaraderie looms over “Ferry,” an atmospheric and anthemic standout that questions, “If I’m not your best friend / then who am I to anyone?” Alongside water, this preoccupation with friendship is a focal concern lyrically, but the palpable love between Moontype’s players is essential in communicating that desire for connection, and all three members are dedicated to exploring sound and meaning organically and together. Care and generosity are at the core of Moontype, and Bodies of Water is a clever album full of insightful music, as cosily enveloping as it is incisively honest.

There is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it anecdote tucked into one of
the many fine documentaries about seminal 20th Century artist
Jean-Michel Basquiat regarding the habits of his studio practice.
As we watch inspiring footage of Basquiat darting from one
piece to the next with rapid-fire brush strokes, a friend or
gallerist in a voice over says that it was not unusual for
Basquiat to be working on several paintings in the same
moment as several radio stations and televisions played in the
background. Not much more time is spent on the anecdote but
it feels like a skeleton key into Basquiat’s endlessly alluring,
neoexpressionist work.
And while Bryan Devendorf’s solo curio ‘Royal Green’ doesn’t
possess the only-in-New York vibe of Basquiat’s work, there is
something shared in its many-channels-open style of creation.
Satellite signals, strange voices from lost television
documentaries and radio operas are all woven into its fabric -
like it’s using these endless tides of media and information to
unlock the subconscious. Even its covers - Bob Dylan,
Fleetwood Mac, The National (with a nice big wink), The
Beatles - are like stunning, albeit satanic takes on hymns, or
like American standards almost dragged into the underworld.
Like the best of Spacemen 3, Sparklehorse or massively
underrated San Fran band Skygreen Leopards - the music
makes you queasy in one movement and lulls you into
blissmode in the next. It’s the very edge of outsider pop
songwriting.
For all the amphitheaters and festival fields Devendorf has
played to over his career, ‘Royal Green’ almost feels like an unlearning and a newfound love of homemade/found/fractured
sounds - and how, if collaged just so, detritus can become
stunningly gorgeous and surreal. And not without hooks. Look
no further than ‘Frosty’, which could be Little Billy Corgan’s
decayed demo tape from just before the Smashing Pumpkins
appeared on the scene. And the unspooling, slightly unglued
dream-pop of ‘Breaking the River’ is as rapturous as it is
sinister. And that’s probably where Devendorf wants it.

Though any and all vocals on De Sidera are wordless, language is central to the album. ‘I try to make my vocalisms sound like words,’ she explains, ‘but it is a kind of invented language.
Somehow the form, the signifier, is enough to express meaning, sense, emotion.’ Burelli notes that this concept has resonance with her practice in Greek and Turkish music, in which wordless vocals and instrumental improvisations are common.
This is front and center on a song like the title track ‘De Sidera,’ where Burelli’s rising and falling vocals dance atop an undulating, contemplative bassline - close your eyes, and the clear tides of the Mediterranean lap at the sand - her wordless intonations guiding you to a tranquil state.
Burelli surrenders to the natural world and the ineffability of words - on De Sidera she shares the gem of universality she discovered while doing so.

There is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it anecdote tucked into one of the many fine documentaries about seminal 20th Century artist Jean-Michel Basquiat regarding the habits of his studio practice. As we watch inspiring footage of Basquiat darting from one piece to the next with rapid-fire brush strokes, a friend or gallerist in a voice over says that it was not unusual for Basquiat to be working on several paintings in the same moment as several radio stations and televisions played in the background. Not much more time is spent on the anecdote, but it feels like a skeleton key into Basquiat's endlessly alluring, neoexpressionist work. And while Bryan Devendorf's solo curio `Royal Green' doesn't possess the only-in-New York vibe of Basquiat's work, there is something shared in its many-channels-open style of creation. Satellite signals, strange voices from lost television documentaries and radio operas are all woven into its fabric _ like it's using these endless tides of media and information to unlock the subconscious. Even its covers _ Bob Dylan, Fleetwood Mac, The National (with a nice big wink), The Beatles _ are like stunning, albeit satanic takes on hymns, or like American standards almost dragged into the underworld. Like the best of Spacemen 3, Sparklehorse or massively underrated San Fran band Skygreen Leopards _ the music makes you queasy in one movement and lulls you into blissmode in the next. It's the very edge of outsider pop songwriting. For all the amphitheaters and festival fields Devendorf has played to over his career, `Royal Green' almost feels like an un-learning and a newfound love of homemade/found/fractured sounds _ and how, if collaged just so, detritus can become stunningly gorgeous and surreal. And not without hooks. Look no further than "Frosty" which could be Little Billy Corgan's decayed demo tape from just before the Smashing Pumpkins appeared on the scene. And the unspooling, slightly unglued dream-pop of "Breaking the River" is as rapturous as it is sinister. And that's probably where Devendorf wants it.

Hospital Records proudly present brand new music from all-star label mainstay Nu:Tone, the first solo release since his seminal ‘Future History’ album in 2014 which included timeless classics such as ‘Tides (feat. Lea Lea)’ and ‘’Til Dawn’.

Good Vids, Vile Times is the second album by Ant Antic. Its central themes are the never-ending flood of information and its effects on us. The Berlin-based singer and producer Tobias Koett wraps serious questions into radiant pop songs. What does constant bombardment of information do to us? What's lost along the way?

On his new album, Ant Antic observes the emotional power of media and information. The helplessness we feel in the face of predominantly bad news and the growing inability to take pleasure in good news. The way an overload of junk information leaves no mental capacity for real social connections. As a child of the first globally connected generation, he witnesses geographical boundaries dissolve and people consider humanity as one. At the same time, everyone seems to struggle to come to terms with a reality overflowing with possibilities. Slowly, we collectively turn into superficial nihilists.

"When I wrote my first album Wealth I looked inward to examine my own emotions, asking myself "How do I really feel?". For Good Vids, Vile Times I was focusing less on the how and more on the question of why. "Why do I feel that way?"", Tobias explains the creative writing process behind his second album as Ant Antic.

"I'm a bag of hot air / Push me up density / Feel like a millionaire / Don't bring me down gravity", he admits on the single Yellow Press. Referencing the album's cover artwork by Austrian photographer Erli Grünzweil, Tobias describes how it feels to advertise his own life to other people - when behind the meticulously crafted presentation, there's sometimes nothing left but emptiness and anxiety.

Good Vids, Vile Times is an album rich in variety, ranging from indie-pop to contemporary R&B. In stark contrast to the somber tone of the lyrics, the songs radiate a cheerful liveliness. Fueled by analog synthesizers and an electric guitar often not discernible as such, the record builds on Ant Antic's signature sound. It's all Tobias on Good Vids, Vile Times - writing songs, recording vocals, guitars and synths, all the way to production and mixing. Essential elements and ideas are put into focus by getting rid of everything else. At the same time, the new album sees singer and producer Tobias openly flirting with pop, exploring new sounds and aesthetics, and maturing musically and lyrically. No song is alike, each one tells an honest and relatable story - all held together by the magic glue that is Tobias' distinctive voice, which might stay with you forever.

It is a cliché to describe music as a trip or an ocean or whatever, so this album, Tecwaa’s album “Beyond the Altai” released on Höga Nord Rekords, will in part be described as a snowman: the snowman has its characteristic familiar shape. He is cold yet there is something warm and cuddly about him, something that makes you feel happy and safe.

The A side on the album goes from that warm/cold cosy feeling but elements of destruction like melodies in minor keys slowly transforms the album to become only cold and not so cosy - the snow turns grey and the snowman’s smiling mouth becomes a twisted grin. Its contours disappears and the shape dissolves as the snow melts and floats out on the ground beneath its body. As the album develops, the sound gets harder and darker and the York based DJ moves closer to his roots in electro and Roland-machine knob-turning.

In some ways, “Beyond the Altai” is a call from the eighties and nineties dancefloors like in the tracks “Back To The Atomic Ether” and “10 Swords” on the B-side but all melts together in Tecwaa’s music to create his own obstinate and loose sound!

Sary Moussa is an electronic musician who has been active in the Beirut underground scene since 2008. He released his first full-length album Issrar in October of 2014 under the moniker radiokvm. His latest record Imbalance, finds Moussa revisiting the soundscapes of his childhood; from the echoes of political unrest, to Greek-Catholic chants, and the quiet nights of a secluded Southern village. The album combines sound design with intricate melodic arrangements to create a choir of synthesizers and noise singing in and out of sync.
In addition to his solo work, Moussa has also composed music for theatre and dance performances, short films, and museum installations.

When acclaimed South African musician Guy Buttery first sought out Dr. Kanada Narahari in late 2016, it was as his patient.

“It was a dark time.” Buttery recalls, “I had been bedridden for months and had been suffering from debilitating bouts of fatigue which no diagnosis or medication could help me get to the bottom of. When I first met Kanada, I was at the stage where even picking up my guitar to make music had become a joyless and taxing exercise.”

As Buttery’s searched for a cure, a family member recommended he see Kanada an Ayurvedic doctor who had relocated to South Africa from India and set up a practice in Durban. It was during this consultation, that the musician first experienced how Narahari infused the healing properties of Indian Classical music into his practice. Rather than treating him with a smorgasbord of pharmaceuticals, Narahari played his sitar and set Buttery on a strict daily diet of Raga’s to fast track his recovery.

Buttery was not only struck by his doctor’s musical talents but by the powerful healing properties inherent in his sitar compositions. When he left Narahari’s doctors room that afternoon, he asserts he was feeling decidedly clearer, lighter and stronger.

“Diving into Kanada’s music was definitely one of the reasons I'm still here today.” he admits. “The consistent tonal centre at the heart of Indian Classical Music, literally became my support pillar over this period. A central core of sorts in which to fall back on, strengthen and discover.”

Narahari as it turned out, was not only a prominent music therapist (and one of the only Ayurvedic doctors practicing in South Africa) but like Buttery, a highly accomplished musician with a devoted following back in his homeland.

Born in a small village along the Western Ghats in Karnataka, India, Narahari, at the age of nine, had enrolled to study Carnatic classical vocal and developed an interest in Hindustani Classical music with a particular passion for the sitar. While Buttery had secured his reputation as one of South Africa’s musical treasures, a multi-instrumentalist who commands sold-out performances both locally and internationally and more recently had been awarded the prestigious 2018 Standard Bank Young Artist for Music.
From this consultation, a friendship developed between the two musicians with Buttery soon inviting Narahari to join him in his studio. But it wasn’t all plain sailing in the beginning. While Buttery and Narahari’s sensibilities were very much aligned, there were a range of cultural and musical influences, nuances and inflections that first needed to be navigated and understood.
“I suppose we had to find a common ground.” Buttery says, before adding, “Which in the end turned out to be pretty "uncommon ground" for the both of us.”
It was after a few intensive sessions together that something exhilarating began to emerge. What began as a few idle improvisations soon evolved into feverish and lengthier jams. Whenever time permitted, the musicians would meet, descending deeper into the emerging sounds, while reimagining the realms that existed between their African and Indian heritages.
Over the next few months, the duo would rack up over fifteen hours of recordings in studio, and it was up to Buttery to shape the material into an album which they collectively titled Nāḍī, which Narahari translates from the Sanskrit as "The Channel" or "An Internal River".

During this period, Narahari bestowed upon Buttery, the moniker Guruji while Guy would refer to him, in affectionate return, as Panditji. Each time the musicians would meet, the studio space would be cleared by an impromptu ritual, with Guruji burning African Imphepho while Panditji would chant a Sanskrit mantra dusting Indian Agarbatti clouds over their instruments.

Once the room had been made hazy with this aromatic alchemy (with the ancestors welcomed in) the musicians would pick up their instruments and plunge into shimmering tides of sound. Reflecting on these sessions, Narahari recalls the immense creative freedom he felt throughout: “Guy and I tried to wander as much as possible, without any speculative, preoccupied ideologies or limitations. Love remained at the forefront of our journey together.”

“Those evenings we spent together in the studio” adds Buttery, “felt incredibly rich with purpose and a profound sense of freedom. While improvising, anything could happen and mostly did.”

On a first listen, the tracks on Nāḍī emerge as salty, humid invocations to the inscrutable depths and misty myths of the Indian ocean-- that vast body of water that stretches between, and laps the shorelines, of the artists’ respective homelands.

When asked to describe the sound him and Narahari refined, Buttery prefers to relay a series of evocative images.

“For me” he explains, “Nāḍī is a lighthouse, a beacon that resides at the bottom of the ocean.” As Buttery envisions it, “what once offered light to guide ships to safety, has been submerged and re-purposed by marine life as a coral-reef temple. Similarly, this sunken lighthouse exists as a concealed cenotaph, memorializing the ancient sea-routes and passages that once connected the two distant lands.”

On paper this may sound obscure but listening to the songs, it serves as an apt metaphor.

Across each meditative movement, listeners are able to relive the journey, immersing themselves in a series of incantations, replete with high dynamics, delicate African-Indian inflections and virtuoso string playing of an entirely new order. Further complimenting the fusion of musical dialects are a range of guest artists including Shane Cooper on bass, Thandi Ntuli on vocals, Chris Letcher on organ, Ronan Skillen on tabla and percussion and Julian Redpath on guitar, synth and backing vocals.

Now like the submerged lighthouse, the recordings stand as a monument, a marker and snapshot of this fortuitous meeting, a tribute to the healing gifts of Guruji and Panditji in performance. It’s a process that already, both musicians look back on with reverence and nostalgia.

Buttery ruminates in closing, that when he first met Kanada his illness correlated with the biggest drought South Africa had experienced in many years “…for whatever reason, whenever we would connect and make music together, the sky would tend to open. Even if it was just a few drops. This went on for months, until finally the drought dissipated and my health had been restored.”

By the time the heavens did open across the East Coast, a deep friendship had been forged and with it abundant musical offerings poured down. A treasured sample of which we able to share in every time we press play and immerse ourselves in the sacrosanct musical universe that is Nāḍī.

Music From Memory’s latest release is a reissue of the lost Art record ‘Marea/Tide’ from Italian Wave duo Alessandro Pizzin and Piergiuseppe Ciranna also know as ‘Ruins’.

Made to accompany and as a response to the works of painter ‘Luigi Viola’ the record was released limited to a run of 600 with original artworks by the painter included in the first 200 copies.

A number of special showcases were performed at various galleries by the duo alongside Viola’s work, with records being available solely at those events. Due to poor management and disagreements with the label who produced the record, 300 copies were held for many years in storage and then in fact later even destroyed, the record disappearing almost without a trace.

Finally now available again and with a bonus 7” including four beautiful unreleased tracks, the release is printed in colors true to the original work of Luigi Viola with insert.

Aggelos Baltas is a veteran of the global electronic music scene, responsible for a handful of celebrated EBM 12”s as Dream Weapons, and a particularly heady and open-ended brand of krautrock as Fantastikoi Hxoi. His newest project, Anatolian Weapons, was conceived as a way to bring together these two seemingly mismatched concepts, with the polyrhythmic percussion and wailing tones of Greek folk music serving as their unlikely bonding agent. His output garners praise particularly around the Golden Pudel scene, such as Vladimir Ivkovic, and Phuong Dan. Lena Willikens, from the same circle, included Baltas’ track “Disillusioned” on her Dekmantel Selectors compilation in 2018.

But where much of what Baltas has released as Anatolian Weapons is instantly recognizable as dance music, To The Mother Of Gods—Baltas’ debut album for Beats In Space—is something else entirely. Created in tandem with Greek folk musician Seirios Savvaidis, it is a work of simultaneous collaboration and subtraction whose meticulous construction becomes more apparent with every listen. An album-length exploration of what happens when the principles of dance music are applied to pre-digital musical modalities. It is a record of psychedelic folk music that has more in common with Kikagaku Moyo, Minami Deutsch, and the Habibi Funk label than it does with anything else Baltas has produced under any alias. It’s difficult to imagine this music in any kind of club setting.

And yet, it’s very much the work of a DJ. Baltas initially heard Savvaidis’ music through a friend, and was absolutely amazed. “It was his very esoteric, pagan [music and] beautiful lyrics that grabbed me,” he writes. Seirios is a composer and performer of traditional Greek folk music with a growing discography of regional psych-rock gems. Baltas reached out to collaborate and the seeds of To The Mother Of Gods were sown.

Savvidis contributed stems of ten songs, which Baltas deconstructs and rearranges with appreciation of the ancestry of their lineage and of the deceptively ancient eerie, droning qualities inherent in the style. Occasionally augmenting Savvaidis’ recordings with his own, Baltas treats these elements as if raw materials for an architectural process.

To The Mother Of Gods showcases Baltas’ arrangement skills. He treats Savvaidis’ songs as landscapes, filling them with slanted, droning light and setting the singer’s vocals in dead center. His years behind the decks have given him an intuitive understanding of dynamics—drums crest and recede like tides, snippets of bassline repeat and swirl. He knows how to entrance, and when to push the music from the head to the body. Opener “Taratchi Katarratchi” (“Stormy Cataract”) is sung as a spell to ward off the fear of death, but Baltas’ orchestration demonstrates that dancing is an equally effective way of dispelling the darkness. The beat he assembles from Savvaidis’ playing recalls the late-night ecstasies of Primal Scream circa Screamadelica.

To The Mother Of Gods is a reminder that folk music and dance music are both powered by their audience as much as the musicians themselves. Savvaidis’ lyrics echo pagan Greek themes, touching on what Baltas calls “the magic of nature.” At times, as on “Kalesma” (“Invitation”), this can feel incantatory. Savvaidis chisels his vocal melodies into hard, clipped syllables, their cadence recalling Gregorian chant, and yet Baltas cloaks these details in washes of distortion. “Ston Stavraito” (“In Stavraithos”) is delivered with a lamentive tenderness that Baltas swells into a prideful stomp, immersing Savvaidis in marching drums and distant vocals that form a resilient protest-song. To The Mother Of Gods is a testament to the ongoing and innate truth that music can take us beyond ourselves. That repetition and drone can shepherd us to a liminal space beyond thought and rationality, where the wall between perception and reality does not exist. Call it spirit, if you want, and watch as it courses its way through modern-day dance music, mid-century psych, and the ancient sounds of the anatol.

Anatolian Weapons’ To The Mother Of Gods will be available from Beats In Space on June 14, 2019 in limited vinyl and unlimited digital forms.

Artist Highlights
• Aggelos Baltas is an Athenian music producer creating and Djing under the monikers of Anatolian Weapons, Fantastikoi Hxoi, and Dream Weapons.
• The Anatolian Weapons moniker is an outlet for Baltas to explore global music—from African to Anatolian and Middle Eastern, while also incorporating sounds from his home country of Greece.

Jason Letkiewicz has always swum against the musical tides, flitting between different solo pseudonyms (including Steve Summers, Death Commando and Alan Hurst) and collaborative projects (most notably Mutant Beat Dance) in order to explore different aspects of his leftfield inspirations. With his latest release, a first full-length outing for Artificial Dance entitled Mirage Information, the Chicago-based artist is operating under an alias that celebrates this approach: Opposing Currents.

It's an alias he's used once before - for a track featured on Chronditic Sound's 2015 cassette compilation Non-Christian Referent - but Mirage Information sounds like an artistic rebirth. Densely layered, mind-altering and often intense, the album's seven tracks update the Cold War paranoia and pulsating electronics of EBM and industrial music for today's complex and chaotic political climate.

Throughout, Letkiewicz smothers off-kilter drum machine rhythms and throbbing, body-jacking synthesizer basslines in untold layers of hazy audio detail, creating a dystopian sound soup out of which alien electronic melodies, psychedelic acid lines and barely audible vocals emerge. At times, such as on angry opener 'Lying Awake', the extra-terrestrial 'Dissolve' and foreboding 'Shallow Grave', we're invited to dance in the darkness in celebration of impending doom. On other occasions, such as the poignant and melancholic closing cut 'It Awaits', Letkiewicz simply seems exasperated at the chaos that is life in the 21st century. It makes for a genuinely arresting and thought-provoking listen.

Fresh off their latest VA, The Press Group hand the reins over to up-and-coming Ukrainian producer Sasha Zlykh, here delivering his debut 12" effort. Clocking in with a quartet of club-oriented weapons and off-road house-y pumpers that shall bring dancefloors to a slow but steady simmer, the Kyiv-based producer blends in an avalanche of breaks-strewn rhythms, bleepy melodies and reshuffled UK bass patterns to create his own distinctive hybrids, halfway straight dance functionality and non-formulaic experimentality.

As playful in essence as it is serious in its execution, 'Lie To Your Mom' EP starts off with the title-cut, which works a wonky swagger that proves all the more infectious as bars fly by. Engineering a finely-woven mix of off-kilter drum programming, raucous analogue belches and volatile harp stabs distorted to the max, the track's shadowy intro is eventually offset by overlapping tides of luminous pads, released as one lets the light break through a vampire den. 'RnB Ritual' follows up close in the vein, meshing a brooding late-night-ish atmosphere with playful percussive mechs and sustained rhythmic accidents.

Flip sides and you'll be treated to a choice pair of remixes from in-house groove traders Rupert Marnie and Youthman. First in line, Marnie turns 'Lie To Your Mum' into a straight jacking and shuffling Chicagoan chugger. Going deeper into soulful terrains and lavishly-textured expanses, TPG's main operator exploits the whole melodic potential of Zlykh's original, bringing its anthemic power to further completion beautifully. More on the dubby end of things, Youthman adds his uniquely vibey touch to the main cut, deftly navigating betwixt a classic deep house kinda vibe, post-rave'y electronics and a Basic Channel-esque sound spectrum, which all in all should have people instinctively clapping their hands as their mind begins to sink into a weirdly introspective sense of euphoria.

Planet Battagon are innovators in Droid Jazz. Electronics, jazz and outer-national sounds ain't no new thing. But following in the extra terrestrial sounds and cosmic mythology of Sun Ra, Planet Battagon are not reaching for the cosmos but simply made of it. Droid consciousness is the starting point but what's consciousness got to do with it. The droid's need culture, music and art and of the highest and most experimental of that lies Droid Jazz.

Originating on Lord Battagon's home planet the group are documenting the folklore and jazz stylings of the Trans-neptunia neighbourhood out on the edgelands of the solar system. This debut release follows on from a Lord Battagon outing on the Atlantic Jaxx label. 'Who's out on Quaoar' is taken from the Ltd Ed 12' 'Battagon Symphony', part one of 'The Rough Guide to Trans-Neptunia'. The release also features 'Salacians of Neptunia', a homage to the early droid cultural pioneers and the chant like 'Moon of Dysnomia' that is played ceremonially to temper the erratic saline tides of the aforementioned moon especially during its retrograde period. Droids and saline do not mix well and OntheCorner are releasing these 'Rough Guides to Trans-Neptunia' after intercepting distressed transmissions prior to a
devastating saline tide.

The Noise Droids of Planet Battagon are:
Jack Baker - Acoustic Drums
Martin Slattery - Bass Clarinet,Alto Sax & FX
Oli Savill - Percussion
Mickey Ball - Trumpet
Nathan Curran (Tugg) - Synth Bass, Syn Drums, FX & Conductor

The Eskapist with his second statement of personality, handing in a seasonal Ep ranging from a seriously immersive Opener to the shuffling full-force rhythms of 'Islet Observer', gently flowing tides on 'Brittle' and finally some soulful electrifying alien techno, as 'Voluptuous Brittle' takes us home. This is where the Eskapist dwells, here we find freedom.

By track two we've already blitzed Cutty Ranks samples via Dawn Of The Dead chatter through Street Fighter vamps and Pulse X resurrection subs. All you can do with Mars89's mesh of gutter sonics is pick out the landmarks you recognise: 'oh yeah that's kinda drill, mmmm gqom, oooo Night Slugs' but like the best hallucinations you just shut your eyes and ride it.End of The Deathsounds like it comes from no place in particular.

Slotting way outside of the current batch of hard-to-describe club music that we're all struggling with, End of The Deathis the Tokyo native's third release, his 2nd for Bokeh (after 2017's Lucid DreamEP) and his first official appearance on wax (after a run of 30 'Biological Tides'/'Poltergeist' dubplates). Bokeh pays full respect to Mars89's futuristic intent with a bad acid Akira sleeve airbrushed by Patrick Savile and a limited VR headset edition - accompanied by a 360° video environment by Seth de Silva.

Bokeh Edwards and Mars89 met at the Bokeh Versions x Diskotopia night in Tangram hairdressers, Tokyo (sponsored by Pioneer) in October 2016. He's a crucial member of the Tokyo's Chopstick Killahz, a self-described "Post Tribal DJ Unit" lurking on the fringes of the city's grime scene. Mars89's self released his debut EP East End Chaos in 2016 on a limited run of zines. He's also recently composed music for Amazon Fashion Week Tokyo 2017A/W and started a residency at Bristol's Noods Radio to highlight DJ and production talent elsewhere in Asia.

Vinyl edition of Stars of the Lid 2nd album in print for the first time in over 20 years.

The release of Music for Nitrous Oxide, the 1995 debut album by Stars of the Lid, heralded a new strain of the american underground music scene, one borne of the heat and humidity, boredom, and the insular, constipated, rockist music scene of Austin, Texas, the home of the duo of Brian McBride and Adam Wiltzie. It was a muffled lashing out against surrounding musical conventions, a small middle finger to the local dominant americana' scene, but one that nobody could see outside the shack of a house in which they recorded or at their occasional sparsely populated live performances. It was as punk a move as anyone could make at that place and in that time. But in a surprise to the two members of SotL, people took notice, as related rumblings and grumblings were taking place simultaneously in other parts of the american landscape.
Coming quickly on the heels of that release was our current subject, Gravitational Pull vs. the Desire for an Aquatic Life, released one year later. This is a transitional release that travels from the scruffiness of the debut's ambiance to more extended and subtle undulating tides of assembled sound, yet still dominated by processed guitars as the primary sound source. It also serves as an omen to the mini-orchestral works to come beginning with the Avec Laudenum album a few years later. Gravitational Pull... is a small masterpiece.

Tracy Island announces Episode 2 of the 10 piece concept series with 'The Unlimited'. This time the musical transmission comes from Beach Wizards, the secondary alias of the well renowned collective Seahawks, offering their interpretation of Island mentality. The release opens with the ever growing mood of 'The Diamond Sea' - 18 minutes of building disco strings and stabs, rolling bongos and percussion, and intermittent ambience with an A side offering a true listening experience. 'Don't you wanna get off.' Get out the city they called. The B side starts and ends with the lulling sound of midnight waves in a downbeat balearic boogie of rain chimes and head nodding subs. Between these tides interjects 'Lucky Dips' on the B2, with melodies from an aquatic saxophone from below the surface.

No-one else makes music like this: devilishly complex but warm and intuitive, stirring together a dizzying assembly of outernational and outerspace influences, whilst retaining the subby funk-and-hot-breath pressure of Shackleton's soundboy, club roots.The result is an evolutionary, truly alchemical music — great shifting tides of dub, minimalist composition and choral song (Five Demiurgic Options), ritual spells to ward off the darkness (Before The Dam Broke, The Prophet Sequence), radiophonia and zoned-out guitar improv (Seven Virgins), even the febrile, freeform psychedelia of eighties noise rock (Sferic Ghost Transmits / Fear The Crown). Over the five years since Music For The Quiet Hour, Vengeance's vocal and lyrical range has rolled out across this new terrain. Throughout these six transmissions he's hoarse preacher, sage scholar and ravaged bluesman, blind man marching off to war, and exhausted time-traveller warning of impending socio-ecological catastrophe. Six dialogic accounts of our conflicted times, then, expanding beyond the treacly unease of the duo's early collaborative work into something subtler and more emotionally shattering — its shades of brightness more dazzling, and its darkness even murkier. "We almost didn't hear it when the foundations went."