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Four tracks from the west side of Italy

A nice mix of vocal samples and acid waves on side a with Life's Questions and Make The Hood Smile.

More Housy the side B. Ladies vocal and punchy drums in Nightshift, more percussions and melodies in Gianfranco.

Âsan’s self-released Beychen EP is a raw odyssey through the chaos and catharsis of creation. Across four relentless tracks, the producer mirrors the turmoil of nearly losing their passion for music—only to rediscover it by dismantling old habits and surrendering to the unknown. What emerges is a vortex of psychedelic techno, where layered rhythms spiral into the deep-down and morphing soundscapes warp time itself.
The title track Beychen channels the claustrophobic unease of a creative block with its brainmelting progression, only to erupt in a complete loss of control and, therefore, relief. The other three tracks deliver visceral techno in similar fashion, each piece evolving like an own entity with hypnotic force. This is music for darkened rooms and muddy forest stages, where the dancefloor becomes a mirror for Âsan’s internal reckoning. Here, the anxiety of creation is not conquered, but alchemized.
Âsan, a New York-based producer and co-founder of the label Cellar Door, always chases a certain feeling in his work—an elusive sensation that guides his creative journey. For him, dancing begins in the head, as rhythms and soundscapes take shape in a space between thought and intuition. His music invites listeners to step into that headspace, where the body follows the mind’s spiraling patterns.

On ‘Cordial’, Ursula Sereghy traces the sensation of home; not as a place, but as something fleeting and deeply felt. Comfort appears in glimpses, nestled between moments of dissonance and unraveling structure. There is joy, but it carries the weight of absence, the quiet grief of realizing what was missing all along. A laughter that is both liberating and bittersweet.

Sereghy’s music moves with no fixed center, shedding hierarchies and opening itself to the unknown. Sounds unravel and reform: fragments of voices, reshaped textures, the shimmer of manipulated recordings all bending into semi-familiar contours. In this space, harmony is not a destination but an unfolding process, a web of shifting connections rather than rigid form.

Deeply drawn to natural processes, Sereghy’s music resonates with an elemental force: chemical reactions, unseen currents, the quiet logic of interconnection. Sound becomes a space where trust takes shape, where loss is acknowledged but never final, and where the act of feeling remains, above all, an act of survival. It is music in constant negotiation with itself - dismantling, reshaping, and reaching towards something vast, untethered and luminous.

Jess Sah Bi is well-known as half of the legendary duo Jess Sah Bi & Peter One who brought homegrown Country-Americana to the West African masses with their smash debut Our Garden Needs Its Flowers in the mid-1980s. Touring stadiums and reaching listeners worldwide, their music has racked up millions of spins on YouTube and remains imprinted in the hearts of Ivorians of a certain age. ATFA reissued their album in 2018, garnering critical acclaim from publications including Pitchfork and Rolling Stone and reaching a new generation of listeners outside Ivory Coast (Cote d'Ivoire). Sometime in the early 90s, Die Sahbi - or Jesse, as he known to friends-became gravely ill with an unknown ailment and almost died. He visited various doctors and all kinds of religious healers and nothing helped. One day he went down to an Evangelical Christian revival in his neighborhood. They prayed over him and he was delivered. He says, "Their prayers helped chase out whatever demons and unhealthy spirits were inside me. After that my illness went away. When I went to the United States a few months later on an exchange program I wanted to make music to thank God because I was saved." He recorded an album of music praising God in order to honor a promise he made to himself at the depths of his desperation in the hospital. The album Jesus-Christ Ne Deçoit Pas Jesus Christ Does Not Let Us Down came out in 1991 and sold around 3000 cassettes in Ivory Coast. The master tape was lost along the way so the recording has never been on digital platforms until now. Jesse didn't have much time to record while visiting South Carolina, hence the relatively short album, 6 songs including two reprises for filler. A local pastor connected him with a studio and some American musicians (Robert Fortner and Gary Davis) to help. They added acoustic guitar, percussion and keyboard accompaniment to Jesse's soaring French and Gouro vocals, harmonica and finger-picked acoustic. The resulting recording is deeply soothing and contemplative music that perfectly compliments the songs already embraced by millions. But he had to find the rest of the studio expenses-$600 total-which he secured drawing cartoons for UNICEF. Jesse is Ivory Coast's first political cartoonist, a vocation for which he was widely celebrated at the time. It also made him a few enemies which lead to him leaving the country permanently a few years later. Jesus-Christ Ne Deçoit Pas is Jess Sah Bi's first and only gospel album. Fortunately, fans responded with enthusiasm: widespread radio airplay and concerts followed, along with a growing solo profile in the country. The first big gospel artists in Ivory Coast were the duo Mathieu et Constance, who emerged in 1989. There was a bigger gospel music movement in English-speaking counties like Ghana and Nigeria (Christians make up roughly 40% of the population in Ivory Coast, slightly less than Muslims). Jesse didn't have any intention of working in Christian music but he realized, "You don't make music to make money-you want to send a message." In the years since Jesus-Christ's release, gospel music in Ivory Coast has grown to become a key part of music culture in the country. Spiritual music appears in community actives across the public and private spectrum from religious gatherings and parties to television broadcasts and music festivals. And, as it has evolved and indigenized locally, gospel music has picked up elements of traditional Ivorian music, reggae and soul. The album ultimately precipitated the demise of the duo, who were soon separated geographically as Peter One relocated to Nashville. He went on to become a nurse and release a successful solo album on Verve following the ATFA collaboration. Nowadays Jesse lives in the Bay Area and continues to record and perform music wherever and whenever he has the chance. He is publishing a new book of humorous cartoons in 2025 and his most recent album Never Give Up came out in 2020

Mazy Fly, the second full-length by the Bay Area artist SPELLLING, explores the tension between the thrill of exploring the unknown and the terror of imminent destruction. Chrystia Cabral spent the summer of 2018 in her Berkeley studio reflecting on the thresholds of human progress and longing for a new and better tomorrow. She was struck by the way the same technologies that have given humans the ability to achieve utopian dreams of discovery have also brought the world to the precipice of dystopic global devastation. Despite the darkness of this reality, Mazy Fly is defiantly optimistic. It is a celestial voyage into the unknown, piloted by Cabral. Mazy Fly musically traverses the spaces between languid, honey-soaked vocals and distant angelic whispers, from thumping 808 club beats to crunching tape loops, and from silky, smooth R&B to whirling organ sonatas. Cabral became enamored by the idea of flight as a harbinger of both progress and apocalypse, and that was expressed in the textures and compositional techniques she utilized. Swarms, flocks, flies, angels, spaceships, flying saucers - all are represented sonically by Cabral and her Juno-106 synthesizer.

Cult musician Paddy Hanna announces his forthcoming album Oylegate with the release of his new song ‘Oylegate Station’, out Wednesday, 29th January via Strange Brew Records.

In celebration of Oylegate, which arrives on Friday, 11th April, Hanna plays Whelans on Thursday, 17th April. Tickets are €21.95 + fees and can be purchased here.

After his fourth album, Imagine I’m Hoping, arrived to critical acclaim but not the mainstream success needed for him to continue on as a musician, Hanna found himself at a personal and artistic low point. However, thanks to support from the Arts Council and the encouragement of his family, ‘Oylegate Station’ sees Hanna returning as the intrepid captain of his own ship; he may not know the destination, but he’ll see us along the journey with his graceful pop sensibilities.

Speaking about the new track, Hanna’s cryptic explanation could be confused for a missive from a lonely cosmonaut: “Low rent fuel, caffeine of all shapes, the midpoint of hope and despair, engine still running at Oylegate Station.”
Elation and exhaustion. Love and terror. The weight of responsibility and the strange, disorienting beauty of watching life unfold before your eyes. OLYEGATE, the latest album from Paddy Hanna, is a journey through the euphoric highs and crushing lows of parenthood, delivered with his signature blend of melancholic wit and lush, off-kilter charm.

Determined to sidestep the usual sentimental trappings of writing about having a child, Hanna found an unlikely creative companion in grim Soviet-era cinema. As he wrote, films like Solaris flickered in the background—bleak, meditative landscapes that mirrored the depths of sleep deprivation and the existential wonder of bringing a new life into the world. This contrast of warmth and detachment, of intimate revelation and surreal detour, courses through the album’s DNA.

Despite its moments of cold introspection, OLYEGATE is sonically rich and enveloping—an effect captured in a single request to producer Daniel Fox: "sweet, sweet caramel." Hanna wanted the music to feel like satin lining the listener’s ears, wrapping them in warmth even when the themes tilt towards darkness.

True to form, OLYEGATE marks yet another creative leap for an artist who refuses to be boxed in. "One advantage of being an ‘artist’s artist’ is that you never have to worry about being creatively different between albums. There's real freedom in doing whatever you want and not being judged for it. And even if you are judged, who gives a shit?"

That spirit of fearless exploration—of finding joy in the unknown, the absurd, and the deeply personal—defines OLYEGATE. An odyssey of tenderness and turbulence, it’s the sound of an artist embracing life’s messiest, most beautiful contradictions.

Songs of Silence is a beautiful turn-based strategy game of fantasy warfare. Leading one of the game's distinct factions, it is the player's task to conquer randomized maps through military might, subterfuge or arcane means. Intriguing hero stories grounded in a rich fantasy world create emotional bonds and give meaning to the player's actions. Roguelike meta-game progression, based on heroes' personal stories and unlocking new features and content via playing, ensuring long-time motivation and keeping the game excitingly fresh. The atmospheric soundtrack of the game is composed by Hitoshi Sakimoto, the famous artist behind all-time favourites such as Final Fantasy Tactics, Final Fantasy 12 and Valkyria Chronicles. Sakimoto describes his way into creating the soundtrack for Songs of Silence: "Regarding Songs of Silence, the stage design and the world-building are incredibly detailed and meticulously crafted. The settings are thoroughly developed and each region has its own unique culture. Given this highly refined world, I believe that my role was primarily to support and enhance the atmosphere with sound. At the same time, I wanted to ensure that the music conveys the uniqueness of this world. When people see it, I want them to feel its strong presence while also recognizing that it is a world unlike anything they have seen before. Expressing this uniqueness and reinforcing the impression it leaves is, in my view, the role of music and sound." But Sakimoto's music isn't just pushing the gamer's experience, it aims to add a little extra in a way that only his profession is able to: "It's a bit difficult to describe the specific 'feeling' I was aiming for, but I intend to create sounds and music that people have rarely heard before. Since the world itself is already well-defined, my approach was to add an extra layer - something that cannot be conveyed through visuals or text alone - through music."

Doomed Utility is the debut album by Alex Wang, a bass-heavy, noisy, and abstract work that blends industrial and club music into an unsettling soundscape.

Sound existed before there were human ears to hear it—ancient and eternal, as silence itself. In the first few hundred thousand years after our cosmos was born, a deep hum traveled through a plasma of hot particles, eventually finding its way into our machines. Now, computers weave a web of sound around us, abstracting from meaning, pleasure, or melody, crafting disharmonies that dig into us raw.

In Doomed Utility, that primordial hum resurfaces—fractured, raw, and discordant—pulling us into rhythms of exhaustion, exhilaration, and annihilation.

This is a sound that doesn’t merely enter us; it claims us. It lingers, waits—hungry. It tears through cognition and rips through bodies. We may have no obvious use for it, but it has a use for us.

Computer sound perpetuates itself through our ears, our thoughts, and our human culture. It recalls all things, binds all things, moves all things. We are its resources, its vessels for messages not yet decoded, and for purposes yet unknown.

An exclusive 7" re-release of this psychedelic funk ballad from Tulsa's "Outback" Band. As featured on Now-Again's 'More Loving On The Flipside' compilation, "Strangers (In Our Homeland)" epitomises the expression of social & political change during an era of psychedlia infused music. In partnership with the two surviving members of Outback, both Symphonical & Now-Again are proud to showcase the voice of independent artists.

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The origin of "Outback" dates back to the late 50s, a five-piece blues outfit named "Little Lo and the Rest of Us" included music educator & bass guitarist Edward "Cha-Cha" Cherry, saxophonists Eugene "Buggy" Roach & James "Flab" Farley whom, alongside drummer Roscoe J. Dabney III "Roach", Ronnie Wilson on trumpet, guitarists Roy "Rochester" Walker & Michael Collins, would form The Magnificent Seven, the house band for Tulsa's 'Rose Room'.


Alumni of Booker T. Washington High School, The Magnificent Seven influenced & set the standard for the Tulsa sound, as demonstrated through their only single, recorded in 1966, the two part 'Pluck-A-Pluck'. 'The Sevenettes', the groups' female vocal trio, included the rotation of Lena Luckey Wilson, Gwendolyn French, Rose Brewer Lewis, Jeanetta Williams & Maxayn. The Magnificent Seven, led by "Cha-Cha", toured nationally throughout the 60s with their infectious, raw R&B sound, and were the platform for many of Tulsa's talent including Ronnie & Charlie Wilson who would later create the GAP Band.


Roscoe J. Dabney III, the first Black Panther to establish the Tulsa chapter in 1969 known as the NCCF (National Committee to Combat Fascism), proposed the name change to "Outback" in the early 70s. Their sound & formation was changing from R&B to Psychedelic, from the grit to the phase, epitomised by their unique line-up of having two bassists playing simultaneously, both Reggie Cherry & "Chilly" Willie Lewis, the musical foundation to their only recorded single, "Strangers (In Our Homeland)" & "Reggie's Thang".


Song writer & band affiliate, Maurice Pope, produced the lyrics to "Strangers (In Our Homeland)" and handed over the musical attributes to Willie Lewis & Outback to convey his message, as sung by Lena Luckey Wilson. Dabney recalls the song is based on religious scriptures, whilst highlighting the parallel of Black slavery in the U.S.


"Reggie's Thang", written by Dabney's cousin, bassist Reggie Cherry, provides a psychedelic instrumental, a sound which Lena recalls is what set apart Outback from other Tulsa groups. As well as playing clubs, the seated shows provided an environment for the group to showcase their musicianship to those who wanted to be immersed & listen.


Their single, released on Empathy, was recorded in 1972, and are the only known recordings by Outback. Recorded live onto 8-track at a studio located at on East Pine St in the heart of Tulsa's Black community, an independent & unknown studio located on a strip mall.


The Outback members who recorded are:


Lena Luckey Wilson - Vocals

Roscoe J. Dabney III "Roach" - Drums

"Chilly" Willie Lewis - Bass

Reggie Cherry - Bass

Edward "Cha-Cha" Cherry - Keys

Joyce Daws - Trumpet

Roy Walker "Rochester" - Guitar

Robert Luckey "Uncle Bobby"- Percussion

Fredy Berry "Freddy" - Tenor Sax


Band leader & group manager: Edward "Cha-Cha" Cherry

Booking Agent: Ernie Fields Sr.

In 1973 whilst performing in Ft. Worth, TX, Buck Ram approached Willie Lewis backstage and invited him to join The Platters, Lewis accepted. Supposedly, a recording deal was offered to Outback in exchange, which never happened.


The group continued in various formations after Lewis left, however as an integral member, the feeling never equalled their original form and soon after dissolved.


Leon Russell approached Lena Lucky Wilson in 1974 to go on tour with the GAP Band as their backing singer, upon returning Tulsa Lena moved to Los Angeles to pursue her musical career with Leon & Mary Russell amongst various others.


Dabney continued music and became a TV producer & director in 1976.


The only surviving members of Outback today are Lena Luckey Wilson & Roscoe J. Dabney III.

Inspiriert vom Leben und Mythos des Schauspielers Dennis Hopper haben Mike Scott und The Waterboys - die schottische Rockband bekannt für ihre Hits 'The Whole Of The Moon' und 'The Big Music' - dieses umfangreiche Album als Hommage an eine der faszinierendsten Persönlichkeiten der amerikanischen Popkultur geschaffen. Das Album mit ausschließlich eigenen Songs ist sehr konzeptionell angelegt und bringt hochkarätige Künstler wie Bruce Springsteen, Fiona Apple und Steve Earle zusammen, um Hoppers Leben musikalisch zu durchdringen, einschließlich eines Songs für jede seiner Ehefrauen.

- Die Verpackung enthält Fotos aus dem Archiv von Dennis Hopper

- Col. 2LP: (Burnt Colored Vinyl in Gatefold-Hülle mit bedruckten Innentaschen)

Inspiriert vom Leben und Mythos des Schauspielers Dennis Hopper haben Mike Scott und The Waterboys - die schottische Rockband bekannt für ihre Hits 'The Whole Of The Moon' und 'The Big Music' - dieses umfangreiche Album als Hommage an eine der faszinierendsten Persönlichkeiten der amerikanischen Popkultur geschaffen. Das Album mit ausschließlich eigenen Songs ist sehr konzeptionell angelegt und bringt hochkarätige Künstler wie Bruce Springsteen, Fiona Apple und Steve Earle zusammen, um Hoppers Leben musikalisch zu durchdringen, einschließlich eines Songs für jede seiner Ehefrauen.

- Die Verpackung enthält Fotos aus dem Archiv von Dennis Hopper

- Ltd. Col. 2LP: (Psychedelic Waves Colored Vinyl in Gatefold-Hülle mit bedruckten Innentaschen)

“Limbs of a Lion” arrives in a dazzling array of shimmering psychedelia, the newest offering on fleet.dreams’ own Vinezza records. Following “Echoes of Ego” his acclaimed inaugural 12”, “Limbs of a Lion” sees fleet.dreams’ artistry and form blossoming into realms of kaleidoscopic cadence & textural buoyancy. The production flows through a classically dubwise live analog mixing setup, new spheres of delays & echoes evolving fleet.dreams’ process to embody a unique & fully realized intersection of live instrumentation & dynamic synthesis.

Each track takes on its own entrancing sway, opening the listener towards beguiling spaciousness, experiences in rhythm, and a healthy dose of surrealist dreaming. “Masked in Porcelain” gleams with mystique, tinged with flanger in a firmly driving dancefloor mode, guiding us deeper into mysteries held by skylines and moonlight. “Secret of the Golden Flower” brings forth photosynthetic gated vocals built for eyes closed body movement, evolving from a cosmic conga groove confidently manifesting in ensnaring kinetic activation.

“iLL Enargeia” brings a touch of depth, stepping into tomorrow with a confident saunter, perfect for the blissful delirium of new beginnings or a space of breadth and reflection in the midst of astral metronomes. The closing title track “Limbs of a Lion” sees us out on a hopeful note, awash in bold luminescence & inviting us to go deeper and deeper within ourselves amidst the grounding embrace of bassline pressure.

Embodying a dance of intangibility towards new unknowns, “Limbs of a Lion” aspires to manifest the grace of movement through our beings - magnetizing and enhancing our danceable forms, frolicking beyond words together. Each track boldly stands on it’s own while orbiting a cohesive whole, perfect for all set and settings, a staple for the DJ crates, and a sign of a musicmaker with even more exciting creations on the horizon.

*words by Kiernan Laveaux
Early support from: Kiernan Laveaux, Daniel Rincón (NAP), 2Lanes & Amelia Holt

SYML is the solo venture of artist Brian Fennell. Welsh for “simple”—he makes music that taps into the instincts that drive us to places of sanctuary, whether that be a place or a person. Born and raised in Seattle, Fennell studied piano and became a self-taught producer, programmer, and guitarist. Says Fennell about his album Nobody Lives Here, "We change, the world changes, and there is so much unknown. About a year ago I started writing songs that represent the change that is happening in front of my face, a group that have emerged to become the third SYML album. Many of these songs are about getting older, and the intimate, and sometimes frightening, passing of time. Some are about how getting older revolves around looking forward to things happening, and when they don’t happen, or they feel different than anticipated, we can be left with surprise and sadness. I’m actually reminded of this watching my 2 year old! We learn to live with disappointment. I recorded some of these songs with kids and dogs making noise in the background, and others in silent studios with musicians I’ve listened to and admired for many years. These songs are meant to be pieces of clothing to wear as you need (or I need). Some are bright and bold and others are gentle, but they were all made with a sense of comfort in mind, even when things feel bleak. My wife jokes that when our friends hear some of these songs, they might think we are not “ok”. Thankfully, putting myself inside a sad song is still a good place to feel happy. There's this generally unspoken feeling that musicians don’t listen to their own music. That isn’t true for me. I love living with my songs because their meaning changes as I change. There is as much fear and beauty in the big questions as there is wonder and possibility in the simple, everyday shit we live through.”

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.

Hüma Utku returns to Editions Mego with her new album. The title Dracones makes reference to the mediaeval latin term "Hic sunt dracones" (Here be dragons), marking the unexplored, dangerous places on world maps, expressing the fear of chaos, the unexpected and the unknown.

This new work by the Istanbul sound artist is a sonic journal of an expedition into uncharted territory, one which occupies self and domesticity. Inspired by Utku’s experience of matrescence, Dracones explores the themes of familial demonology, metamorphosis and homecoming as well as human relationship to the experience of love woven layers of euphoria, alienation and consumption.

Musically, Dracones traverses a wide array of sonic tools whereby industrial sounds are imbedded with certain psychological angles, this is an album where, all matter meshes into a sly snapshot of the human experience with a tension and release exposure occurring frequently with dark corners opening up to bright layers of electronic experimentation.

The haunting opening track ‘A World Between Worlds’ tackles pregnancy, of which Utku was experiencing when making this record. The emotional, physical, spiritual and mental experience of this journey is all documented here.. This track features the ‘Lyraei’, an electromagnetic string instrument and modern interpretation of the ancient lyre, that was built and played by Mihalis Shammas. ‘Comfort of The Shadows’ moves from within to without, what was once hidden is now exposed. Utku’s ability to conjure the visual in the sonic is at the forefront as howling electronics give a distinct impression of movement. ‘A Familial Curse’ presents a desire to break the cycle of generational trauma with a creeping sense of dread that rolls into an industrial rhythm prior to landing in a beautiful place represented with shimmering guitar tones. ‘Here be Dragons’ is a rich and dark evocation, a spooked surrender to the themes of the record whereby Utku’s wildly distorted voice beckons all manner of phantasmagoria over cello and recordings of her ultrasound. ‘Care in Consume’ engages in further sonic exploration as a means of conjuring ‘matriphagy’, with its unique psychic energy coursing through electronic veins. ‘A House within a House’ could also be read as a body within a body as the pulse of ultrasound audio rattle amongst a cage of thudding rhythms and swirling electronics, one also ending in optimism as an exquisite melody is born from the prior fire. The striking journey ends with the more soothing ‘Ayaz’a’, a track embracing love and all the hardships that a period of fundamental metamorphosis brings, this is a heartfelt dedication to her son and concludes an album draped in life, experience, joy and pain.

Dracones is a deeply visual journey through inner and outer worlds, a space where symbolic evocation is supreme and passive listening is not an option.

All tracks composed,performed and recorded by Hüma Utku
Buchla 100, vocals, cello, electric guitar performed by Hüma Utku
‘’A World Between Worlds’’ features the ‘Lyraei’ built, played and recorded by Mihalis Shammas
Buchla 100 recorded in EMS Stockholm 2022-2023

Mixed by Enyang Urbiks
Mastered by Heba Kadry, NYC
Cover Artwork by Marco Ciceri
Design by Tina Frank

After a 30-year interstellar silence, the enigmatic producer Alien Signal—pioneering alias of Italian electronic composer Alex Silvi—reemerges with Whispers from Distant Suns, a transcendent odyssey that bridges retro-futurism and modern electronica. Hailed as a magnum opus, this album transcends genre boundaries, captivating ambient purists, downtempo aficionados, and even experimental listeners with its hypnotic fusion of analog warmth and digital precision.

Cosmic Tapestry of Sound
Drawing comparisons to Vangelis’ Antarctica and Alpha—but reimagined through a 21stcentury lens—Whispers from Distant Suns marries nostalgic synth textures with cuttingedge production. Silvi’s mastery of melody shines through in tracks like “Stardust
Memories” and “Fragile Eden” where shimmering arpeggios and celestial pads drift over robotic, glitch-infused drum patterns and sparse, meditative percussion. The result is a paradox: a retro-futuristic soundscape that feels simultaneously ancient and alien, familiar yet unexplored.

Listener Testimonials
Fans and critics have flooded forums with praise:

“An auditory revelation! It’s like Vangelis met Jon Hopkins in a nebula—vintage soul with a futuristic heartbeat.”
“The textures are gorgeously cinematic. Closing your eyes, you’re adrift in a Tarkovsky film scored for the Andromeda galaxy.”

The Vinyl Experience
Pressed on heavyweight vinyl, the album’s physical release amplifies its immersive qualities. The gatefold sleeve, adorned with surrealist astrophotography and metallic
foiling, mirrors the music’s cosmic ethos. Side A leans into Balearic serenity, with sundappled grooves and aquatic synth ripples, while Side B delves into darker, more
experimental terrain—think Aphex Twin’s Selected Ambient Works colliding with the organic rhythms of Jon Hopkins.

Maturity in Motion
This album is a testament to Silvi’s evolution. Tracks like “Seeds Of Light” and “Message from Andromeda Galaxy” showcase his refined ear for dynamics, balancing silence and sound with surgical precision. Vintage drum machines spar with glitches, while field recordings of crashing waves and interstellar static blur the line between Earth and cosmos. The closing track, “The Star Charts We Shared” crescendos into a 6-minute ambient requiem, leaving listeners suspended in a state of weightless awe.

Final Transmission
Whispers from Distant Suns is more than an album—it’s a transcendent odyssey. Spanning time, space, and the artist’s own creative evolution, this immersive work invites listeners to lose themselves in its ebb and flow. Designed for moments both intimate and expansive, its balearic-tinged atmospheres resonate equally through dawnlit Mediterranean terraces or the solitary glow of headphones in darkness. These are compositions that pulse, morph, and haunt the air long after the final note fades. A living soundscape meant to accompany life’s quiet revelations and clandestine joys—a soundtrack to your most personal moments, crafted as what the artist calls ‘private dance music.’

Tailored for the Discerning Listener
Whispers from Distant Suns is designed with the true connoisseur in mind. This album is a must-have for:

Vinyl Collectors & Audiophiles: Those who value the warmth and tactile experience of heavyweight, limited edition pressings
Electronic Ambient and Downtempo Fans: Listeners who appreciate immersive soundscapes that merge retro analog charm with modern digital innovation.
Retro-Futurism Enthusiasts: Fans of pioneering artists like Vangelis, Boards of Canada, and early Warp Records who seek music that bridges nostalgic synth textures with futuristic experimentation.
Experimental Music Explorers: Individuals drawn to sonic narratives that invite deep, contemplative listening—perfect for both introspective moments and immersive listening sessions.
This release is not just an album; it’s a curated experience for those who desire music as a multidimensional art form, merging the vintage allure of analog sound with a contemporary, cosmic vision.

For fans of: Vangelis, Biosphere, Jon Hopkins, early Warp Records.

Now and again, an album project with no home comes along out of the blue, demanding to be licensed and shared with the world.

It was unearthed on one of Paper's digging trips. BOM's album sounded like nothing else out there, only the future. Shrouded in mystery and country-of-origin unknown, Africa runs through its DNA, but sometimes mysteries are best left...

Ase - a Yoruba philosophy signifying the power that makes things happen and produces change; given to Gods, ancestors, spirits, humans, animals, plants, rocks, rivers, songs and prayers.
BOM takes influence from all corners of Africa and its diaspora, blending them with 25 years of Western electronic music into a melange of forward facing, leftfield afro futurism.
The album features one of Africa's brightest rising stars, Luka Productions (from Mali), cosmic poet Sirius Rush (UK) and master drummer & vocalist Felix Ngindu (DRC/Liverpool) for a journey into kaleidoscopic Afro-tech funk. Gqom, Shangaan electro and township funk rub shoulders with hip-hop, bass, deep house and dub for a psychedelic celebration of collaboration and possibility.

As geographical and musical barriers are broken down, BOM's 'Ase' album is leading the charge; London to Lagos, Lisbon to Sao Paulo, Bamako to Berlin, BOM captures the sound of the underground.

Limited Edition 12"

Left Ear are delivering two previous unreleased Australian ‘experimental’ electronic tracks from the 80’s and honoring them with a split 12” release.

Side A: Features an unreleased full-length version of Tim Gruchy’s Jungles, a solo electro-percussive piece recorded in Tim’s Lab D’Avoid studio in Brisbane. The track is emblematic of his style during an era when he worked extensively in music, both as a percussionist and primarily with electronics, including early analog synths.

A shorter version was originally released on the Meanjin (Brisbane) art collective ZIP’s Eye Ear EP book package in 1986 and, more recently, on Left Ear’s Antipodean Anomalies 2 compilation.

This original version of Jungles was initially part of the soundtrack for the ZIP Performing Group’s infamous Ironing Board Dances. Footage of the performance was treated through a Fairlight synthesizer, mixed with hand-painted slides, and transferred to VHS for various film festivals.

Side B: Michael Krillich’s Arnhem Land began its journey in 1982 in a shared house in North Bondi. Inspired by Brian Eno and David Byrne’s My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, he experimented with tape loops, cut-ups, and samples, incorporating synthesizers, effects pedals, a drum machine, and an unknown sample from an Australian Aboriginal record. This creation became part of his cassette release, Thematic Variations.

In 2010, Krillich uploaded an unreleased extended version of Arnhem Land from Thematic Variations to YouTube, which was shared by record dealer Matt Bowden with Left Ear Records, who pursued to release it on vinyl. Their search to uncover the sample’s origins led them to Arnhem Land Vol. 1 (1957), recorded by Peter Elkin in the Daly River region.

After years of research and through the guidance of Professor Allan Marrett and local custodians, the sample was verified as a “Wangga” ceremonial song sung by George Morkai, an Emmiyangarl man. Rights to the song had passed through generations to Tobias Worumbu, who granted us permission for its use, bringing Arnhem Land full circle.

The band Unknown Mortal Orchestra sometimes enjoys making purely instrumental music. In addition to the vocal-based records they're more well-known for, they've also begun to make an instrumental series called the IC where they spend time in a chosen city and improvise and collaborate on non-vocal music. Recently the band spent time in Colombia to make music and initiate their new keyboard player Christian Li. The resulting sessions have become IC-02 Bogota, a musical document of the time they spent in that exciting city and the possible background music for some strange parties and night drives in your future.