Buscar:two things in one

Évariste is one of the rare specimens of artist-cum-scientists. Among his kind stand others like Pierre Schaeffer, a Polytechnique graduate (an engineer but also the father of musique concrète) and the eccentric Boby Lapointe (graduate of the École centrale and inventor of the Bibi-binaire system, patented in 1968). Évariste's songwriting, joyful and full of energy (albeit extremely critical), shrouds an original tragedy: born in 1943 among résistants, Joël Sternheimer (aka Évariste) grew up without a father, lost to Auschwitz. Although he makes little reference to Jewish culture in his music, his origins leave their mark: in 1974, he sings a Hebrew song on television. In 1966, the young Joël sports Princeton's colourful paraphernalia - that's because he's freshly returning from the US, where he was sent to pursue his research on "particle mass and the interpretation of observed regularities, such as the effects of a wave" (will understand who may). When he gets there the country's in the midst of the Vietnam War. With McNamara keen to find an alternative to the nuclear weapon and calling upon the country's biggest brains to undertake the task, there's a "fund shift" within the university - a diplomatic way to give notice to whoever may not be disposed to follow the government's scheme. Joël, who's under the supervision of a rebellious physician, is dismissed. He regardless keeps following the prestigious seminaries of the Institute for Advanced Study, chaired by Oppenheimer, inventor of the atomic bomb. Likely inspired by the hippie movement and music, Joël buys a guitar and starts playing in Washington Square - after all, Bob Dylan himself started there. He blithely skips Oppenheimer and receives a warm (though surprised) welcome from a crowd thoroughly unfamiliar with French. When the ageing physicist questions him about his decreasing attendance, Joël explains how drawn he is to music, and how he thinks it could help him in self-financing his research. Évariste recalls seeing the sickened man, his face torn by remorse, lighten up to his words and say: "What's keeping you - go for it! If I was still young that's exactly what I'd do." The student takes these words as a testimony from his professor - and it's enough to convince him . And so he takes the leap during the Christmas vacations he spends in Paris. A journalist friend he often sees around the Sorbonne introduces him to the artistic director of Disques AZ. The latter passes the tapes on to the label's boss, Lucien Morisse, also program manager on Europe N°1. Morisse is blown away - and signs him onto the label right away. Michel Colombier, arranger for Serge Gainsbourg and co-author of "Psyché Rock", with Pierre Henry, contributes some of his original ideas to the 7 inch "E=mc2": Évariste's preoccupation with the percussion sound on the track "Le calcul intégral" is that it goes "poom poom" and not "tock tock" - Colombier is aware of the issue and records Évariste's guitar like a percussion in an isolated booth. The organist Eddy Louis, who is to participate, in 1969, to the success of Claude Nougaro's "Paris mai", also appears on the record. It's 1966 and the Antoine phenomenon (signed on Vogue) storms through France. The two singers share similarities: Antoine is an engineer of the École centrale, gifted with a great originality in his song-writing. A godsend for the two labels who turn this resemblance into a commercial strategy, setting them out as rivals. To this day though, Évariste still denies what was little more than slushy tabloïd gossip. Success comes around swiftly and in 1967 Évariste launches into a second 7 inch, "Wo I nee", again arranged by Michel Colombier. Quantum mechanics fans finally get their anthem with "La Chasse Au Boson Intermédiaire" (or the "Intermediary Boson Pursuit"). To sum up what's a boson, say he's a close pal of the meson, photon and other gluons. A few months later, it's May 68 and everything's turned upside down. Évariste writes a series of songs inspired by the events, which he immediately submits to Lucien Morisse. When the man behind "Salut les copains", once married to Dalida, hears the song "La révolution" - a father and son dialogue - he can't take any more: AZ simply cannot release this. But there and then Lucien Morisse makes a gesture which will remain engraved in French music's history: sorry to be unable to officially stand by the singer, he encourages him to self-produce the record, but with his tacit support. He calls the pressing factory and asks they apply the same rate for Évariste as they would for AZ. The singer and his musicians use the same studio as for the previous record, all of them playing for free awaiting a return on investment. Évariste keeps singing at the Sorbonne with "Jussieu's gang" and "the young Renaud" he nicknames "le p'tit gavroche" (or "street urchin"). Renaud volunteers to type the lyrics of the song "La révolution" so that the chorus can be sung and recorded. A boy in the group is related to Wolinski and introduces them. The two get along so well that Wolinski ends up drawing the cover for the record "La révolution", for free. The self-released 7 inch "La révolution / La faute à Nanterre" is sold under the table and door-to-door for half the price of a standard record, on and around the boulevard Saint-Michel; and it runs out fast. In the end, there will be 6 releases of the record, and 25000 copies sold. When the theatre director Claude Confortès decides to adapt Wolinski's drawing series titled "Je ne veux pas mourir idiot" ("I don't want to die a fool"), he asks Évariste to write the original soundtrack. His friend, now cartoonist for Hara-Kiri Hebdo, often promotes him in accordance with a principle dear to him by virtue of which he gives a special place to his friends. Dominique Grange (writer of the song "Nous sommes les nouveaux partisans") soon joins the team. After 150 performances, Évariste leaves his place to Dominique Maurin (brother of Patrick Dewaere). Évariste composes the songs for Claude Confortès' next play, "Je ne pense qu'à ça" ("That's all I think about"), co-wrote with Wolinski in 1969. The comedians of the play record the songs on a 7 inch, with a cover signed, again, by Wolinski. In 1971, French television produces the documentary "Évariste et les 7 dimensions", but doesn't air it. Indeed, the scientific sub-comity of the programming comity (sic) censors the show. The given justification is that "Évariste dangerously mixed science with science-fiction, numerology and other non-scientific disciplines". The underlying motive might have been a will to censor the singer-mathematician's political discourse. In the documentary and among other things, Évariste discusses hierarchy, alienation and revolution. Half a century later the documentary remains invisible, though some excerpts resurfaced in 1992 in the cult show "L'oeil du cyclone", on Canal +. Though flourishing, Évariste's career is nearing its end. 1970 is the beginning of a decade in the course of which he is to make a decisive discovery in the musical and scientific domains. Following this breakthrough, he moves away from self-produced music and gaucho magazines to focus on science. He keeps Oppenheimer's encouraging words in mind, now freely pursuing his research thanks to the sales of his records. Joël realises that when decoding protein sequences, one finds musical sequences recognisable to humans. He names them "proteodies". If, when listening to a proteody, one responds by being so sensitive as to finding it beautiful, then it reveals a deficiency of the related protein - and this peculiar music may be the cure. We could trace back the music history in light of proteins lacking in a given artist, or within a public's majority. You always thought these hysterical groupies who'd throw their underwear with passion and faint in the pit had miraculously appeared because they had never heard anything as wonderful as the Beatles? Make no mistake! For Évariste, it all boils down to an intro's protein content. Indeed, the beginning of their first hit "Love Me Do" corresponds to dopamine, the neurotransmitter linked to compulsive buying. An intro like this could only unleash the fervour of groupies, victims of fashion and biology. Évariste's success is such that the income from his sales gives him the autonomy to which he had aspired when confiding to Oppenheimer. It made it possible for him to pursue his research without any institutional constraints. He now devotes himself to his proteodies, sat in the offices of the European University for Research, just around the corner from the Sorbonne he knew so well. Évariste is no more. Joël regained control of this strange and comical beast.

In the spring of 2020, Ben Cook _ a.k.a. Young Governor, Young Guv, or just Guv _ was holed up in the New Mexico high desert, his U.S. tour having been abruptly covid-cancelled during a southwest swing. He and his bandmates were living moment to moment in something called an Earthship, a solar-rigged adobe structure sustainably constructed with, among other things, recycled bottles and tires. And out there in the serene vastness, as a short ride-it-out stint turned into a nine-month sojourn, Ben was writing music, slowly, little by little, mostly at night while the others slept. By the New Year, almost in spite of himself, he had created a new album, two new albums actually, and through the ordeal he was forever changed. In a place he never expected to be, under circumstances no one could have predicted, and in the face of physical isolation, emotional desolation, and existential dread, Ben created GUV III & IV, a collection of songs dedicated and testifying to the eternal healing power of love _ how to find it in the world, in others, and most importantly, in himself. Written in the New Mexico wilderness and produced in Los Angeles, the double album will finally be available in it's entirety this summer via Run For Cover. Young Guv's talent as a songwriter has been with us for a long time. From forming iconic hardcore act No Warning in 1998 to joining Toronto legends Fucked Up, Ben Cook started writing songs as Guv in 2008 between a slew of other projects that were ambitiously working to define the genres they operated in. When he first started working with Run For Cover in 2019, the plan was to release a single record - but with too many songs to turn away, the project expanded into his first double album, GUV I & II. GUV III & IV finds the same ambition and expertise in hit-making, but this time the individual records hone into specific parts of Guv's sonic palette. GUV III is full of iconic hooks, power-pop guitar riffs and dancable-rock songs, while GUV IV takes notes from psych rock, electro pop and Laurel Canyon jangle to make something that as a whole, can only be defined as definitively GUV

Ed Black, better known by his stage name, edbl, is one of the most talented musicians to come out of South London's independent music scene. Despite his lofi soul / hip-hop sound being frequently compared to the likes of Tom Misch and Jordan Rakei, Black's distinct production style brings out the best of each featured artist. The result is a sound quite unlike any other, showcasing the best of South London's incredibly talented and diverse scene, all tied together by Black's incredible production.

He might be vocalist in bands such as Brighton-based progressive act Diagonal and psychedelic outfit Baron, but when it comes to his solo work Alex Crispin has typically worked in more wordless fields. Last year the songwriter, vocalist and producer released a triptych of ambient albums, consisting of two older albums in 'Idle Worship' and 'Open Submission', as well as new meditative work in 'Resubmergency'. On his new self-titled album, however, Crispin re-emerges from the cavernous soundscapes to – for the first time – put his vocal and song writing stamp on a record under his own name. “I personally find it easier to create more guarded, moody music, but I was at a point where I wanted to embrace a more universal, intimate and open side to what I might say” Crispin says. “Over time I’d got over certain blocks or preoccupations and so wanted to create something accessible and open hearted, which became a big driver for this record.” Pointedly self-titled to reflect the newfound confidence in his song writing away from the collective of a band, the album’s nine tracks are a warm embrace amidst troubled times. Musically there’s nods to everything from tropicalia and Brazilian MPB, to 80’s dusk pop balladeers The Blue Nile and Paul Simon’s explorations into African music. Lyrically aware of the snowballing turbulence that surrounds us, Crispin in reaction tries to see hope and looks around at the relationships and connections in his life that provide him strength. He opens 'Invisible (To Us)' with the words “Before the world did end, there was just one moment when, everybody thought there might be time, to look around again, to laugh to cry to sing.” Elsewhere, 'Listen & Learn' strikes at the heart of other underlying themes of the record, of the rarity of people opening up, taking on new ideas and allowing change. It’s accompanied with a rich, maximal sound palette of flute and sax that play around each other as Crispin’s vocal chips in with gentle encouragement. “One of the main markers on the album that I was aware of from the start, was to let myself express joy and positivity in the music” he says. “I have come to greatly prize the power of accessibility and universality over artistic 'coolness or trend', much in the same way that so often for me, the greatest pieces of art humans make nowadays are things like Pixar movies, with their combination of undeniable human talent and craft, alongside genuinely moving and accessible themes.” Indeed, there is a cinematic feel to much of Crispin’s own music, something brought over from his ambient creations – although his self-titled album possesses a panorama all of its own. Something like 'When I Reach The Ocean' has a hazy, pastoral feel to it like something out of the Canterbury Folk scene; there’s space between the notes though, which in turn pushes the track out to a greater expanse than the comparatively soft-edged and modest sound palette used to create it. Similarly, the likes of 'Effert' revel in the space afforded to them - in the case of the aforementioned in particular, Crispin lets his voice take a back seat and creates an open wash of sound that he allows the guitar to probe and explore within. “In making any music I am definitely conscious of trying to put in only what is effective” Crispin says. “It is so easy to clutter tracks without realising it, just having the ability to add stuff can just become addictive as it’s so easy to do with recording setups now.” The album started coming together at the end of 2020, with Crispin getting most of the songs to a concrete state, before starting recording in May 2021 with Diagonal bandmates Luke Foster (drums) and Daniel Pomlett (Bass), who put down rhythm tracks. Jazz saxophonist Rob Milne then added parts which would become the glue that held the whole organic aesthetic of the album together. There’s no doubt that lockdown played a part in proceedings, with a kind of forced focus resulting in a need for joyful expression. However, Crispin and his partner also suffered a bereavement which led to her travelling for large periods of time. “It was a very intense and difficult time and I think some of the intensity of emotion of that situation coupled with being alone must have inevitably contributed to the work itself” he says. It's perhaps why when even in moments of sheer happiness, such as the 'Sabu’s' breezily euphoric opener, Crispin ponders: “No-one really cares beyond this moment, and even when it's here, it's never here”. It’s the first of several bittersweet moments on the record that give the album its weight. On this new LP, Crispin recognises that sadness doesn’t mean throwing out hope, and that even in moments of joy there’s still a path ahead of you to take.

Produced by Heidecker, Drew Erickson, Eric D. Johnson and Mac DeMarco, High School sees Heidecker emerging as an increasingly playful and poignant story teller, infusing childhood tales with new gravity. In conjunction, he announces Tim Heidecker Live! Featuring Tim Heidecker and The Very Good Band, his first two-act tour of comedy and music. Since 2016, Tim Heidecker has chronicled the annals of adulthood on a series of supreme singer-songwriter albums. The crushing devastation of divorce and the existential malaise of middle-age, the minutiae of home ownership and the ritual of family vacation, child rearing and global warming: Heidecker has handled it all with humor and heart. But, there’s one pivotal lodestar of human development he has yet to mine that’s right, High School. First single “Buddy” is a composite of a few woebegone friends, which finds Heidecker reminiscing on the familiar tragedy of the adolescent stoner, manifesting the destiny of undiagnosed depression and parents who didn’t care much. The song itself is a jangly delight, but it’s hard not to mourn for “Buddy,” then re-count whatever blessings you may have. After initial and fruitful sessions with Jonathan Rado, Heidecker started recording tunes with DeMarco and Erickson, who had also worked on 2020’s collaboration with Weyes Blood, Fear of Death. At DeMarco’s studio, they added drum machines and synths and sidewinding solos to Heidecker’s big strummed chords. Johnson (Bonny Light Horseman, Fruit Bats) helped Heidecker finesse the tunes even more, making the music as rich as the feelings. Kurt Vile contributed to one song, as well. Through all those sessions, it slowly became clear: Heidecker was writing not only about the adventures and misadventures of life as a Pennsylvania teen in the early ’90s, but also how it felt to lose a juvenile sense of mystery and possibility as an adult. He was writing about high school and, really, the way it helped shape everything else. Back at Pennsylvania’s Allentown Central Catholic High School, Heidecker dreamed of making it with one of his many rock bands — Time and Other Things, Shaggy’s Beltbuckle, and (incredibly) The Pulsating Libidos. Two years shy of his graduating class’ 30th anniversary, Heidecker admits he had little of substance to say when he was 17, like all but the rarest of precocious minds. In college, though, he found the friends with whom he built his comedy career, largely apart from music and without much thought for his time back at Central Catholic. He was focused on his future. It is fitting, then, that as Heidecker has become such a delightful singer-songwriter and collaborator, he returns to the first scene of his time as a musician. Maybe he’s right — he didn’t have anything to say or sing about life back then. But across the earnest and amusing High School, he finds plenty to say about those weird and wonderful and ordinary times.

100 copies only

Apron Records has been instrumental in shaping the current landscape of contemporary electronic music coming out of the U.K. since 2014. After almost a decade of pushing their unique vision has made the Apron Records imprint one of the most in-demand labels in most independent record stores. Now more than 45 releases deep in their journey, Apron Records have teamed up with Patta Soundsystem to work on their first various artists release and to celebrate this monumental milestone, both camps have collaborated to create a clothing capsule to accompany this release. After working with the artist formerly known as Funkineven on ‘The Wave’ late last year, it was only right to showcase the diverse talents behind this movement.

Sharing a drawing board with Patta for the first time with Apron Records, together they have created a Trucker Cap and a Graphic T-Shirt that echo the racing theme of the whole project. Better Together is the slogan that runs throughout the entire collaboration, stressing how unity makes us stronger as individuals. Artwork for the record has been provided by Amsterdam based artist Jim Klok. His unique Acetone printing technique has now been immortalised on this LP, juxtaposing vintage cars with checkered racing flags to create a dynamic cover that would be right at home in a picture frame as well as a record bin.

System Olympia’s ‘Passi Mai’ is a beautiful 80’s inspired driving riddim layered with her own vocals that wouldn’t be out of place in an arcade or a sticky nightclub floor. Followed up by ‘Leven’ by Brassfoot, we get a wobbler from the NTS regular. Layed with Jamaican vocal samples and audacious arpeggiated bleeps, Leven is a soulful approach to techno tropes that have been bouncing around Brassfoot’s head. Shamos’ 737363 is a cryptic masterpiece. With dreamy pads as a backdrop for shuffling drum beats, euphoric sweeps and dynamically designed synthesis, this closes off the themes explored in the first half of the record.

Side B kicks off with J M S Khosah’s contribution to the record titled ‘Lessons’ which is a dancefloor filler, adorned with glamorous percussion, vocal samples and syncopated stabs ontop of a driving 4x4 kick pattern. Kicking things into 6th gear is a club-ready production from London's most soulful selector Shy One. Groovy basslines and a 2-step riddim make ‘Candy Floss’ an ode to the grimey and the glittery sides of London nightlife. This project champions one of the people that have been pivotal in the success of the label, Steven Julien whose track E46 is an emotional journey through his synth-laden East London studio. Bookending the project are two compositions from Compton’s-own AshTreJinkins. Showcasing his abilities to approach the project from both an ambient and a pure beat-making perspective in order to hold the whole project together.

Felicia Atkinson’s music always puts the listener somewhere in particular. There are two categories of place that are important to »Image Langage«: the house and the landscape. Inside and outside, different ways of orienting a body towards the world. They are in dialogue, insofar as in the places Atkinson made this record—Leman Lake, during a residency at La Becque in Switzerland, and at her home on the wild coast of Normandy—the landscape is what is waiting for you when you leave the house, and vice-versa. Each threatens—or is it offers, kindly, even promises? —to dissolve the other. Recognizing the normalization of home studios these days, she revisited twentieth-century women artists who variously chose, and were chosen by, their homes as a place to work: the desert retreats of Agnes Martin and Georgia O’Keefe, the life and death of Sylvia Plath. Building a record is like building a house: a structure in which one can encounter oneself, each room a song with its own function in the project of everyday life.

At times listening to »Image Langage« is immediate, something like visiting a house by the sea, sharing the same ground, being invited to witness Atkinson’s acts of seeing, hearing, and reading in a sonic double of the places they occurred. In an aching moment of clarity in »The Lake is Speaking,« a pair of voices emerge out of the primordial murk of piano and organ, accompanying the listener to the edge of a reflective pool that makes a mirror of the cosmos. "I open my feet to fresh dirt, and the wet grass. I hold your hand. You hold his hand. In the distance without any distance. The comets, the stars." At other times, listening to »Image Langage« is more like being in a theatre, the composition a tangle of flickering forms and media that illuminate as best they can the darkness from which we experience it. On »Pieces of Sylvia,« a noirish orchestra drones and clatters beneath and around a montage of vocal images, stretching the listener across time, space, subjectivities. Atkinson says that "Image Langage" is like the fake title of a fake Godard film. There is indeed something cinematic about Atkinson’s work—not cinematic in the sense that it sounds like the score for someone else’s film, but cinematic in the sense that it produces its own images and langage and narratives, a kind of deliberate, dimensional world-building in sound.

»Image Langage« is built from instruments recorded as if field recordings, sound-images of instruments conjured from a keyboard, instruments Atkinson treats like characters, what she calls “a fantasy of an orchestra that doesn’t exist.” And then, speaking of Godard, there are the monologues, operating as both experimental-cinematic device and a literary style of narration. Voice can be a writerly anchor or a wisp of a textural presence. Atkinson’s capacious and slippery speech plunges into and out of the compositional depths, shifting shapes, channelling the voices of any number of beings, subjectivities, or elements of her surroundings—not unlike her midi keyboard, able to speak as a vast array of instruments.

»Image Langage« is an environmental record, in the vastest sense of the world. It is about getting lost in places imagined and real; it registers, too, the dizzying feeling of moving between such sites. It puts forth a concept of self that is hopelessly entangled with the rest of the world, born of both the ache of distance and the warmth of proximity.

For Félicia Atkinson, human voices inhabit an ecology alongside and within many other things that don’t speak, in the conventional sense: landscapes, images, books, memories, ideas. The French electro-acoustic composer and visual artist makes music that animates these other possible voices in conversation with her own, collaging field recording, MIDI instrumentation, and snippets of essayistic langage in both French and English. Her own voice, always shifting to make space, might whisper from the corner or assume another character’s tone. Atkinson uses composing as a way to process imaginative and creative life, frequently engaging with the work of visual artists, filmmakers, and novelists. Her layered compositions tell stories that alternately stretch and fold time and place, stories in which she is the narrator but not the protagonist.

Third pressing on transparent pink vinyl. At the 2018 edition of Roadburn Festival - a congregation of all things obscure, heavy and experimental in Tilburg, the Netherlands - two generations of Japanese Krautrock genius took to the stage for a live collaboration that was just as hypnotic as it was inevitable. The artists in question were Tokyo's Minami Deutsch and the legendary ex-Can frontman Damo Suzuki. With Minami Deutsch's heady metronomic jams providing the backdrop on which Suzuki was left free to deliver his distinct improvised vocals, the Live At Roadburn LP is challenging, raw and, at times, totally alien. Divided into three parts, from start to finish the LP is consumed by an unrelenting motorik rhythm section that never lets loose for a second. At the flick of a switch, intricate guitars veer from hypnotic and meditative to skewed psychedelic freak-outs drenched in fuzz. Where Minami Deutsch's playing is sharp and meticulous, Suzuki's stream-of-consciousness ramblings steer the music into whatever direction he sees fit. The result is equal parts disorientating, sporadic and totally all-consuming - the only thing keeping you grounded being that distorted and seemingly-endless 4/4 drive. Repetition. Minimalism. Improvisation. Transcendence. That was the ideology of seminal Krautrock pioneers Can, whose 1970-1973 work with Damo Suzuki at the helm unleashed something in music that would change it forever. Some 45 years since Can's final record with Suzuki - the inimitable Future Days - and the spirit of that era still lives on. Not least because ever since then Suzuki has embarked on an endless one-man tour, traveling around the world and taking to the stage backed by countless different bands. Crossing paths at Roadburn, Suzuki's ensuing performance with Tokyo via Berlin-based group Minami Deutsch is now available to relive on wax.

Repress incoming...

Far Out Recordings proudly presents Milton Nascimento's Maria Maria. Recorded in 1974 and unreleased until almost thirty years later, the album was written as the soundtrack to a ballet which dealt with the legacy of slavery in Brazil. Raw, atmospheric and emotionally charged, Maria Maria reveals one of Brazil's greatest ever songwriters at his creative peak. Featuring an all-star cast of fellow Brazilian legends including Nana Vasconcelos, Joao Donato, Paulinho Jobim, and members of Som Imaginario, Maria Maria holds what Milton considers to be the definitive versions of some of his classic songs, including 'Os Escravos De Jó' and 'Maria Maria'.

Originally released in 2003 as a double CD package, with Milton Nascimento's 1984 follow up ballet soundtrack Ultimo Trem, Maria Maria will be available on vinyl for the very first time from December 2019, with Ultimo Trem set for vinyl release early 2020.

Milton Nascimento possesses one of the most immediately recognizable voices in Brazilian music: high and sweet and as breathtakingly sublime as that of any soul singer. It was this voice that the legendary Brazilian singer Elis Regina fell in love with back in 1964, having heard Milton perform his song 'Canção do Sal (Sultry Song)' at a private party in Sao Paulo. Ellis went on to record the song in 1967 -giving Milton his first hit in Brazil and beginning a career that has spanned over 50 years.

Born in Rio on the 26th October 1942, Milton moved with his adoptive parents at the age of 18 months to Tres Pontas, a rural town in the state of Minas Gerais, 500 miles north of Rio. He began his musical career as a young teenager, singing in a crooner style he learnt from listening to Brazilian singers and US groups such as The Platters on the radio. Hungry for more opportunities to perform, Milton moved to Belo Horizonte, the capital of Minas Gerais, at the age of twenty. By the beginning of the 60s Milton had made a name for himself both as an accomplished singer and guitarist.

Milton became part of a local network of musicians, film makers, dancers, theatre directors and writers that included the journalist and song writer Fernando Brant as well as lyricist Marcio Borges and his younger brother Lo Borges. Together these four wrote and produced what would become Milton's milestone album, 'Clube da Esquina (Club on the Corner)'. The originality of 'Club da Esquina' shaped the local scene, and it reflects the essence of 'the Nascimento Sound'. Milton's religious upbringing as an Afro-Brazilian Catholic saw him exposed to church choral music from an early age. His love of this genre of music is apparent in both his celestial falsetto and vocal choral arrangements. This collection also displays his early fascination with evocative, non-verbal, scat-style singing, spare, harmonic guitar work and local folk music, jazz and rock.

In 1976, Milton and Fernando Brant teamed up with a new contemporary dance company called Grupo Corpo, whose Argentinian choreographer Oscar Araiz, would become a collaborator with the two musicians. Together, they conceived a show based on the composite life story of the daughter of a black slave called Maria. Nascimento wrote music to Brant's lyrics and "Maria Maria" was premiered in the main theatre of the Belo Horizonte Palacio das Artes that year. "Fernando wrote the lyrics for the ballet, but there were originally no lyrics for the theme song, "Maria Maria'". Milton and Fernando worked on the lyrics together, basing them on folk stories about black women of the countryside. Adds Milton "These memories are mostly things that we witnessed – Fernando and I – rather than what we experienced ourselves.

Milton's music is impressionistic, emotional and romantic. Relying on songs without lyrics as well as evocative vocalizing and choruses, Milton experimented heavily with Afro-Brazilian percussion and taped jungle sounds. His composing method for these recordings was highly unconventional: "I wrote the music for 'Maria Maria' in a tiny Rio apartment with friends and their kids running around and having fun! I love to be in noisy places, surrounded by people", he says.
The music on 'Maria Maria' was performed by an impressive group of young musicians who are today household names in Brazilian music, including Naná Vasconcelos (percussion and effects), Toninho Horta (guitars) and Paulo Moura (sax). Several vocalist including Naná Caymmi, Fafá de Belém, Beto Guedes, and Milton himself, had hits in years to come with reworkings of these songs.

Milton says his compositions follow his visions "like a movie", and he believes that reflects his long love affair with cinema. "I only began composing because of enjoying the movies so much," he says. "I wrote my first song "Peace for the Coming Love" after seeing 'Jules et Jim' (the cult 60s French film directed by François Truffaut), with my friend Marcio Borges. We went early in the morning and watched it four or five times in a row, then went to Márcio's home and wrote the song."

The songs also include solo spoken passages set to music, clearly influenced by this style of French art cinema. On the title track, Maria's story is narrated and translated to music through the use of African Percussion, drums and metal signifying the field slave tools of the day. 'Trabalhos (Works)' runs to work rhythms and whipcracks: no words, just pain. 'Lília' documents the beating of the slave woman. After 'A Chamada (The call)' and the triumphant 'Era Rei e Sou Escravo (I was a king now I am a slave' things begin to turn and Milton employs tropical jungle cries to symbolize freedom. 'Santos Catholicos x Candomble (Catholic Saints vs Candomble)' represents the battle between African and European religions through the music of both sides. Milton's heavenly falsetto pours into 'Francisco' and 'Pai Grande (Great Father)' and the outstanding 'Eu Sou Uma Preta Velha Aqui Sentada no Sol (I'm an old black lady, sitting under the sun)' conjures images of an old woman sitting deep in the forest, her memories painted in drums, piano and voices.

When words trail off at the beginning of claire rousay’s »everything perfect is already here«, ornate instrumentation is waiting to fill a void left by the breakdown of language. Yet it becomes clear as we trace rousay’s collaged sonic pathway that breakdown, of meaning and also of melody, is also a place to rest. everything perfect… is made up of two extended compositions that cycle between familiarity and unknowing. There are seemingly infinite ways to feel in response to these pieces of music, which shift tone across their languid duration, earnest like a familiar song but unbound from the emotional didacticisms of lyrical voice and pop form.

rousay builds a fluid landscape around the acoustic contributions of Alex Cunningham (violin), Mari Maurice (electronics and violin), Marilu Donovan (harp), and Theodore Cale Schafer (piano), whose respective melodies weave gently in and out, sometimes steady, sometimes aching, sometimes receding altogether in deference to less overtly musical sounds. That is, percussive texture in the form of unvarnished samples and field recordings: the rattle and rustle and the stops and starts of life unfurling, voices sharing memories nearly out of reach, doors closing, wind against a microphone. Everything comes from somewhere in particular, possessing the veneer of the diaristic, but sound’s provenance is secondary here and so these details become tangled and fused. On this release I hear such details not as individual ornaments or stories but the collective architecture of the greater composition. It’s an architecture that is not quite formed and thus full of openings out to the world unfolding.

“The world unfolding,” that’s a kind way of saying change, movement, loss, transformation. Things rousay here indexes, not without shards of desire or pain, still somehow what I hear is coarse peace in the in-between. These two pieces sweep you away and then bring you to earth, but which is which, anyway? Where am I now? What is different outside of me? What is different inside of me? Um. I think. everything is perfect is already here, like the answers to these questions, is loose and beautiful in surprising ways.

The music guides a certain experience of the world around. In claire’s music there is this marriage—not just a pairing or juxtaposition but an interrelationship, an eventual confusion—of song/texture, narrative/abstraction, figure/ground. Everything comes from somewhere in particular but not just the voices, the field recordings, the what is being said or meant, what matters is the where you are now. There are so many ways of anchoring oneself in the present, some have to do with fantasy or storytelling and some with accepting what is.

These two compositions find peace between these modes. They sweep you away and then bring you to earth, but which is which, anyway? Their mode of feeling is inquisitive. Where am I now? What has changed outside of me? What has changed inside of me? The music, like the answers to these questions, is loose and beautiful in surprising ways.

Graeme Martin and Liam Karima made the new pet deaths album to be
both explored and sat with
In age of dull disconnection and constant refreshing, unhappy ending, the London
duo's second full- length effort, was deliberately and acutely considered to be a
journey of its own; nine new songs but one whole immersive piece for the listener
to climb inside, in the quiet of reflection, in the sobering commute to and
from.Following on from the sparkling celestial folk of the band's 2019 debut To
the Top of the Hill, unhappy ending is the next step in pet deaths' somewhat
remarkable journey. Setting out to make their new album, the band had one
question in the forefront of their collective mind: Is life an unhappy ending, or do
we become part of a bigger movement to more positive things?
Across the album's nine tracks, this conundrum is explored in many and
meaningful ways, their subtle take on melancholic folk- pop conjuring a
bewitching atmosphere that hangs over every inch of the album. unhappy ending
thrives within the world it creates for itself, one of distinctive colours and shapes
that feel intimate and familiar but always slightly off- kilter, as if you've
momentarily stepped into someone else's dream. It sings of love and loss and the
unwieldy connection between those two things, in ways that feel quietly radiant
and beguiling, caught in an alluring contrast. Recorded at a residential studio in
Oxfordshire which they used as a retreat from the business of London – fleshedout and toyed with over time with their acclaimed producer Ian Davenport
(Slowdive, Gaz Coombes, Radiohead's Philip Selway) who encouraged the duo to
lean into the wilder parts of their creativity. Inspired, musically, by the spiritual
moments of Alice Coltrane, the freeness of Miles' 'Bitches Brew', with a sprinkling
of Talk Talk's 'Spirit Of Eden' in its colourful unravelling, unhappy ending is an
enveloping experience, touching upon universal themes but all shone through the
lens of Karima's signature perspective.
Tour in May & June in support of the release - dates in Newcastle, London, Bristol,
Manchester & Sheffield.
Pet Deaths previously supported the likes of Elbow and Arab Strap.
Support from So Young Magazine, Chris Hawkins (BBC 6 Music), DIY Mag, Clash,
Huw Stephens (BBC Radio 1)

Ever get the feeling you’re being manipulated? Ever get the feeling you’re manipulating things? Somewhere between these two questions exists this seismic slab of dark post-disco drama from Leipzig duo New Hook: ‘Manipulation’.

The original version of ‘Manipulation’ has recently been released on Underground Pacific album ‘The Only Good Wave Is A New One’. But there’s more to story… Now redeveloped and reworked, ‘Manipulation’ has been manipulated into this epic club missile on Riotvan. Electrified and strident in its swagger, this new version maintains the duo’s sultry, provocative vocal but carries much more dancefloor weight. Every bit as sharp and to the point as the name New Hook suggests, it’s also been blessed with an equally forthright twist from dark disco don Curses who brings a little added funk to the bassline, manipulating the already manipulated ‘Manipulation’ with his own unique flare.

Now it’s time for your turn to manipulate it in the mix…

An absolutely legendary album from Lebanon by Issam Hajali’s group Ferkat Al Ard, “Oghneya” stands out as one of the great musical gems of the Arab world. A groundbreaking release from 1978 that represents the meeting point of Arab, jazz, folk and Brazilian styles with the talent of Ziad Rahbani, who did the albums arrangements. Filled with a variety of sounds and genres, from Baroque Pop to Psych-Folk to flashes of Bossa Nova, Tropicalia and MPB, “Oghneya” is like if Arthur Verocai took a trip to Beirut in the 70’s to record an album.

In 2015 we heard Ferkat Al Ard’s music for the first time, a Lebanese trio compromised of Issam Hajali, Toufic Farroukh and Elia Saba. It was a stunningly unique release that blends traditional Arabic elements, jazz and Brazilian rhythms hand in hand with poetic-yet-politically engaged lyrics. The band was active in the left-wing movement of Lebanon of the time and they communicated their political ideas candidly through their songwriting.

In our mind the idea was to see whether Issam was interested in re-releasing “Oghneya.” He was not opposed to it, but also made it clear that it was not his priority for a first project. He suggested we start with his first album, before Ferkat Al Ard was formed, “Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard,” which was recorded in 1977 in Paris together with his friend Roger Fakhr (whose work we have been privileged to re-release in the meantime as well.) “Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard” is melancholic, stripped-down, guitar-based folk intertwined with jazz-fused breaks, and the unique sound of the santour glistens through. While the music is very accessible, some song structures are rather atypical, neglecting common patterns of verse, hook, verse, hook. The lyrics mostly trace back to the poetic work of Palestinian author Samih El Kasem, with one song also written by Issam, who composed the music for the whole album.

We re-released Issam’s “Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard” in 2019 to a great reception, with positive reviews all over the place and an ongoing appreciation for the album. This meant it was time for us to undertake an “Oghneya” re-release again!

If you compare “Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard” and “Oghneya,” one apparent distinction is the strong Brazilian influence in the music. Issam Hajali explained that you can already hear traces of this influence on his debut, but it’s “Oghneya” where this musical relationship really peaks. Lebanon and Brazil have had a strong connection for nearly a century due to the continuous flow of immigrants from one country to the other. Today, Brazil has the largest Lebanese diaspora in the world, the “Brasilibanês”. The migratory route was not a one-way street, however, and some Lebanese returned to their home country, taking recordings of the music they learned to love in Brazil with them. They were followed by Brazilian musicians who visited primarily Beirut during the 1960’s and the first half of the 1970’s, just like many other musicians from around the world. In these years between the independence and the beginning of the civil war, Beirut became even more of a cultural center and regional hub than it already was.

Bossa Nova, at that time, was one of the defining sounds of Brazilian popular music. Issam Hajali remembers hearing it at a bar in Beirut’s Hamra district in 1974, which hosted musicians from Brazil playing the occasional gig. When Issam had returned from Paris in 1976 he got to know Ziad Rahbani, son of Fairouz, who had a shared passion with Issam for a lot of things, among them Brazilian music. Issam showed him some of the tracks he was working on, and Ziad agreed to help with arranging. The music that evolved from this cooperation between Ferkat Al Ard and Ziad Rahbani’s arrangement is, to put it lightly, outstanding. Issam’s singing is embedded into the uniquely beautiful string arrangements backed by the band’s poignant, swinging groove. The lyrics of the songs on “Oghneya” are based on poems by Mahmoud Darwish, Samih Al Qasem and Tawfiq Ziad, three pillars of Palestinian poetry within the last century, and their influence on “Oghneya” was itself a strong political statement during the Lebanese war.

“Oghneya” was eventually released in 1978 by the band themselves on cassette tapes. Finding a blank tape that fit the playing time proved to be impossible during the war so they needed to open up the case of each cassette to physically cut down the tape and customize it to the playing time. The album was well received, though some cultural critics deemed it too “occidental” in its sound. While the cassette was circulating, Ziad Rahbani started a label called Zida, together with Khatchik Mardirian. They decided to help the band with a re-release on vinyl in 1979, a year after “Oghneya” was originally released on cassette.

Sadly, there are two tracks from the original release of “Oghneya” that did not make it onto the reissue. “Ghfyara Ghaza” was replaced by the song “Juma’a 6 Hziran.” while “Huloul” was taken off without a replacement. This happened as a precondition from the band for this reissue to happen. We would have loved to include all tracks, but the decision ranged between having either a reissue like the one we put out or no reissue at all. Thus, an easy choice for us.

As always both vinyl and CD come with an extensive booklet with an interview with Issam as well as unseen photos from the recording sessions.

Having initially met more than a decade ago at a local community radio station, sometimes doing guest slots on each other’s live, improvised noise shows, Cormac Culkeen and Dave Grenon knew they had a mutual interest in working with sonic textures. They listened to each other’s bands for a handful of years, and in 2017, “made good on a threat” that they’d been making for quite a long time: to start a band. At Cormac’s gentle but clear urging—declaring that they’d gone ahead and booked a space in which to record a video—the two wrote their first song, “Sebaldus,” an ambitious 12-minute trip, which also serves as the fireworks finale to their self-titled debut album. With surges of pathos that smooth out into something more soothing in turn, Cormac goes: “The hunter, you’ve seen him / The archer, his arrows are strong / And hunger, you’ve known her / I know the winter is long.” The track is as much about enduring a Canadian winter as it is about the eponymous 8th century hermit, shot through with sublimated desire. As Cormac put it, Joyful Joyful’s songs are “a little bit outside of time.” But while the lyrics beg close, oblique reading unto themselves, there’s also a distinct sense that they’re only one of many more ways that the duo shapes sound. Cormac, whose voice is like a sea with irregular tides, lights up about an idea in traditional sean-nós Irish music that songs already exist and are out there; it’s up to the singer to become the conduit. This belief in music as something to be channelled, and something more than sound, resonates with the singer’s fundamentalist religious past. To paraphrase: lots of group singing, harmonies, no instrumentation, totally unmediated, no priest, congregational—not choral, not a performance, not about talent, the spirit moves through people. “Of course that informs how I think about singing,” Cormac says. So, when they were exiled from the church because of their queerness, they took the music with them, dislocating it from its dogmatic bounds but not from its transcendent potential. This record might be thought of, then, as a kind of queering of sacred, devotional traditions—or at the very least, a space where all of these things can be held at once. Perhaps perceivable by some as contradictions, these intersecting influences create the conditions for an incredibly singular sound. Dave is steady and exploratory in his handling of this multiplicity, arranging sounds as they’re revealed, corralling them, coaxing them into form. “Because Dave is there,” Cormac says, “I get to sing three times higher, and three times lower, and faster, and backwards, and all of these sounds! That are there. They’re all there.” When asked about early musical memories, Cormac recalled an immediate fascination with harmony: from demanding that the first person they ever heard singing it explain what they were doing, to always (still, to this day) singing in harmony with their twin sister around the house, to being part of a children’s choir that sang soprano in Handel’s Messiah—not realizing until they entered the room with all the other ranges that their learned melody was but one part of the whole. Just as tellingly, Dave reflects on his early attraction to “abstraction and becoming abstract,” describing childhood afternoons messing with microphone and speaker feedback loops, producing long, enduring sounds with almost undetectable variations. In a way unique to the coalescing of these two listeners, notions of harmony are central to their output. Dave samples field recordings, old keyboards and synths, and vocal drones, running the live singing through four or five parallel effects chains, sampling and treating everything again in the moment. “Another way to put it is that Cormac’s voice comes into the board and then comes back out shifted, delayed, and shattered; Cormac and I hear it, live with it, and respond,” Dave says. This work is contingent not only on a deep intuition (neither of them read sheet music) of polyphony and due proportion (something St Thomas Aquinas famously listed as an attribute of beauty) but also on their connection to each other and ability to read subtle cues. Dave says they’d hold each other’s hands while performing if it was more convenient to do so, riffing on something else Cormac mentioned about traditional Irish singing: that someone would always hold the singer’s hand, for fear that without a tether to the ground they might find themselves utterly lost, unsure how to return. Joyful Joyful doesn’t shy away from offering such experiences of departure; they’re willing to unsettle their audiences because they themselves are unsettled. Their shared penchant for spooky, heavy music, and self-described “omnivorous” listening practices equip them with an array of sonic concepts that support this effort; Diamanda Galás, The Rankin Family, Pan Sonic, Pauline Oliveros, Keith Fullerton Whitman, Yma Sumac, and Catholic hymnody were just a few that came up. Observing their audience gives them insight about the effect of each song—something they considered while arranging the album. Its arc is marked by soft, sometimes sudden oscillations between cacophony and euphony, day and night (listen for insects), and from sexual, visceral entanglements to more ephemeral, celestial ones. Front to back, it arouses expansion, unraveling. Of lightning, Vicki Kirby writes: “quite curious initiation rites precede these electrical encounters. An intriguing communication, a sort of stuttering chatter between the ground and the sky, appears to anticipate the actual stroke.” By all accounts, something similar seems to happen at Joyful Joyful shows, between those on the stage and those off it, between what’s earthly and what’s beyond. “A lightning bolt is not a straightforward resolution of the buildup of a charge difference between the earth and a cloud … there is, as it were, some kind of nonlocal communication effected between the two,” writes Karen Barad, extrapolating on Kirby’s thought. Cormac acknowledges that while they and Dave play a role in this mysterious charge that comes about, they’re not solely responsible. However ineffable it may be, it’s undoubtedly a form of communion—and a sensuously shocking one at that

"bit by bit" is the first full-length release from Toronto-based singer-songwriter Evan J Cartwright. This self produced album from the go-to drummer/collaborator (The Weather Station, U.S. Girls, Brodie West) presents a highly singular songwriting vision that combines existential lyrics with masterful musicianship. Steeped in jazz melodicism, Cartwright’s trumpet-like phrasing mixed with contemporary composition presents an eclectic art song performed by an artist that could perhaps be best described as a post-modern Chet Baker. Deep poetic observations on love and time paint an affecting picture of an artist reflecting on life’s universal truths. Visual in nature, "bit by bit" places its audience within a world of musical leitmotifs extracted from field recordings of bells and birdsong. Collected during years of touring, these sounds evoke extant spaces beyond that which the music inhabits. The use of this source material in its unaltered form evokes the feeling of a technicolour European film at one moment and then, as the extrapolated melodies are meticulously translated into electronic tone bank sequences, a modernist setting the next. One carillon melody is used as the basis for a wealth of the album’s musical material before its origin is finally revealed by the chiming of bells in the last seconds of the album. The result is a fragment of space between the constructed world of the musical compositions and the candid world of documentation, inviting the listener to ponder whether those two worlds are distinct or whether the songs and music are not simply “field recordings” themselves. Throughout "bit by bit" Cartwright drops staggering revelations hiding in plain prose that often involve the contemplation of time. In I Don’t Know he states “if I only trusted time / then I would wish it all away” and nearing the album’s end he opens impossibly blue with the phrase “the impossible truth of time”, playfully inserting a pregnant pause before the word time. A drummer’s fixation, to be certain, the album’s recurring theme of time is eclipsed only by Cartwright’s contemplation of human relationships. Here he elaborates on some of the album’s subjects: “Many of the lyrics circle, and try to give a name to the illegible space between human beings. “i DON’t know” celebrates the fact that we will never truly understand what love is. Its message is one of assurance. It says that we can never really touch love, and that is ok. “and you’ve got nobuddy” refers to life’s great tragedy: that we are unable to read each others’ experiences, and in reaction to this, we separate ourselves.” The entirety of "bit by bit" is a continuous work. There is seldom a clear demarcation of where one piece ends and another begins and when this does occur, it is done crudely, as if someone is flipping through a series of broadcasted channels. At times words are sliced right out of their lines and replaced by pure tones. This is both a comical interpretation of censorship and a reminder that there are things in life that will forever remain unseen and illegible. In fact, this statement lies at the centre of the LP and although hidden beauty does reveal itself through repeated listenings, "bit by bit’s" eccentric world remains just out of reach — an imaginary second story room viewed from a crowded city street.

Fuchs is a band that never was. It vanished as quickly as it appeared in the picture, much like the animal that can be seen on this album and after whom it was named. In 2005, Kante singer and guitarist Peter Thiessen travelled to Weilheim to visit Markus and Micha Acher in their studio, where they were joined, among others, by Notwist-affiliated musicians like Cico Beck, Robert Klinger, Carl Oesterhelt and Stefan Schreiber. Spirits were high, but schedules were full: after a week of improvised sessions, everyone went their own way. The recordings gathered dust until Markus Acher found them again in 2021 while cleaning out his studio. After carefully re-evaluating the rough mixes, the musicians decided to finally release them. The resulting album comprises six tracks that musically draw on jazz, aesthetically lean on dub techniques and ideologically pick up on krautrock: there’s no solos to be heard on this record, just a few equally skilled and open-minded musicians listening to each other carefully, providing each other with space in which to unfold. »Fuchs« is a document of egos dissolving in a collective spirit.

Thiessen and the Acher brothers met in the 1990s and bonded not only over their shared background in hardcore music and the DIY ethos in which it was rooted, but also over their love for jazz. »If you look at those two things combined, you will eventually become convinced that you don’t have to be formally trained to make music that at least resembles jazz«, says Thiessen today. He invited Micha Acher to join his band Kante on flügelhorn in 2004 for a tour that saw the expanded group play unusual encores after the official concert was over. »Micha had taught us some dixie pieces, so night after night we would play a freestyle dixieland ska set in front of the remaining audience!« Naturally, the Acher brothers didn’t have to ask twice when they invited him for a visit in Weilheim to further explore their mutual interests in a studio setting. »I got on my way immediately and took two or three loose ideas, a tape echo and a guitar on whose headplate you could create fantastic sounds with me«, says Thiessen.

Between immersing themselves in books by the photographer Leonore Mau, cooking together and drinking the occasional fruit schnapps, the trio went into the studio. Says Thiessen, »Micha brought his flügelhorn and some wonderful ideas with him, Markus an Indian harmonium and a plan, Carl Oesterhelt came with a glockenspiel and a Chinese zither and a bunch of amazing jazz musicians joined in, too.« He considers the resulting recording sessions to be a kind of attempt at musically translating their conversations during those days. They discussed different approaches to jazz, whether sampling and musical miscitations can unlock ecstatic potentials and the possible parallels between syncretistic religions and pop music. »There’s traces of glossolalia, it's like a blurry séance«, adds Thiessen in regard to the sessions.

It is especially this spirit that managed to live on even though the recordings themselves were abandoned. »What we all liked most when listening back to the recordings is probably their marginal and fragmentary character, the empty spaces—the moments in which the virtuoso solo never comes, in which the centre remains empty.« The six pieces on »Fuchs« are chock-full of exactly these moments. When at one instant, the players seem to disperse and improvise freely, they always meet again on common ground a short time later, continuing on their way together. There are no conventions or even previous agreements that guide them, just a shared will to explore a vast range of curious sounds and unusual rhythms together as a truly unified constellation of very different musicians. Fuchs is a band that never was. Its ideas still reverberate vividly even 17 years later.

The past couple of years have provided an ideal breeding ground for periods of reflection. Of rediscovery. And for the reignition of dwindling flames. Perhaps this is why the meeting of Tom Churchill and 2Sox is the perfect match at the perfect time. A collision of minds stoking a fire that has sizzled away into a 12” slab of choice cuts. Introspective and deep, yet not forgetting what a dancefloor wants.

Tom started making music in the mid-90s, inspired by the house and techno records he was buying as a teenager growing up in Cardiff. Co-founder of cult 90’s label, Headspace Recordings and sister label Emoticon; Tom and partner Raeph Powell were responsible for some faultless releases in the 00’s. More recently, Tom has been one half of The Nuclear Family; a production, label and events project launched with Laurence Hughes in 2013. Much of what Tom has put his hand to over the years has been hot in demand. Incredibly, this is his first physical, solo release under his real name since 2002. Despite the 20 year gap, Tom’s enthuse for all things deep and electronic has arguably never been stronger.

“These tracks have been heavily inspired by two things - reconnecting with my surroundings and rediscovering my record collection - both of which have been made possible by the events over the past couple of years.” Tom says.

“As well as spending more time outdoors around my home on the west coast of Scotland, I recorded a lot of DJ mixes and radio shows during the first lockdown, which meant I spent a lot of time digging through older records. This reignited some creative energy that had been lying dormant for a while.

Before 2020 I’d been sporadically using a rented studio space to make music, but in that Spring I put together a basic, compact setup so I could work at home. My influences are pretty clear with these tracks - I’ve drawn on the palette of classic deep house, 90s techno and electro throughout - but while there are some retro elements and familiar sounds, I’ve tried to put my own twist on things. Being surrounded by nature and working exclusively on headphones has made for a more intimate sound, and these tracks are the most personal I’ve ever done.”

Cave dwellers TEMPLE OF VOID finally return from the inky abyss on their highly anticipated new album, Summoning the Slayer. The critically acclaimed, Michigan-based quintet—featuring Alex Awn (guitars), Don Durr (guitars), Mike Erdody (vocals), Jason Pearce (drums), and Brent Satterly (bass)—hunkered down during the last two years, expanding upon their brand of fusty, artfully brutish death-doom with equal parts process and imagination. The outcome is an album that feels massive yet sepulchral, exploratory yet distinguishable—as if crafted deep below and inspired by all the things (mentally and physically) that come with their subterranean endeavor. Summoning the Slayer creepily evolves TEMPLE OF VOID. Produced, mixed, and mastered by Arthur Rizk (Power Trip, Sumerlands, Candy, and more,) Summoning the Slayer pairs long-time influences and a bevy of non-metal vectors into hulking columns of heavy and desolation. Focus tracks “Deathtouch,” “Hex Curse,” and “The Transcending Horror” showcases TEMPLE OF VOID’s death-doom at its heights and their massive, crushing lows. But the group’s fourth album is more than that. The album’s capper, “Dissolution,” is one example of the Detroiters stretching out, the song’s ‘70s rock/singer-songwriter motifs hitting The Moody Blues and Nick Drake hard. Lyrically, Summoning the Slayer eschews commonplace horror tropes with a deeper, broader psychological discussion of the self. TEMPLE OF VOID’s ultimate death-doom metal journey is now complete.

 Ty Segall meets a new non-rock challenge head-on; soundtrack music for
Matt Yoka’s compelling documentary film ‘Whirlybird’. A variety of synth
sounds, electric keyboards, drums, percussion and saxophone (and yeah, a
few guitars) form a shifting impressionist counterpart, instrumental music that
dialogues with and serves to frame the film’s compulsive themes and
images.
 Released to great acclaim in Summer 2021, ‘Whirlybird’ tells the story of
Zoey Tur and Marika Gerrard, former partners and founders of the Los
Angeles News Service, and deftly tracks their extraordinary and oftenreckless pursuit of breaking news throughout the 80s and 90s - a time in
which they pioneered the use of a helicopter to report on Los Angeles at its
most chaotic, capturing historical moments like the 1992 riots and the OJ
Simpson slow speed pursuit.
 Through striking interviews and one-of-a-kind archival footage, Yoka’s
documentary expertly tells the story of Zoey and Marika’s unravelling
marriage as they singlehandedly changed broadcast news forever. These
two arcs intertwine to create an electric view of the encroaching intensities of
that era, when the 24-hour news cycle first rose to dominate our national
consciousness.
 Ty Segall has previously scored scenes and interstitial bits for film and video
things here and there - but this is his first full-on feature film score, a work
done in collaboration with the director, whose friendship and creative
partnership with Ty has grown over a decade-plus of music videos and other
projects. Working off notes and feels from Matt and responding to the images
and story on screen, Ty crafted some of his most creative arrangements to
date, using synth, drum machine, Wurlitzer keyboard, guitars, drums and
percussion (plus saxes played by Mikal Cronin, who also cowrote the title
track with Ty) to articulate a multitude of tones running through the film.
 For a shape-shifter like Ty, this apex of tone colour is no mean feat, an
achievement further highlighted by the full set of pieces. Rather than simply
throw a bunch of songs-with-singing at the project, Ty’s score perfectly
epitomizes the film’s ethos, providing an instrumental counterpart that
dialogues with and helps frame the film’s provocative themes and images.
 As both Matt and Ty are natives to the Southern Californian milieu,
particularly the era ‘Whirlybird’ depicts, their collaboration involved a journey
through their past. In realizing the music, they revisited their own Los
Angeles awakenings, adding another personal layer to the deeply felt
meditations and elegies sighted by the remarkable ‘Whirlybird’ - now an
equally thrilling counterpart to be experienced through the original
soundtrack.

 With their duo debut, Dean Spunt and John Wiese invite you to experience
the frenzy of percussive space and discreet sound found inside ‘The Echoing
Shell’.
 This is the first official collaboration between the two veteran music-makers,
though their connection goes back to 1999. As John recalls, “Dean was in a
high school arts program at CalArts. A friend and I were recording the first
Sissy Spacek demo in the design studios there, and taking a tape to my car
over and over again to check the mix. Dean was walking through the parking
lot with a Locust shirt on, we said hello, and he immediately got into a car
with two strangers to ‘listen to a tape’.”
 The tape-listening ended well, apparently. Dean and John became friends
and fellow travellers in LA circles and beyond: in 2005, John did a remix for
Dean’s first band, Wives; in 2007, Dean played percussion with Sissy
Spacek’s 13-Tet Los Angeles; John toured with No Age several times and
collaborated live with them in 2010.
 Under the Sissy Spacek name as well as his own, John’s recordings for his
own Helicopter label and many others kicked things off for him around the
end of the century; since then, he’s been constantly engaged in solos and
collaborations on record, performances, and installations around the world.
 In addition to Dean’s ever-growing discography with No Age, he curates his
own label, Post Present Medium. In 2018, Radical Documents released
Dean’s solo debut ‘EE Head’, which explored concrète and experimental
techniques in a four-part, album length piece.
 ‘The Echoing Shell’ is born of Dean and John’s shared understanding, using
John’s process common to Sissy Spacek: elaborate sound-collage works
using source material originating from punk, hardcore and improvised music.
A series of impositions, tape manipulation and edits recompose the material,
cracking open the crust of the source, freeing its implied guts to steam forth
in gushes of extreme noise. On ‘The Echoing Shell’, this is as often noise as
it is extreme intimacy, seeming at times to be sourced from within Dean’s
drumkit, at other times appearing to emanate from the capsules of
microphones and the circuits of the signal path itself.
 One may read these collaged sounds as abstraction, but there is a unique
language conveyed in their assembly, forming something like word-shapes
and meaning. And intention: the two side-long pieces, comprised of many
short sections, form a linear whole, creating alternately ripping and
discriminating music - and meaning - in the process.
 ‘The Echoing Shell’ is a fantastic conception in contemporary musique
concrète, combining incendiary post-rock power, dry humour and astonishing
depth of field. Whether projecting the sound through headphones, ear buds,
bookshelf speakers or your own personal amp stack, crank up ‘The Echoing
Shell’.