Buscar:two thou

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Almost as soon as Σtella Chronopoulou began writing Adagio, her fifth album as Σtella, she knew the time had finally come to sing in Greek, her native tongue. It would be a first. She started the record almost by accident in 2019, during an 11-hour boat ride to the island of Anafi. Σtella had recently gone through a patch of personal turmoil and needed a break from home. On the ferry, she pulled out her cell phone as the boat clipped through the Mediterranean and began with a simple melody, steadily piecing together a rough instrumental. As psychedelic keyboards twinkled and swayed above staccato drums, the track suggested some deep exhalation, as if Σtella were letting go of long-unnecessary baggage. For a spell, she set the instrumental aside. She wasn’t ready yet, or in a rush. Σtella, after all, grew up in a slow place. During her youth in a relatively rural suburb of Athens, Greece, she and her friends played unfettered in empty streets, not worried about cars or permission, and living felt easy. But in the last decade life has steadily become busier for Σtella, now based in the heart of Athens. She has become one of modern Greece’s most popular musical exports, with three sophisticated, playful pop albums rendered with international élan. After her Sub Pop debut, Up and Away, in 2022, she catapulted beyond three million monthly Spotify listeners. That success was a blessing, but Σtella sometimes found herself pining for the slower pace of her youth. That longing is the thread that loosely binds together her fifth album, the entrancing Adagio. Borrowing its name from the term for music that’s meant to be played slowly, Adagio is a pop record that feels like a very warm blanket, its nylon-string guitars and featherlight percussion swaddling its listeners for three minutes at a time. Written and recorded over the span of five years, with a consortium of international collaborators including !!!’s Rafael Cohen and British songwriter Gabriel Stebbing, Adagio is a 27-minute meditation on love and desire, rest and time. Though the bulk of it is sung in English, Σtella delivers her first two songs in Greek here—“Omorfo Mou,” the one that began on the boat, and a cover of a 1969 cult classic of the Greek New Wave, Litsa Sakelariou’s “Ta Vimata.” It is a sign of the self-assurance that radiates throughout these tender and smitten little tunes. Start to finish, Σtella sounds more at ease and comfortable than she’s ever been on Adagio. These fetching songs will not slow her career or grant her that title track’s wish. But, for half an hour, Adagio adds a measure of warmth to the world, with time loosening its grip even if it doesn’t slow down.● Athens, Greece-based Σtella’s new album Adagio is a pop record that feels like a very warm blanket, its nylon-string guitars and featherlight percussion swaddling its listeners for three minutes at a time.● Features Rafael Cohen and British songwriter Gabriel Stebbing.• Σtella’s breakout hit “Charmed” from her 2022 album Up and Away has nearly 100 million streams, and was recently featured in the hit Max show Industry.• On Spotify, Σtella has 3.4 million followers, 66k monthly listeners.

During their short but prolific career, A2L released two albums & numerous EPs on labels such as 1st Bass / Big One and Force Inc between 1988 and 1990. This is a collection of early and rare underground British psychedelic house gems from 1989, blending the trippy, mind-expanding sounds of machine funk, new beat, industrial/ebm, samplers and turntables techniques, with the birth of acid house wonderlandand and captures the raw energy of the UK rave scene.



During their short but prolific career, A2L released two albums, one of which strangely landed on a South African label. They also dropped numerous EPs on labels such as 1st Bass / Big One (home to acts like Deskee, Longsy D, and King Bee) and the German label Force Inc (which hosted artists like Alec Empire, Porter Ricks, and Mike Ink), between 1988 and 1990.

While Acid House is synonymous with the Roland 303, A2L is unlikely an acid house act. Instead, they stand as one of the finest examples of British psychedelic house music from the late 80s, falling between the likesof S-Express, Funtopia, Eon, and Acid Angels. With standout tracks like "Even Though It's Make Believe" and "Come On," A2L delivers infectious grooves over strobelight sample jams.

This here is a collection of early and rare underground British psychedelic house gems from 1989, blending the trippy, mind-expanding sounds of machine funk, new beat, industrial/ebm, samplers and turntables techniques, with the birth of acid house wonderlandand and captures the raw energy of the UK rave scene.


This is one testament to the creative freedom and experimental nature of that era.

For fans of the burgeoning British psychedelic and acid house scene.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If every significant artist has an underrated gem in its catalog, then Mirage is that album for Fleetwood Mac. An obvious return to relative simplicity after the dramatic tension of Rumours and experimental ambitions of Tusk, the 1982 album finds the band re-grouping after a brief hiatus and again climbing to the top of the charts. Extremely well-crafted, well-produced, and well-performed, the double-platinum effort distills the group’s hallmark strengths into a filler-free set that never runs short of addictive pop hooks or daft accents.

Sourced from the original analog master tapes, pressed at Fidelity Record Pressing in California, and housed in a Stoughton jacket, Mobile Fidelity’s numbered-edition 180g 45RPM 2LP set presents Mirage in reference sound for the first time. The efforts co-producers/engineers Ken Caillat and Richard Dashut went to capture the splintered albeit formidable band can be heard with stunning accuracy, range, depth, and detail.

Though Rumours understandably gets a permanent spot in the audiophile hall of fame, the smooth, clear, and dynamic sonics on Mirage confirm that the record that stood as Fleetwood Mac’s last effort for five years deserves a place in the same vaunted arena. The presence and imaging of Mick Fleetwood’s percussion alone on this reissue might have you wondering how this slice of soft-rock bliss has gone under-noticed for decades. Other prized aural aspects — separation, definition, impact, tonal balance — are also here in spades.

Like much surrounding Fleetwood Mac in the 1980s, arriving at Mirage was not easy. Caillat searched for studios located outside of Los Angeles on a mission to change up the vibe of the band’s prior recording sessions. Everyone settled on Le Chateau in France, where relations between some members remained icy — and cooperation with the producers strained. Battles with exhaustion, bitterness, and addiction further informed the proceedings at the 18th century complex in the French countryside, where even communal meals were allegedly eaten in silence.

Inevitably, the feelings that co-producer Lindsey Buckingham, Stevie Nicks, Christine McVie, and company harbored — as well as the situations in which they found themselves — drifted into the songwriting. In its rapid ascent to rock-star royalty status, Fleetwood Mac drifted apart, embarked on solo pursuits, and found it was lonely at the top. Emptiness, the illusion of dreams, the longing for love, the want to escape to bygone times of innocence and happiness: Such themes inform a majority of the narratives. Even if the lyrics regularly take a back seat to easygoing arrangements that allow Mirage to come on like a refreshing breeze on a sunny summer afternoon.

Home to three Top 25 singles in the U.S. and having occupied the pole position of the Top 200 album charts for five weeks, Mirage rightfully resonated with the mainstream and attracted listeners on both sides of the pond. And how, via a smart blend of sugary melodies, warm harmonies, interlaced notes, nimble rhythms, taut structures, and passionate vocals. Not to mention the presence of what arguably remains Nicks’ signature song, the biographical “Gypsy,” a meditation on the loss of her close friend Robin Anderson that teems with majesty, mystery, and mysticism — and which gets an assist from Buckingham’s shaded tack piano and richly strummed guitar chords.

Its ranking as an all-time classic aside, that No. 12 hit has plenty of company when it comes to brilliant pop turns on Mirage. On the subject of Nicks, the raspy singer gets a little bit country on “That’s Alright.” Its clip-clopping pace and two-stepping progression complement subtle vocal swells that emerge during the final verse of a tune that is ostensibly about leaving but still conveys forgiveness and grace. And what would a Fleetwood Mac record be without Nicks drawing on the tools of the supernatural — cards, dreams, wolves, and the like — on the twirling “Straight Back.”

Despite the potency of Nicks’ primary contributions, Mirage seemingly unfolds as a tight competition between Buckingham and McVie — and one that ultimately ends in a draw. Buckingham’s salvos include the contagious “Can’t Go Back,” a yearning to time-travel back to the past that’s complete with hall-of-mirrors backing vocals; “Oh Diane,” out-of- left-field ear candy sweetened with hiccupped vocals and salt-and-pepper-shaken grooves; the chiming “Eyes of the World”; and “Empire State,” a delightfully fluttering track whose high-range vocals, lap harp notes, and ringing xylophones hint at the galaxies of sound that would erupt on Tango in the Night.

Then there’s McVie. As elegant, understated, and coolheaded as she’s ever been on record, she pours her heart out on cuts that revolve around her inevitable split with Beach Boy Dennis Wilson. In the process, she punctuates Mirage with a characteristic not always associated with catchy pop music: emotional weight, and the sense of dreaded acceptance in the face of dreams deferred.

“I wish you were here/Holding me tight,” McVie sings over a delicate melody on the album-closing piano ballad “Wish You Were Here.” Though they hoped otherwise, for the members Fleetwood Mac, distance and separation were always close at hand. Believing otherwise, inviting nostalgia, and pretending everything was fine only amounts to a mirage.

The 2 Tone sound was a great period in the aftermath of Punk and included influences taken from Jamaican Ska.

Mal-One had already worked on some Two Tone collages and had them put aside for some future project. He thought it would be fun to record some tracks related to these images and sounds. The first track he recorded was an instrumental track in the style of Harry J All Stars ‘Liquidator’ which he called ‘Rude Boy Shuffle’. Initially to be put out as a stand alone track on some reggae label of some sort. He had a poem already which he called ‘Two Tone Story’, so put that on top of the ‘Ska Train Is Back In Town’ rhythm which he had put together for another song of that name. Finally ‘Rude Boys and Rude Girls Listen Up! ‘came together.

Adding to this a couple of dub mixes and we have a 6 track 12”. Mal-One thought the artwork worked better on a 12” format.

Hope you enjoy the outcome.

'Through Today' is the sophomore album for rising Australian band Chimers. A husband / wife duo comprising life partners Padraic Skehan (vocals / guitar) and Binx (drums / vocals). Recorded by Jono Boulet (Party Dozen) over two days at Stranded Studios, Wollongong and mixed at Boulet’s Sydney home studio, produced by the band and veteran manager / promoter / producer Tim Pittman (Feel Presents), 'Through Today' features ten tracks of tightly-coiled intensity that barely lets up for all of its 34 mins. In enlisting Boulet, the band were confident that due to his own experience of being one half of Party Dozen, they had someone who understood the confines of working within the structure of a two-piece but also the possibilities that creates. Boulet, in turn, rewarding that trust by capturing a powerful bedrock of sound that allowed the band's taught rhythms to circle and permeate and yet give full breathing space for the melody within. For Pittman’s part, having a third ear on hand to devote serious listening time and critical commentary was an added bonus. It’s a major step forward from the band’s 2021 self-titled debut. A twelve track effort that snuck out during covid and only hinted at the power within. "Our debut felt more like just trying to capture the songs we had at the time, we weren’t sure if we’d even release it or if it would be our only album" "This time around we were intent on capturing the energy and intensity of our live show on the recording but with a more produced sound than self-titled. We worked more on song structure previous to the sessions. We rehearsed a lot playing quietly so we could actually talk to each other whilst playing the song and iron out any kinks.” “Jono turned the whole live room into a drum room, mics everywhere. The guitar amps were situated outside to prevent too much spill but still recorded live along with about half of the vocals. Second guitar and the rest of the vocals were recorded the next day. Jono was super quick and had the same work ethic and mindset, get in, get it done. If the first take was good enough, move on.” - Padraic Lyrically Chimers maintain the intensity as they tackle the themes of love, life, death and relationships, distance from home (Padraic is Irish, moving to Australia in 2001) and the current political climate providing enough drama to fuel a forest fire. Guest musicians on the album include saxophonist Kirsty Tickle - also of Party Dozen - and violinist Jordan Ireland of The Middle East. Both of whom were invited in on short notice adding their respective parts in just 1-2 takes each without any prior knowledge of the material. Binx too showing added versatility contributing lead vocals to An Echo and sharing lead across 3AM, Generator and others. “Singing is not something that comes naturally to me, and it was at the last minute before we went into the studio that Padraic suggested I sing the lead in An Echo. Having very minimal musical instruments within the band I think having the two different vocals adds a nice dynamic to the record.” - Binx 'Through Today' is a great album. Solid and confident from the get go. No waste. No unnecessary fat. Should it be Chimers last it would remain a defining statement of originality and intent. But it’s not the last, it’s just the beginning. And there’s plenty more where that came from. BIO Like many good bands Chimers are a band born of isolation, not geographically though, via the pandemic. Irish born Padraic Skehan and his life partner Binx, formed the band in their Wollongong backyard during the initial lockdown of 2020. Veterans and drummers both of the ‘Gong’s vibrant garage-scene – The Pink Fits, The Drop Offs, Evol and more – Chimers is an altogether different beast, Padraic taking a giant leap forward by removing himself from the back-seat and assuming the role of driver; singing, playing guitar and writing the songs that would eventually become their 2021 self-titled debut album. It’s a sound and album that draws heavily on Skehan’s time as a youth in Ireland and the post-hardcore sounds of Dischord Records, Husker Du, The Wipers and which has seen the band find friends and favour in like-minds The Mark Of Cain, Henry Rollins, Guy Picciotto and Mudhoney. This is no mere nostalgia though, the band instead landing at the vanguard of a new generation of Sydney and surrounds bands – Body Type, Second Idol, Dust, Private Wives, R.M.F.C – borrowing from the past in order to create a future.

Two killer tracks of erotic psychedelia with a jazzy twist and touches of acid rock by the French cabaret star Rita and Chilean rock pioneers Aguaturbia. A perfect soundtrack to an imaginary sexploitation film, half-way between the classic sound of library records and a progressive and hypnotic musical journey driven by fuzzy guitars. French actress, model, dancer and singer Rita Cadillac, local star at well-known Parisian cabarets like Crazy Horse or Folies Bergère, recorded several 45s in the 1960s. In 1969, and most likely following the success of the Welsh band Man (from whom they "took inspiration" when recorded this 'Erotica'), released this song that could have easily worked as the perfect soundtrack for a sexploitation movie. Rita's sensual voice is wrapped in a piece of background music that could have been taken from a classic library record from the KPM, Chappell or Montparnasse 2000 catalogues. Hammond-driven prog jazzy passages, subtle fuzzy guitar solos and a contagious bassline all delivered by some anonymous studio band accompanied by Rita's provocative whispers and moans. This 7"-only rarity has been compiled many times over the years, but we thought it would be nice to have it reissued in its original format. What better than another song in a similar vein and identical title, 'Erotica' by Chilean rock pioneers Aguaturbia, to complete this single? Denise's alluring vocals dance harmoniously with Carlos' electrifying guitar loaded with fuzz and wah wah effects, building up a progressive and hypnotic musical journey. This song was included in their much sought-after debut LP and we present it here again as the perfect accompaniment to the sensual Rita.

2025 cassette edition, originally released in 2023 on 2CD/digital.

Recordings + booklet of the unveiling of »Katharina AW«, a relational artwork by Joris Martens. The unveiling event took place at St. Catharine’s Church in Hoogstraten - a city in the northeast of Belgium - on two Saturdays in May 2021.

While beholding the artwork, a woven tapestry, you listen to organ music by Miaux. Outside the church, you hear the carillon gurgle with music by Lieven Martens and town carillonneur Luc Dockx, prolonging the event into the public space.

Joris Martens created »Katharina AW« for the city hall of Hoogstraten. The tapestry now serves as an informal conversation starter in the conference room. Joris Martens is a multi-disciplinary artist and works in the field where applied arts and fine arts meet.

Miaux played her own compositions on the church organ. The songs appeared on the albums Black Space White Cloud, Hideaway, Dive and Gigi - released by Ultra Eczema, Lal Lal Lal, and Alien Passengers - and were originally written for electronic keyboard. Mia demonstrates that the church organ, which is normally used as an underscore for sadness or compelling thoughts, is a fitting instrument of connection. Through its resonance, we communicate our sounds.

Lieven Martens invented sketches for the carillon—by loading bird sounds into the computer program Melodyne, varying them and converting them to musical notes. As a nod to the religion crazy Olivier Messiaen, who considered the birds to be God’s chosen singers and songstresses. The trifles were translated on the carillon by town carillonneur Luc Dockx. The playing comes into and out of focus. In this way, Lieven creates a dreamscape and breaks with the dreary carillon as an instrument of power.

Luc Dockx studied church music at the Lemmens Institute in Leuven and the carillon at the Royal Carillon School in Mechelen. He is the city carillonneur of Hoogstraten since 2002. Dockx is an active practitioner of the art of improvisation on the carillon.

Black Fairy is a fairy tale, but not in the traditional sense. When writing this play, i did not want to re-create the types of fantasies which are so common in Childrens theater. There is no kind of magic that can relieve black children from the oppression that retards their development. However, i do feel giving them a better understanding of their heritage can help them achieve their true potential. And those of us who are concerned with their development should try to expose them to knowledge that gives them a positive sense of identity. Although i do feel a chldren's play should be entertaining, I also feel it should be educational. Also, because there are so few children's plays which reflect the black experience, I wanted to write a play that Black children could identify with.

"Black Fairy" is a musical drama about a black fairy who lacks pride in herself and feels she has to offer Black children. But when she meets Black Bird and Queen Mother (Who take her to ancient Egypt, East Afrika, a southern slave plantation and the streets of Harlem) she begins toget a better understanding of her heritage. Her journey through the past enables Black Fairy to meet Aesop, Brer Rabbit, Brer Fox, Uncle Remus, Stag-o-lee, Leadbelly and many other characters in Black folklore and Black history. At the end of her journey, Black fairy realizes that "Being Black is nothing to be ashamed of" and is then able to share her knowledge with other Black children. Even though Black Fairy doesn't completely resolve her dilemma, having a knowledge of her heritage does give her more confidence to cope with the future.

During ther summer of 1974 "Black Fairy" was performed for over four thousand children in Chicago. And, in April of 1975, it played to over two thousand children in Detroit at Mercy College.

"Black Fairy" is the only the first of many children's plays we hope to produce at the Better Boys Foundation. There is an Afrikan proverb which says: "Children are the reward of life". We at Better Boys Foundationm are dedicated to this belief, and feel that helping childrren to appreciate their heritage is one means of showing our concern for their development.

TYRON is a tale of two halves exposing human complexity. Just as with the narrative of his own life, there are always two sides to every story. Side one re-introduces us to the classic hubris, machismo, and braggadocio typical of rap music. Side two takes what you thought you knew about slowthai and flips on its head. ‘feel away’ and ‘nhs’ go some way to dip a toe inside the complexities of his mind but delve deeper and you’ll be left with a clearer understanding of who he truly is. Honesty is paramount as ultimately Ty wants listeners to know that “it’s ok to be yourself”.

TYRON was formed against the backdrop of an unforgiving climate where judgement, shaming and underdeveloped and simplistic conceptions of other people are fashionable. Instead of succumbing to such simplicity, TYRON presents an artist who is unabashedly complicated and willing to explore themes of loneliness, identity, self-acceptance, and the difficulties in becoming an individual. Unlike the political overtone of slowthai’s debut album ‘Nothing Great About Britain’ which took listeners on a journey through slowthai’s turbulent upbringing and his stance on British life – this self-titled follow up, TYRON is a melodic dive through the expansive landscape of his feelings. His ability to bear his imperfections and contradictions makes TYRON an album that is the antithesis of a culture of purity. A resistance to the rising tide of moral one-upmanship and the pervasive self-righteousness that blinds us to our own fallibility.

Repress on Limited Crystal Clear Vinyl and Black Vinyl to coincide with new album ‘Daylight’ release

The album was recorded at the top of an East London tower block, mixed in a beach hut on Camber Sands and gilded by Bollywood strings is already setting its sights hide and wide, but when the sound and vision encompasses panoramic electronic soul laced with a viscerally personal reaction to the mad times we’re living through, we’re in the presence of something special

Our two British protagonists are Sean Dickson, a former indie star who reinvented himself as an electronic adventurist - musician, DJ, producer – whose last album Ft. featured a stellar line-up of guest vocalists, including Yoko Ono, Fred Schneider (B- 52’s), Alan Vega, Crystal Waters (fronting ‘Testify’, which topped the US Billboard dance chart) and David McAlmont - the last, a thrilling singing sensation with an illustrious history, from indie-soul pioneers Thieves and the legendary McAlmont & Butler to purer soul and jazz recordings and a striking collaboration with minimalist composer Michael Nyman.

Cross Record's new album, Crush Me, is steeped in the pressures and wonders of existence—a profound statement, especially coming from artist and death doula Emily Cross. A two-and-a-half-year gestation period offered challenges, disappointments, and joys reflected in the cramped space of the album, which explores how we handle the weights we carry. Emily Cross had held hundreds of Living Funerals and was as many episodes deep into her podcast, What I’m Looking At. She was five years into serving clients as a death doula and fresh off a tour with Loma, her band with Jonathan Meiburg (Shearwater) and Dan Duszynski, when she began work on her fourth album. After moving from Austin, TX to Dorset, UK, she established the Steady Waves Center for Contemplation (named after a track from her second record, Wabi-Sabi ), where she hosted Living Funerals, met clients, scheduled mindful tea sessions, and showcased experimental music nights. All the while, she was scribbling down song ideas. Cross’s Tascam four-track demos finally reached readiness, and she sent them to an interested major independent label. She was encouraged to push her imagination to the limits of what a record could be. So, unlike her usual process of recording as inexpensively as possible, she prepared a two-week recording session in Germany with a group of skilled musicians from around the world. True to her previous work, Cross left plenty of room in her demos for experimentation, collaboration, chance, improvisation, and complete obliteration, then resurrection when necessary. Comfort and traditional structure were eschewed in favor of unaccountable magic, prayers whispered into The Void. Cross is comfortable with the chaotic and unpredictable, a perspective demanded by her work and writing style. The Berlin Airbnb was packed with people, instruments and luggage. During a ride down in a tiny elevator to the studio, Cross realized how central the sense of being crushed was to the album. “I thought of it later and it dawned on me that ‘Crush Me’ perfectly embodied the record,” says Cross. Yes, the weight of a body laying limply atop yours, or the tight squeeze of a hug, can be pleasant. Go too far, and you’re in the hands of a cruel, adolescent god. Upon leaving Germany, the record was unfinished, and without a roadmap. As passages were recorded as isolated parts, Cross and musician Marcin Sulewski collaborated, facing a haphazard brick pile, waiting to be assembled. Work dipped in and out of view like a buoy bobbing in a violent sea over many months. During that time, the aforementioned interested label went radio silent, suddenly not seeming so sure of a thing. Collaborators disappeared, continuing the themes of abandonment, surrender, and disarray that followed the project. Cross physically felt her entire body go numb: In a twist of fate, the record was rescued by long-time friend and supporter Ben Goldberg at Ba Da Bing Records who was eager to help realize the project. Cross worked for months on the album, all the while nursing a pregnancy and continuing her full-time funeral work. The last minute participation of Seth Manchester of Machines with Magnets, who mixed and mastered, was an essential liferaft. He gave true final form to the abstracted songs. Crush Me has the effect of a spell being cast, with songs balancing heaviness and levity. Vocals, guitars, and keyboards float above, as drums and upright bass (often bowed) lurch beneath. On “Rolling Backwards” percussion wanders about while feedback squeals and persists in the distance. “Dorset Area Of Natural Beauty” starts with a thick, unhinged church organ progression punctuated by the disquieting sounds of laughter reaching the point of hysteria. “God Fax” is a slow-moving panic attack, with shallow breaths in and out framing a guttural cacophony like a wooden freighter encountering increasingly turbulent waters and vocals struck emotionless by autotune. The album ends with “Twisted Up Fence,” a reflection on life from outside the wall--wistful, warm, and comforting. Cross, likely with a smile on her face, sings: “You say it’s an endless abyss” “And I say the abyss is the best”

Pharoahe Monch is one of the most revered and influential emcees in the history of hip-hop, and 2024 marks the 10th anniversary of his fourth studio album "PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder".

In PTSD, Pharoahe Monch continues the story he began telling in his previous LP, "W.A.R. (We Are Renegades)" from 2011. The Queens emcee narrates, in both literal and metaphoric ways, about the trials and tribulations of an independent artist who is at war with the music industry and the struggle of the black male experience in America.

In 2012, during an interview with Shawn Setaro, host of the podcast The Cipher, the rapper explained the connections between the two projects, beyond their titles. “The W.A.R. album was like, I’m going to battle against the machine, I’m doing this independently. I’m putting some things out that I learned and I’m going to expose about the music industry. PTSD is the result of me doing that, where I am emotionally now. It’s similar to how someone comes back from war and is stricken by re-adjusting to a regular situation.”

Monch told MTV Hive that PTSD is “more mental, emotional and personal” because it came out of the depths of a period of depression. He also gave the internal and external factors that helped him create the album. “I was working on the title track, which took me to a point in between Internal Affairs and Desire, where I was heavily depressed. Through the waiting period, the industry period, and going through a lot emotionally. Then there was the physical problem with asthma. It was the worst. So I started off with that title track and my manager was like, ‘Yo, let’s really dive into that state and how you got to where you are now, and how this follows what people go through to get back to a so-called ‘normal’ situation’.”

The concept album follows a veteran through combat experience, his return home, relationship dissolution, drug addiction, painful depression, and, finally, a triumphant but realistically rendered decision to keep living and struggling.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Sagacious reggae lyricist Vaughn Benjamin’s words are particularly cutting during Sow And The Reap, the final recording of Vaughns immense catalog of works with I Grade Records. Produced by Zion I Kings, and taken from 2021’s album Polarities, Sow And The Reap folds topics of political dominance, mass migration, and injustice into a thought provokingly coherent whole. The song brims with Vaughn’s characteristic dual-meaning word-play, using evocative metaphors of nature and agriculture to illuminate global policy. Sow And The Reap’s timeless lyrical principles are matched by its inexorable reggae rhythm, featuring hefty programmed drums by Romain “Teflon Zincfence” Arnett, and sombre trombone and space age synth, both supplied by much missed multi-instrumentalist Drew Keys. Backed by its correspondingly haunting dub.

This series honours both the vocal and version culture of the reggae sound system and the profound lyricism of Vaughn Benjamin. We have consistently received two requests in relation to releasing the LPs: "Can we have dub versions?" and "Where can we read the lyrics?" Our response is the 'Akae Beka - vocal, version and word-sound collection.' Before Zero Records worked with Tippy I Grade to mix a series of dub mixes from a carefully curated selection of his extensive works with Vaughn Benjamin. The vocal and corresponding dub mixes were then cut to wax by Lewis Hopkin of Star Delta and wrapped in a collage made of Ras Marcus's artworks, which he crafted for various LP covers of Vaughn's works throughout the years with the lyrics transcribed and printed on the rear of each sleeve.

Repressed for the first time in 2 years, Note price change. Sermonizing Black Nationalism, Pan-Africanism and the benefits of a healthy and just lifestyle during the height of the Bad Boy/Roc-AFella era of nihilistic excess in the late 90's, Dead Prez also signed to a major label (Loud/Columbia) despite leaning much more towards the burgeoning indie aesthetics of the day. But this was a good thing – using major label muscle to wake up righteous hip-hop fans who might have fallen asleep at the wheel. The group itself – consisting of MCs stic.man and M-1, who produced or co-produced most of the duo’s music – was formed in Tallahassee, Florida in the early 1990's.

By later that decade, the duo had started making significant waves, having their music heard on the soundtracks to “Soul In The Hole” and “Slam,” as well as appearing on albums by Big Pun and The Beatnuts. By 1998, they released their first official single, the serious, stark “Police State,” on Loud, appropriately brought to the label by Lord Jamar of Brand Nubian. After building a solid rep over the next two years with fiery live performances, in 2000 they unleashed their debut album, Let’s Get Free.

The album was a welcome return to provocative and often radically political rhetoric that hearkened back to hip-hop forebears including The Coup, Public Enemy and KRS-One (as well as poetic descendants like the Last Poets and Watts Prophets). Let’s Get Free was critically acclaimed and benefited from multiple singles, including the infectious, thick analog drive of “Hip-Hop” “It’s Bigger Than Hip-Hop,” with a remix co-produced by a young Kanye West; “Mind Sex” (with Abiodun Oyewole of the Last Poets); and the poignant “I’m An African.”

But the singles weren’t the only worthy songs, as just about every cut here has deeper meaning than most full albums by their early 2000's peers. Highlights: the thought-provoking, anti-drug album opener “Wolves”; “We Want Freedom” “They Schools” and “Propaganda” . All in all, this is one of the more underrated and possibly Top 5 fully-realized political hip-hop albums of all time.

The complete album - pressed on limited edition 180g vinyl

Tenor saxophonist Ben Webster (1909 - 1973) had already enjoyed a long and fruitful
career by the time this 1957 session was recorded. However, as Bob Blumenthal
explains in the original liner notes, he still wasn't known for the sensual ballad feeling
that became his trademark during the last two decades of his life. At that time, he was
still recognized for the hard blowing fast tenor sax style he played with both the Duke
Ellington Orchestra and his own multiple small groups.
Even though his repertoire was generally linked to that of Duke Ellington, this classic
Norman Granz produced session presents Webster playing four popular ballads and
two of his own bluesy compositions, Soulville and Late Date. On hand in support are
the incredible Oscar Peterson Trio (Herb Ellis, Ray Brown), and drummer Stan Levey.
"The by turns grizzled and vaporous-toned Webster really hit his stride on the Verve
label. This 1957 date with the Oscar Peterson Trio is one of the highlights of that
golden '50s run. After starting off with two bluesy originals, Webster gets to the heart
of things on five wistful ballads. Providing sympathetic counterpoint, Peterson
forgoes his usual pyrotechnics for some leisurely compact solos; his cohorts -
guitarist Herb Ellis, bassist Ray Brown, and drummer Stan Levey - are equally assured
and splendid. Newcomers shouldn't hesitate to start here." - ***** Stephen Cook,
AllMusic

These two vinyl records showcase the legacy left by the boogaloo movement in Peru between 1966 and 1975. They comprise twenty-two songs by seventeen artists who recorded on the remarkable local label MAG more than five decades ago and now invite today’s new generations to dance body and soul to these re-releases. You will find outstanding tracks by the likes of Tito Chicoma, Melcochita, Los Kintos, Otto Rojas, Coco Lagos among many others. MAG was one of the most important and prolific labels in Peru and, though it also was involved in releasing a lot of other types of music, its specialty was the tropical variety, which coincidentally, DJs and collectors seem to crave most. Peru developed a major boogaloo scene in the mid-60s, far from the genre’s place of origin, New York, where iconic songs like 'Bang Bang' and 'El Pito', fused soul and funk with Latin sounds, conquering dance halls and winning extensive radio airplay. The music trend soon spread to Caribbean countries and from there made the geographical leap to the city of Lima. 'El Pito', the collective creation of the Joe Cuba Sextet, was particularly popular. Shorn of overelaborate arrangements, the improvisation and spontaneity of the song resonated with the young generation who were avid for new music after the U.S. placed an embargo on the distribution of Cuban music. In July 1966, Rebeca Llave´s label, Disperú, released the 45 RPM of 'El Pito' (and Joe Cuba's LP), promoting the single in the most prestigious newspaper in the country: El Comercio. The press information stated that the record had sold seventy thousand copies in New York and fifty thousand in Los Angeles. That same year local dance versions by the bands of Alfredo Linares (MAG) and Lucho Macedo (El Virrey) were released, followed by another by the band of the Argentinean musician Enrique Lynch who was based in Peru (Sono Radio). These records were a hit with a new generation that embraced Lucho Macedo's band and the garage rock of Los York's with equal enthusiasm. Although Joe Bataan claimed that boogaloo was killed off at the end of the sixties by the labels and their veteran musicians (who conspired against the new generation of singers), Pete Rodriguez, Richie Ray and the Lebrón Brothers continued to release boogaloo records in Peru, but salsa music soon took over.

You may not require any introduction to the members of ROACH SQUAD, or at least one or two of the band. Needless to say, Hugo Mudie (The Sainte Catherines), Frankie Stubbs (Leatherface), Graeme Philliskirk (Leatherface) have all graced the Paradise Gutters around the Punk Rock world for some time. Joining them is Alex Keane (The Murderburgers), along with another local Sunderland Lad, Sim Robson. As with many of the members previous works, a DIY approach to writing and recording the album was taken. The bulk of the recording took place at their own Rocket Studios in Sunderland, UK with the exception of Hugo laying down the vocals from his home in Montreal (Quebec, Canada). Some of you will have noticed the line-up contains two vocalists, and indeed this is the case. For this new Band, Frankie wanted to take some time out from vocal duties and concentrate on playing his guitar. This sees Hugo taking front stage... Not for every song, though! Who knows what you expect, but what we do ask of you before listening is that you find your comfortable spot, abandon any preconceptions, and as always play it loud.

Haii Usagi is a two piece electronic/exerimental band from Columbia, MO

Members consist of Pete Hansen (Drums and Keyboards) and Eric Burch (Keyboards,
Synths, and Programming).

"Electro-thrash, calling up the ghost of Brainiac, sans vocals and guitar. Haii Usagi brings
the bleeps and blips that drives and veers as opposed to superficially just addressing
your need to dance the night away". - Beer and Pavement
"Haii Usagi approaches it with an emphasis on songcraft, focusing on the hook rather
than the tracks being simply a groove you can dance to. They also manage to hint at a
number of styles from rock to ambient while staying true to their electronic vision. I
know some of the more punk than thou types may find problems with Haii Usagi's
sound, but for those willing to open their minds you'll find a group who manages to make
their own vision of what the genre should be and proves that not all electronic dance
music has to sound generic". - TTWN

The single release from Jimi Tenor's second thematic album on Timmion Records offers two very different moods. "Summer of Synesthesia" takes us back to those dreamy summer days, a natural overpour of sensations mixing together, sounds becoming colors before turning into flavors. Synthesizers grow into delicate layers over Cold Diamond & Mink's rhythm, and when your heart can hardly bear the beauty of it all, Tenor's soft lyric places the cherry on top. "Tsicroxe" on the flipside couldn't be more different, kicking into gear with a demonic organ arpeggio that sounds like you've just been dropped into a Dario Argento scene. Even though the familiar funk from Cold Diamond & Mink eases the dread a bit, when Tenor busts in with the eerie flute solo, the ritual closes in on its conclusion.

The contents of the backwards vocal bits at the end shall be saved for your turntable so make sure to rewind that track, selector! Also Available From Jimi Tenor & Cold Diamond & Mink: Is There Love In Outer Space? 7", Gaia Sunset 7", Is There Love In Outer Space? LP / CD. The single takes listeners on a sonic journey: “Summer of Synesthesia” flows with warm, dreamlike beauty, while “Tsicroxe” dives into intense, mysterious depths, showcasing Tenor’s dynamic range. Blending synth layers with Cold Diamond & Mink’s classic funk rhythms, both tracks bring elements of 70s soundtrack-style tension and ethereal soul, appealing to fans of both cosmic grooves and suspenseful soundscapes. Tenor’s layered synthesizers, haunting flute, and even backward vocal elements add a captivating texture, making “Summer of Synesthesia” b/w “Tsicroxe” a must-have for fans of genre-blending, atmospheric music.

Fust--the lyrical powerhouse Southern rock band from Durham, North Carolina--announce their new album Big Ugly, out March 7th on Dear Life Records, the record label that launched the careers of MJ Lenderman and Florry and that has become a haven for contemporary songwriters. Big Ugly arrives after the release of 2024's Songs of the Rail--"one of the best alt-country compilations_in a long, long time" (Paste) -- and 2023's standout Genevieve, which unassumingly introduced new listeners to Fust's unmistakable blend of "small-town poetry" (Mojo) with a familiar yet probing "country-tinged folk-rock" (KEXP) that made it "one of the most fun rock records of the year" (Pitchfork). Genevieve was their studio debut, recorded with producer Alex Farrar (Manning Fireworks, Rat Saw God, Tomorrow's Fire) in Asheville, North Carolina. The reception was far better than the band expected, stirring them to immediately start working on Big Ugly, their second collaboration with Farrar. Recorded over ten days in June of 2024, Big Ugly is the explosive sound of Fust uncovering a freedom within their sincere form of loose and fried guitar rock, realizing more than ever before an intimacy within bigness. The members -- Aaron Dowdy, Avery Sullivan, Frank Meadows, John Wallace, Justin Morris, Libby Rodenbough, Oliver Child-Lanning--weave their voices alongside guests like Merce Lemon, Dave Hartley (The War on Drugs), and John James Tourville (The Deslondes) to form a music that sounds like a conversation between old friends. And that's exactly what it is. At its heart, Big Ugly is a story cycle, following tough-skinned characters who seem to inhabit a shared and fictional small town--Big Ugly--that in reality gets its name from a lowly populated and unincorporated area in southern West Virginia around where Dowdy's family has deep roots. The album cover_a mural from the Big Ugly Community Center just off the Big Ugly Creek--was painted by locals for a 2004 play performed by the children that interpreted their elders' stories. In a way, Fust's Big Ugly does something similar as it takes the same area as its backdrop and reimagines a life depicted in the mural between the bars, gas stations, general stores, and double-wides. Throughout the album, we join the characters in finding history and meaning in the banal theater of their own private jerkwater.The songs on Big Ugly are hearteningly varied, moving from beer-fisted radio country to elegiac drones to deconstructed ballads. Songs like "Spangled" take up the theme of past traumas and present desensitizations colliding, of the small and cosmic coinciding in the life of a heedless protagonist. "Bleached" finds the soul-searching narrator recalling the feeling of inner vacancy in their childhood: thoughtless, speechless, herded around like cattle in backseats. And "Mountain Language" laments the poverties of Southern life at the same time that it promotes a higher poverty, a country utopia that's just out of grasp, where we could live if we could only "make it up the mountain again." The mystical hermeticism and the dime-store everyday are two sides of every insignificant thing in the town of Big Ugly.

Archeo Recordings serve a special delight with two extended and alternate reworks from the all star cast behind the recent AR025 Aqua Cheta remix 12”. Dipping into the cool waters of Infradisco’s original LP once again, Hear & Now and Manu Archeo look to the horizon and channel the horizontal with a couple of ambient suites, new age dreamscapes and day trippers, each awash with positive vibrations and healing frequencies.
Perugia's peerless Hear & Now open the 12", cultivating pulsing chords, hazy reverb and elegiac fretwork for a White Isle romance steeped in the sunset lineage of the Café Del Mar. Heart-swelling piano and restrained bass throbs conspire to see the rest of the world melt away, with occasional percussion the only reminder that time is still passing. Though radically different from their dance-floor driven revision on the 12", this is no less impactful, swapping the club sonics for the sensation of sheer beauty.
Not content with making a spectacular production debut via his dubbed out diversion of "Dulcis" last time out, Manu Archeo makes further waves with a meditative masterpiece - spaced out and sprawling through a sultry thirteen minutes. An echo drenched meditation script gradually sinks into the immersive ripple of balmy horn, delicate hand percussion and watery pads, making room for a succession of stunning lead-lines and glistening sequences. If you thought the new age of New Age was over, it's time to open your mind.

Behind Pumuky are brothers Jaír and Noé Ramírez, originally from Icod de los Vinos, a small town in northern Tenerife, in the Canary Islands.

For two decades, despite a tumultuous journey with multiple lineup changes and the challenges of island life, they have managed to build an extensive and highly personal discography with labels such as Jabalina, WeAreWolves, as well as Keroxen. In 2025, they release a new chapter in their story: their 5th album titled No sueltes lo Efímero (Don't Let Go of the Ephemeral).

It has been 10 years since they released a full-length album, though they were never idle during this time. In this interim, they released an EP titled Castillo Interior (Keroxen 2020), which Bandcamp described as "In intricately sculpted songs that are utterly hypnotising, the Ramírez brothers explore the border of dreams & reality" Bandcamp / New & Notable Oct 19, 2020. The EP was later remixed by artists like Xiu Xiu and Dntel (Jimmy Tamborello of The Postal Service). During this period, they also collaborated with Elinor Almenara of VVV Trippin'you on the single Metahackeo (Keroxen 2022), part of the new wave of dark music that emerged after the pandemic years.

Pumuky also have an extensive live history, having played in Europe and Latin America, with appearances at major festivals such as Primavera Sound, WOMAD, and the Mexican NRMAL.

No sueltes lo efímero will be released on February 28 through Keroxen, a collective that, in addition to being a platform and label for the best of the Canary Islands' underground scene, organises a small, unique music festival inside a giant abandoned kerosene tank in Santa Cruz de Tenerife—an event that has already garnered praise worldwide.

The album was recorded at La Mina Studios (Granada, Spain) with Raúl Pérez, one of the most respected producers in the Spanish music scene, and then mastered by Rafal Anton Irisarri, a key figure in the ambient world who also appreciates the power of guitars.

In No sueltes lo efímero, Pumuky return to their signature sound, although they have never completely abandoned it: an abrasive slowcore with controlled crescendos and raw, unfiltered lyrics, sometimes bordering on the intensity of dirty shoegaze, at other times leaning into dream-pop passages, but always with the unique stamp that has characterised them from the start.

A rare breed, difficult to categorise, Pumuky write songs as if performing escape tricks.

The single release from Jimi Tenor's second thematic album on Timmion Records offers two very different moods. "Summer of Synesthesia" takes us back to those dreamy summer days, a natural overpour of sensations mixing together, sounds becoming colors before turning into flavors. Synthesizers grow into delicate layers over Cold Diamond & Mink's rhythm, and when your heart can hardly bear the beauty of it all, Tenor's soft lyric places the cherry on top. "Tsicroxe" on the flipside couldn't be more different, kicking into gear with a demonic organ arpeggio that sounds like you've just been dropped into a Dario Argento scene. Even though the familiar funk from Cold Diamond & Mink eases the dread a bit, when Tenor busts in with the eerie flute solo, the ritual closes in on its conclusion.

The contents of the backwards vocal bits at the end shall be saved for your turntable so make sure to rewind that track, selector! Also Available From Jimi Tenor & Cold Diamond & Mink: Is There Love In Outer Space? 7", Gaia Sunset 7", Is There Love In Outer Space? LP / CD. The single takes listeners on a sonic journey: “Summer of Synesthesia” flows with warm, dreamlike beauty, while “Tsicroxe” dives into intense, mysterious depths, showcasing Tenor’s dynamic range. Blending synth layers with Cold Diamond & Mink’s classic funk rhythms, both tracks bring elements of 70s soundtrack-style tension and ethereal soul, appealing to fans of both cosmic grooves and suspenseful soundscapes. Tenor’s layered synthesizers, haunting flute, and even backward vocal elements add a captivating texture, making “Summer of Synesthesia” b/w “Tsicroxe” a must-have for fans of genre-blending, atmospheric music.

CASQUIAT's ability to balance heavy, floor-filling beats with thoughtful, experimental layers is on full show in this new 7" from DATUM. The two cuts push the boundaries of hip-hop and bring in a raw electronic edge. 'The Stopper' is a high-energy cut that collides skittering percussion and intricate rhythms to make for an intense yet hypnotic club vibe. In contrast, OG Ranks takes a deeper, more introspective route with moody undertones, spacious production, and a sharp focus on atmospheric tension. They make for a fine yin and yang and cannot fail to make their mark in the club.

Early 1980, UB40 scored their first success with Food For Thought', reaching high in the charts. By the time they released their first album they were already so successful that they had signed off on unemployment benefit, leading to the stamped Signing Off featured on form 40, for the sleeve of their debut album. The first dub album ever to reach the album charts in the U.K. included One In Ten' and Don't Slow Down'.

In 1983 the band put on a new project, boasting ten cover versions of Jamaican hits and, contrary to low expectations, it became a huge hit and the band's first number one album. Tracks included are Cherry Oh Baby' and Please Don't Make Me Cry' and Red Red Wine'. The latter was a rather poppy song and became the band's biggest selling single ever, entailing their definitive worldwide break through.

There have been lots of collaborations through the years and most of these became huge hit songs. Together with Chrissie Hynde UB40 recorded two singles: I Got You Babe' (1985) and Breakfast In Bed' (1988). They teamed up with Afrika Bambaataa for Reckless' (1988) and with Robert Palmer the band released I'll Be Your Baby Tonight' (1990), just to name a few.
UB40 - COLLECTED has captured all the different phases of the band in one complete album, from classic hits combined with the new!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not Waving, But Drowning



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



Here's some poetry.



Honestly I need them.

I hate them but I grieve them

I think I've finally found the reason

Trust

Like the fire needs the air.

I won't burn unless you're there.





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



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



Here's some poetry.



Don't hold any memories of us

Rather hold you everyday until the memories are dust

Yo we only caught the train

Cos you know I hate the bus





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



More poetry.



When the going is tough

I wait till it falls on deaf ears

Hearsay

Without the boundaries of love



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



Yes, poetry.



I'm still looking for the answers

Trying to find the right questions

Still waiting for my fathers

But can't break them in to sections



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





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



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

And here's some poetry from mum.



We talked long in to the darkest hours

Until we saw the burnished sky

And our eyes stung

As our words blurred and became thoughts

As we were silenced by the dawn

We clung to each other like sailors in a storm

Denison Witmer returns with a new collection of ten vibrant and pensive folk-pop songs recorded and produced by Sufjan Stevens, his long-time friend and collaborator. Anything At All finds Denison in a suitably reflective mood, mining sublime revelation from an ordinary, domesticated life. Topics like bird watching, carpentry, houseplants, and hiking offer insights into bigger, existential questions about life, death, meaning, and purpose. What are we doing with the precious time we have left on this earth? Whether it's spent making clocks, gathering berries, planting trees, or putting the kids to bed at night, these songs suggest that a life lived with thoughtfulness and care can lead to deeper joy and fulfillment. Recorded sporadically over a period of two years, Anything At All was primarily created at Sufjan's Catskills studio during the pandemic, with additional sessions recorded by Andy Park, in Seattle, WA. Contributors include Stevens and Park as well as Sam Evian, Hannah Cohen, Sean Lane, and Keenan O'Meara, amongst others. The album's musical aesthetic marries Denison's folksy, Mennonite vibe with Sufjan's signature bells and whistles: lush strings and woodwinds, women's choir, and an occasional jazzy saxophone weave their way around Denison's matter-of-fact vocals and acoustic guitar. These are simple folk songs with bursts of awe and wonder.

Blue Valentine Vinyl. Sometime in 2005, a lone box of master tapes escaped an estate sale and made its way through a network of collectors, record dealers, and "junkers" into the hands of leading Ohio soul expert Dante Carfagna, who linked them to Columbus, Ohio's mysterious Prix label (See: Eccentric Soul: The Prix Label). A bit of research turned up Prix proprietor George Beter, who identified most of the unlabeled material. All it took was an endless series of phone calls and letters and two fields trips in Columbus. But one complete mystery wended its way onto our final Prix compilation. "You and Me," a simple but irrepressible demo credited only to Penny & the Quarters, was found tacked onto a mixed studio reel. Our survey of every willing lifer left on the Columbus soul scene, including retired DJs, producers, and important local artists, produced not so much as a glimmer of recognition at the name Penny & the Quarters. Though we loved the song from the first play, it may've ended up a bit buried on our original compilation, as #18 of 19 tracks.Four years later, Eccentric Soul: The Prix Label hadn't exactly become a huge seller, although listeners had repeatedly told us that the unfiltered studio demos that fill out the record's back half were true diamonds in the rough. But neither Penny nor her Quarters had appeared to claim credit for their efforts. Then, completely out of left field, we heard from respected screen actor and avowed Numero fan Ryan Gosling that Penny's piercing bit of stripped down doo-wop was being considered for inclusion in Derek Cianfrance's indie-weeper film Blue Valentine. What we didn't know was that "You and Me" had won a major role in what became an indie circuit hit, and that Penny & the Quarters would instantly assume the role of world's most famous unknown doo-wop group.Every week is a slow news week in Columbus, Ohio, and early January 2011 found the city recovering from the thrill of elevating Ted Williams_the formerly homeless guy with the awesome voice for radio_into a national news sensation. But both major daily newspapers in town, as well as the city's alternative weekly, also ran stories about how a lost and unknown Columbus soul group had become the musical centerpiece of a film already garnering Oscar buzz. That mainstream spotlight aimed at Blue Valentine and Penny & the Quarters did the trick: we finally made contact with the widow of Jay Robinson, lead Quarters' singer and songwriter. Robinson, it turned out, had also been the leader of Columbus doo-wop pioneers The Supremes (later known as "The Columbus Supremes," for reasons which should be obvious). Jay Robinson never did give up on the dream of writing a hit record; even so, the posthumous realization of his dream is cold comfort for his widow and daughter. With their blessings, we returned to those estate sale masters and pulled down another neglected track ("You Are Giving Me Some Other Love") from the still-unknown Penny and her now-partly-known Quarters. "You and Me" is a song that could not be suppressed: not when Prix failed to release it; not when Penny & the Quarters were forgotten; not when Numero stuck it at the bitter end of a much overlooked compilation. Its evolution from estate sale trash to silver-screen gold has finally returned it to big-hole 45, where it probably should have lived all along.

Originally released and sold on their fall 2009 US tour, Flower-Corsano Duo’s “The Chocolate Cities” stands as one of the group's most spirited releases. Recorded live in Cambridge, England and Geneva, Switzerland these recordings capture the power and energy being harnessed by the duo at a time of frequent touring, just after the release of their monumental double-LP “The Four Aims.” Michael Flower is perhaps best known for his work in Vibracathedral Orchestra, along with a slew of other bands, collaborations, and solo work. Meanwhile, Chris Corsano is well known as one of the premier drummers of modern times, and a frequent collaborator of Joe McPhee, Bill Orcutt, Bill Nace, Paul Flaherty, and many more. As a duo Flower and Corsano present an endlessly shifting and transforming sound, meshing elements of free jazz, drone, and ecstatic psychedelia into something all its own. While Corsano guides with his nimble and dynamic drumming, Flower plays amplified Japan Banjo (also known as a Shahi Baaja) providing melody, lead, and drone, often simultaneously. Gripping even in its quietest passages, thoughtful even in its most unrestrained crescendos, “The Chocolate Cities” documents a duo at the height of their collective prowess. Saved from the obscurity of its original CDr format and presented for the first time on vinyl with stunning new artwork by Chris Corsano, “The Chocolate Cities” stands as testament to the power of two magnificent players even 15 years on.

Sometime in 2005, a lone box of master tapes escaped an estate sale and made its way through a network of collectors, record dealers, and “junkers” into the hands of leading Ohio soul expert Dante Carfagna, who linked them to Columbus, Ohio’s mysterious Prix label (See: Eccentric Soul: The Prix Label). A bit of research turned up Prix proprietor George Beter, who identified most of the unlabelled material. All it took was an endless series of phone calls and letters and two fields trips in Columbus. But one complete mystery wended its way onto our final Prix compilation. “You and Me,” a simple but irrepressible demo credited only to Penny & the Quarters, was found tacked onto a mixed studio reel. Our survey of every willing lifer left on the Columbus soul scene, including retired DJs, producers, and important local artists, produced not so much as a glimmer of recognition at the name Penny & the Quarters. Though we loved the song from the first play, it may’ve ended up a bit buried on our original compilation, as #18 of 19 tracks.

Sometime in 2005, a lone box of master tapes escaped an estate sale and made its way through a network of collectors, record dealers, and “junkers” into the hands of leading Ohio soul expert Dante Carfagna, who linked them to Columbus, Ohio’s mysterious Prix label (See: Eccentric Soul: The Prix Label). A bit of research turned up Prix proprietor George Beter, who identified most of the unlabelled material. All it took was an endless series of phone calls and letters and two fields trips in Columbus. But one complete mystery wended its way onto our final Prix compilation. “You and Me,” a simple but irrepressible demo credited only to Penny & the Quarters, was found tacked onto a mixed studio reel. Our survey of every willing lifer left on the Columbus soul scene, including retired DJs, producers, and important local artists, produced not so much as a glimmer of recognition at the name Penny & the Quarters. Though we loved the song from the first play, it may’ve ended up a bit buried on our original compilation, as #18 of 19 tracks.

Watch out! You are holding the 125th (one-hundred-and-twenty fifth!) album on Tramp Records in your hands! We are honored to celebrate this impressive anniversary with the tenth volume in the Praise Poems series. This time, too, we go on a journey to discover previously unheard regions of jazz, folk and AOR from the 1970s and 80s.

Praise Poems Vol.10 presents sixteen (almost) forgotten rare groove gems, all released between the years 1970 and 1984. One of the many highlights is the opening track: "Fields of Laughter" by Color Me Blu - originally released on an acetate only of which two copies exist worldwide. But there is much, much more to discover. This brandnew volume features a wide range of genres, from AOR (Whiz Kids, Ross Miller, and another previously unreleased track by Harve & Charee) to Latin-Rock a'la Santana (Color Me Blue, Tribal Sinfonia, and Apple) to Soul-Jazz (Ernie Lewis Trio, Joe Bozzi Quintet or Dutch saxophonist Frits Kaatee). Right at the end, one track in particular stands out: the wonderful "It's Good Not To Forget" by George Melvin and his quintet - a fabulously dreamy, thoughtful instrumental piece in the style of Ramsey Lewis with catchy tune potential.

Not many compilation series make it to a tenth edition. And if they do, then you often notice that the quality of the songs goes in the opposite direction to the increasing number of series: namely decreasing. Not so with Praise Poems Vol. 10, which the creators prove in an impressive new way. They have found tracks that were originally either a) pressed by the musicians themselves in very small editions or b) released by small, regional labels. It is understandable that neither the musicians nor these small labels had the necessary knowledge or budget to market their albums or singles professionally. The majority of the bands therefore did not manage to reach a large audience - although they certainly had the potential for the big stage.

"Praise Poems 10 - A journey into soulful jazz and funk from the 1970s" makes these almost 50-year-old treasures accessible to a new audience. We hope that you enjoy discovering your personal favorite song(s) and we are already looking forward to many more releases!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miki Yui is a musician, artist, and composer, originally from Tokyo, who has been based in Düsseldorf since 1994. Her whose work has long explored multiple forms of media, while documenting liminal zones of perception. On her latest album, As If, Yui creates a subtly connected suite of electronic music, drawn from improvisations and randomised processes that she has engaged with modular synthesis. Deeply poetic in its expression, even at its most minimal, the six pieces on As If have a curious tenor – they are, each of them, intensely sensuous, almost haptic listening experiences, as though the laser focus that Yui displays towards her compositions allows her to engage them as almost physical presences in the world.

One of the keys that unlocks the intimate complexity-in-simplicity of As If was Yui’s encounters with the Amazonian rainforest in Manaus, Brazil in 2018. Finding that the sounds in the rainforest both shadowed and echoed the music she had been making for two decades, she embraced the possibilities of modular synthesis, the sounds of which she discovered “have astonishing similarities to the sounds I experienced in the rainforest.” There is, indeed, something natural about the way these sounds bloom in real time; in their dedicated focus to the subtle development and mutation of several discrete parameters of sound, they grow slowly, gradually, their rhizomic structures suggesting that we are always situated within the middle of sound.

Sometimes, the material here has a kind of febrile energy, as on the ticking, clacking electronics of “Generativ”, a track that seems to rotate in the air in front of the listener, the light reflecting off its multiple surfaces as we catch the intricacies of its micro-patterns. Elsewhere, we slide into a cooled but welcoming environment, like the late-night fire-fly horizon of “Song 4”; there’s also the humid, dripping tropical sunset that’s documented on “Summernight”. It’s a music that’s hard to locate external coordinates for, though there are, perhaps, some parallels with the work of Laurie Spiegel, Eliane Radigue’s Vice Versa, and Pauline Oliveros’s “Roots of the Moment”. But As If is an extraordinary collection of naturally developing, rich studies for slowly mutating, enveloping, elemental electronics.

Ginnels never let up. Though it has been, staggeringly, eight long years since the last irresistible jangle pop transmission under the Ginnels moniker, nothing much has changed in Mark Chester's approach when it comes to the practice of music making, even if much everything else for Chester has seen considerable flux – he's now a father of two, and most shockingly of all for an indie popster of his ilk, gainfully employed. "It definitely started the same way all Ginnels stuff starts," Chester explains, "which is just me looking through five years of phone demos and going 'that's a decent song' and 'that's a decent song', and if you keep that up then you have a full album."

The man himself might be coyly committed to making his process sound as pedestrian as possible, but from the moment the delicate chiming introduction of album opener 'The Body Was Gone' goes widescreen – revealing an expanded sonic palette richer in timbre and exponentially wider in scope than anything Chester has let out into the world thus far – it is apparent that "The Picturesque" is poised to be less than parochial in its sonic purview.

From here, "The Picturesque" plays like a gauzy road trip Super 8 footage cutting between scenes of sunset at Monument Valley and B-roll from around middle-Ireland, entirely soundtracked by some enchanted mixtape of heretofore unheard B sides from REM, XTC and The Go-Betweens, unexpected guest appearances from the surprisingly together-sounding ghost of Johnny Thunders and snippets from your coolest friends' unreleased instrumental experiments. All liberally rippled with Chester's unique ear for melody and appetite for the unexpected when it comes to crafting guitar parts. And this, by design, feels like a Guitar Record, above all else.

For all its effortlessly sticky lyrical and melodic twists, "The Picturesque" separates itself within the mighty Ginnels catalogue in both the dexterity in playing and diversity in tone on show across these 12 tracks. And 12, of course as we know, being the optimum number of tracks for any LP to have, so bonus points for that too.