Suche:vita

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

=

Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

Deutsche Grammophon präsentiert eine limitierte 3 LP-Edition von Rafael Kubelíks gefeiertem SchumannSinfonienzyklus, remastered von den analogen Originalquellen und gepresst auf 180g Vinyl. Seine ersten
beiden Schumann-Aufnahmen markierten 1963 den beginn der Zusammenarbeit zwischen Rafael Kubelík
und Deutsxhe Grammophon. Es zeugt von Kubelíks menschlichen wie musikalischen Qualitäten, dass er in
kürzester Zeit ein enges Verhältnis zu den Berliner Philharmonikern aufbauen konnte. Dieser SchumannZyklus ist eine Offenbarung. Kubelík zeigt, dass die viel gescholtene Orchestrierung des Komponisten mit
einer gewissen Leichtigkeit funktionieren kann und dass diese Partituren nicht schwülstig und kantig klingen
müssen. Er bringt eine frühlingshafte Frische und Vitalität in die Musik, die er mit schön abgestimmten
Tempi vorantreibt und gleichzeitig ihre poetische Klangfülle, Freude und Noblesse offenbart. Die Berliner
Philharmoniker reagieren mit Enthusiasmus und insprierter Spielfreude. Kein Wunder, dass sich diese
beispielhaften Aufnahmen ihren Platz gegen alle folgenden Neueinspielungen behauptet haben.

THE NEW STUDIO ALBUM FROM THE JAPANESE LEGENDS - AN OPUS
OF DARK & ECLECTIC BLACKENED HEAVY METAL, SHROUDED IN
TRADITIONAL EASTERN INFLUENCES..
Cult Japanese black metal legends Sigh formed in 1989/90, featuring
mainman Mirai Kawashima, Satoshi Fujinami & Kazuki Ozeki
Following initial demos, Shinichi Ishikawa was brought in & Sigh set about
recording the masterpiece debut 'Scorn Defeat' for Euronymous' Deathlike Silence
Productions, going on to become one of the country's greatest & most revered
metal exports. With a journey through the strange & the psychedelic,
incorporating a whole eclectic mix of genre styles & experimentation throughout
their career, Sigh has remained a vital creative force in the avantgarde field whilst
maintaining their old school roots.
'Shiki' marks the latest chapter in the Sigh legacy & includes some of the band's
heaviest & darkest material for some years; a fine hybrid of at times primitive
black metal akin to early influences such as Celtic Frost amid more epic melodic
heavy metal riffing & solos. The album also utilises a whole host of instruments
to give further texture & dynamics to the compositions & eerie atmosphere,
incorporating traditional oriental instruments such as the Shakuhachi & Sinobue
flutes.
The word "Shiki" itself has various meanings in Japanese such as four seasons,
time to die, conducting an orchestra, ceremony, motivation, colour. The two
primary themes for the album are "four seasons" & "time to die".
The concept & artwork is based around a traditional Japanese poem & on 'Shiki'
Mirai explores how at this stage of life he himself is going through Autumn, with
Winter coming soon & so empathises with the contrasting sentimental feelings
from watching cherry blossoms (a symbol of spring) in full bloom.
Joining Mirai & Dr Mikannibal for this release are Frédéric Leclercq of Kreator,
plus US drummer extraordinaire, Mike Heller of Fear Factory, along with an
appearance by long-time member Satoshi Fujinami on bass. 'Shiki' was recorded
across multiple studios & mixed & mastered by Lasse Lammert at LSD studios in
Germany.

The longest-tenured Irish punk band is undoubtedly Stiff Little Fingers –
who have been bashing and thrashing since 1977
And the vinyl, “Live at Rockpalast 1980”, shows that the band remained a vital live
band (and also, stayed true to their roots) throughout the ‘80s, despite a five-year
hiatus smack dab in the middle of the decade. Singer/guitarist Jake Burns has
been the band’s leader since their inception – with bassist Ali McMordie standing
right alongside Jake most of the time – which saw Stiff Little Fingers being a part
of the first- wave of Euro punk bands, which included the lofty likes of the Sex
Pistols, the Clash, and the Damned, the Buzzcocks, the Jam, etc. And in the
process, Stiff Little Fingers issued such classic punk LP’s as “Inflammable
Material”, “Nobody’s Heroes” and “Go for It” plus the punk anthems “Alternative
Ulster", “Suspect Device” and “At the Edge”. Jake Burns still remembers: "The
place was packed and the audience were with us from the first note. They were
wonderful, singing and bouncing along. It really felt like a "home game" to use a
football analogy. I thought we played really well too, apart from a slight timing
mistake during "Back to Front", a new song we were still learning. (See if you can
spot my giving Jim the "look of death" at that point! LOL!)."

Deluxe-Ausgabe zum 10-jährigen Jubiläum von Mac Millers Mixtape 'Macadelic' aus dem Jahr 2012, auf silberfarbenem Doppelvinyl mit geprägtem Cover und Tourposter. Mit der Hitsingle 'Loud' und den Featuregästen Kendrick Lamar, Lil Wayne, Cam'ron, Joey Bada$$, Sir Michael Rocks, Iman Omari, Casey Veggies und Juicy J.

Deluxe-Ausgabe zum 10-jährigen Jubiläum von Mac Millers Mixtape 'Macadelic' aus dem Jahr 2012, auf silberfarbenem Doppelvinyl mit geprägtem Cover und Tourposter. Mit der Hitsingle 'Loud' und den Featuregästen Kendrick Lamar, Lil Wayne, Cam'ron, Joey Bada$$, Sir Michael Rocks, Iman Omari, Casey Veggies und Juicy J.

Anthology introducing the first of a series of albums based on the concept of Aquapelago.

‘’ Since the earliest days of the planet there has been a rhythm of tides that creates coastal interzones where humans have foraged and pursued various livelihoods. Developing boats to fish from and technologies that enabled them to immerse themselves deep underwater, the aquatic realm has been one explored, experienced and imagined in various ways. In an effort to express the vitality and richness of this environment I coined the term aquapelago in 2012. The wordplay was deliberate. The neologism was designed to distinguish the liquid inbetweenness of this space from the dry, scattered, lands of archipelagos.

The concept of the aquapelago coalesced around themes taken from various places. Epeli Hau’ofa’s idea of an Oceanic “sea of islands’” was formative but a number of songs were also inspirational. Torres Strait islander Seaman Dan captivated me with his experiences of pearl diving in the Darnley Deeps in his song ‘Forty Fathoms’ and Norfolk Islander singer Kath King imaged how sea-turtles might have experienced ecological change in her song ‘Tech me how fer lew’. Other reflections on watery realms also appealed. Debussy’s solo piano piece ‘La cathédrale engloutie’ soundtracked me as I researched myths of lost Lyonesse while Mike Cooper’s Kiribati, an ambient exoticist album about the imperilled archipelago (recently re-released on Discrepant), caused me to reflect on the social and cultural impact of sea level rise before that topic became a high-profile concern.

This compilation album takes the concept of the aquapelago into new depths and breaches it on fresh shores. The tracks are soaked with the aquatic. Bassy sonorities boom as if heard deep underwater. Bubbly textures breach the surface, water drips and seabirds soar high above waves. Sugai Kei samples fragments of text concerning the Ningen, a fantastic humanoid/whale that reflects the ‘aquapelagic imaginary’ of modern Japan and its preoccupation with industrial whaling. Andrew Pekler continues the orientation of his Phantom Islands project - a sonic atlas of imaginary places - with a soundscape as if heard by a swimmer just offshore, mixing sounds of the island and the sea together. Mike Cooper’s sonic reflection on Hong Kong’s Lamma Island is similar, combining the island’s ubiquitous barking dogs with the slurp of waves on rocky shores, conjuring a languorous time before Chinese crackdowns on the territory.

Taking another tack, the Dead Mauriacs gleefully water-ski through collage of tropical island exoticisms, replete with glitchy orientalism, while Babau combines skittering idiophone melodies with resonant glissandi. Vica Pacheco moves between dense and airy sounds, as if crossing between surf lines and the space above. Yannkick Dauby’s track is also imbued with in-betweenness, evoking ambient sounds heard through a ship’s hull. Sculpture’s ‘Froth Surfer’ realises its title, with bubbling sounds and rhythms that evoke Hawaiian surfing filtered through layers of time and distance. Reminding us of the shore necessary for aquapelagic spaces, Franceso Cavaliere and Tomoko Sauvage’s composition anchors the album, centred around shaken rhythms and resonant ringing tones and drones.

Taken together, the album sketches the contours of the aquapelago as it might be imagined and conjured in sound – an endless oceanic realm that laps on to beaches and crashes against cliffs. The performers navigate this space under alternately starry and cloudy skies, orientating themselves with sounds, textures and sonic samples of their terrestrial homes while we float with them. ‘’
Philip Hayward December 2021

** SISTER FUNK, SOUL-JAZZ and BLUE-EYED-SOUL - OBSCURE RARE GROOVES ALL THE WAY THRU! **

- the double vinyl LP comes with a full album download code
- deluxe double-gatefold LP with detailed liner notes & unseen photographs
- ALL songs appear on LP & digital for the very first-time
- sales notes by Joel Ricci (aka Lucky Brown)

When Tramp Records was founded, there really were very few ways in which the music lover could discover new music besides the traditional methods of digging, good luck, and inheritance. First there were torrent sites such as Napster and Limewire where generous collectors might digitize and upload portions of their accessions, and sometimes you could find entire radio show broadcasts of live vinyl curation made by real Disc Jockeys out there, a lot of the Deep Funk I heard for the first time in around 1999 I found this way via Disc Jockeys on radio shows from the UK, tunes were faded and mixed together and of course veiled with that unmistakable Mp3 'whoosh'. And unless you have been living as an off-grid hermit for the past 20 years, you know the rest of the story.

But though our world has changed, and even though everyone from our grandparents to our 5-year old nieces are curating their own internet playlists, I submit that the role of DJ has become even more vital, not less. We as a culture have always relied on our Disc Jockeys to introduce us to sounds that speak to their souls, to control the vibe and most importantly put forth the narrative that speaks to society as a whole. DJs are our tribal storytellers, and the music they bring us are the stories. And when a DJ like Tobias Kirmayer is telling us that story clearly and with conviction, it speaks to our souls as well.

"Countdown to...SOUL" is a compilation series that, much like Tramp Records' other critically-acclaimed comps such as Movements, Feeling Nice, and the Praise Poems Series' examines a unique facet of the Golden Era of Soul, Funk, Jazz and R&B. Perhaps, in this case the dawning of the Soul era, "proto-soul", "primitive soul", or even "pre-soul" if you will. When they were recorded, many of these tunes were still firmly ensconced in the Black Radical Jazz tradition, but there was a change in the air, something happening in the coming years that would revolutionize popular music forever. In fact, Soul had already taken over the world by the time many of these tunes were released on 45, but for various reasons, the artists and their music occupied the fringes of the idiom and therefore remained obscure. Countdown to...SOUL chronicles that beginning, that buildup, those heady moments before the lid blew off and American Black music would explode across the planet, while scouring the outskirts and tide pools for specimens that were emanating in their own respective neighborhoods and communities, so often overlooked by the American pop music machine.

Side A features barrier-breaking pioneer Frankie Staton and her message of "Love One Another" to the world that is as fresh and vital today as it was when it first came out in the late seventies. In that spirit, Tenison Stevens' appeal "Don't Rip Me Off" reminds us to treat each other as brothers and sisters.

Side B meets us at the altar of the formidable Hammond Organ with an Unknown and uncredited Organist found languishing on a one-of-a-kind unreleased acetate and moving on to explore the nexus of Soul, Bebop, and R&B with Don Patterson's "Paddy Wagon".

Side C satisfies our hunger for the blaring horn sections, big beat drums, wailing Hammonds, pleading vocals and gritty guitars of authentic Soul music (both brown and blue-eyed) with Marva Josie, Shirley Wahls and The Echomen, among others, but then takes a hard left turn into undoubtedly uncharted territory with the hybrid folk/country/soul story of Sherrif Black and poor Sally who, though she is tragically met with a terrible fate, thanks to the careful and conscientious mastering of our German engineers, the song itself remains alive and is a genuine addition to the canon.

For the remaining side, I'm gonna just let you discover this music on its own terms, as you won't find these tunes anywhere else, not on Napster, not even on Limewire, or anywhere else. I want to personally thank you for putting your trust in the DJ and for continuing to listen, study, appreciate, and share the work and mission of Tramp Records.

-Joel Ricci (May 2022)

(Extended Reissue)

Double vinyl LP | Extended reissue
All tracks remastered from the original master tapes.

And here it is! For the first time ever, Zoo Folle in its full, extended glory.
This double LP contains both the soundtrack as released in 1974 (sides A and B) and previously unreleased gems (sides C and D).

Back in 2016 we put out the first official reissue of Zoo Folle. It sold out in a matter of months, leaving many vinyl collectors hungry for more. Quite serendipitously, the following year we found ourselves digging through Giuliano Sorgini's personal archives to prepare what would become Africa Oscura and stumbled upon a few mysterious reels that could be traced back to Zoo Folle. Imagine our joy when we realized that they contained the complete recording sessions of the original soundtrack, including unreleased material and never-before heard alternate versions! It was a no-brainer to start planning this extended reissue.

Already a phenomenon among collectors and experts, not only does Zoo Folle it keep winning more and more recognition, but, together with The Living Dead at Manchester Morgue and Under Pompelmo, it has established Sorgini as one of the great Italian composers of his generation.

And this is no coincidence. Zoo Folle is Sorgini's most committed and personal work. It reflects at once his beliefs as an animal rightist and his deep friendship with TV director and long-time collaborator Riccardo Fellini (brother of La Dolce Vita director Federico). It was Fellini himself who asked Sorgini to score his documentary on the living conditions of animals in zoos in Western metropolises (Rome, London and Paris in particular).

Originally broadcast by RAI in three primetime episodes, Fellini's exposé sharply contrasts the lives of caged animals with the freedom they experience in nature and wildlife reserves such as the Amboseli National Park in Kenya, Africa.

For his part, Sorgini offers perhaps his grandest score ever – a magnificent, multifaceted soundtrack that brings together a variety of instruments and the best musicians available at the time, from the lavish string orchestra recorded at the Fono Roma studios (a dream come true for someone who had not penetrated the inner circle of A-list composers like Morricone), to the angelic voice of Edda Dell'Orso, who conveys the sweetness and melancholy of the African sunset in Red, Old Skies.

Also performing on the soundtrack are exquisite soloists – all long-time friends of the composer. Nino Rapicavoli, for instance, whose flute adds a magical touch to the psycho-funk of Mad Town and the groove of Slaves, as well as Enzo Restuccia, whose afro-tribal percussions have made Ultima caccia a legendary track especially among lovers of Balearic grooves, and Enrico Ciacci, whose classical guitar soars beautifully over the nostalgic and poignant Chains. Not to mention the fact that Sorgini himself laid down the foundation tracks for the album in the small studio he had in the Prati neighbourhood in Rome, playing the piano, drums and several synthesizers.

So, what are you waiting for? Get your turntables ready for the full version of Amboseli (14 minutes of sheer bliss versus less than 6 in the original record) and for stunning, previously unreleased alternate versions of many other themes composed by Sorgini to celebrate the beauty of the savannah.

Finally getting a vinyl re-release is Frank & Tony’s seminal work with breakout duo Bob Moses. Back in 2012 Francis Harris and Anthony Collins (Frank & Tony) worked with their fellow New Yorkers before they went on to sign to Domino and blow up globally.
The four track EP kicks off with Elea - a deep and thoughtful collaboration utilizing Frank & Tony’s slick production with understated vocals. Next up on the A side is Holding On, featuring iconically Bob Moses vocals atop of a low-key bumping groove. There’s also washes of brass that add a new dimension to the track. Flipping over to the B side, Holy for Her (which also appeared back in 2012), is a densely wound, hypnotic rhythm, providing the basis for Tom Howie and Jim Vallance to do their special thing. Winding things up, Marigold is another early classic from the same period - a dubbed-out groove with sharp percussion and a killer, signature vocal. An essential release capturing a vital period in both outfits' development.

Brooklyn band Office Culture is made up of four longtime collaborators
(and all solo artists in their own right) lead singer and songwriter Winston
Cook-Wilson (vocals/keyboards), Ian Wayne (guitar), Charlie Kaplan
(bass), and Pat Kelly (drums)
Following the electronic avant-pop experimentation of their debut album I Did the
Best I Could, the band's critically acclaimed sophomore LP "2019's A Life of
Crime "unveiled a lush, jazz- inflected sound that Pitchfork described as "sleek
music for a cursed place, opulent like a ritzy hotel lounge." Cook-Wilson's wry and
contemplative songs reflect the bandmates' shared points of musical reference,
including Nite- Flights- era Scott Walker, mid- 70s Joni Mitchell, Curtis Mayfield,
and ECM-label jazz. The FADER wrote: "Office Culture spends the best moments
on A Life Of Crime sounding like the most vital lounge-pop act of all time. Big
Time Things "the band's third album and Northern Spy debut "is a more
maximalist affair. Written and recorded across the course of three years, it's a
meticulously orchestrated and groove- forward record featuring nine of CookWilson's most ambitious compositions to date. Tracks like singles Elegance, Big
Time Things, and Little Reminders draw together a disparate collection of
influences, integrating soulful vocal harmonies, horns straight out of 70s spiritual
jazz, string arrangements informed by modernist classical music, and beats that
reflect the band's enduring love of neo-soul and hip-hop.
The playful experimentation of the arrangements elevates the melodrama and
humor of Cook-Wilson's songs "his most emotionally direct to date "which trace
the complexities of our efforts to better ourselves by learning from our worst and
least rational behavior, and how we attempt to apply that knowledge to nurturing
close personal relationships. The record features a dense cast of supporting
players, including Carmen Q. Rothwell, Caitlin Pasko, Alena Spanger (Tiny
Hazard), and members of Cuddle Magic / Mmeadows. The album releases via
Northern Spy.

(Cargo Collective Title) RIYL: Barker, burger/ink, Andy Stott, Shackleton, Monolake, Jan Jelinek, Perila, Fax. 180gLP in 350gsm jacket + 190gsm inner + DL. CD in custom mini-gatefold paperboard jacket. T. Gowdy has kept up a productive albeit mostly virtual pace since the release of Therapy With Colour (his third full-length album and first for Constellation) which dropped just as things were locking down back in spring 2020: performances at numerous festivals including MUTEK Montréal, Node Festival and NEW NOW; audiovisual pieces exhibited at various European galleries and events; a track and video for Constellation’s Corona Borealis Longplay Singles Series; sound design for the documentary Atalaya by filmmaker Emma Roufs. Gowdy now returns with Miracles, his second full-length for Constellation, which draws on source materials originally performed in 2018 for an unreleased audio/visual project based around surveillance footage—a precursor to video1capped, monitor-based horizons that soon took on new meanings. Re-immersing himself in those recordings, Gowdy disassembles and deploys them as raw source material for new experiments with vactrols, noise gates and analog-to-digital triggering and aliasing, the original recordings juxtaposed anew amidst their successive textural and rhythmic treatments. Gowdy keeps this re-composition process stripped down, elemental and purposive, guided by an ascetic Aufhebung: synthesis as sublation—subjecting a temporal material/theme to analysis and transformation, reintegrating to form a whole that overcomes what it preserves without erasure, reshaping and intrinsically carrying its origins forward. Where Therapy With Colour was strictly and rigorously a set of stereo live performances, Miracles fuses iterative—though still spartan—layers of performance. “Therapy With Colour was about healing through self-hypnosis; Miracles is about forging a future with memory through subjection to trigger mechanisms” notes Gowdy. The result is a captivating collection of minimal IDM and oscillated electronics from the Montréal/Berlin producer, working primarily in a 120-140 BPM zone of tonal percussion and corrugated pulse. Gowdy’s sensibility and sound palette gets deeper and dirtier, summoning new pathways of alluvial flicker and abraded euphoria. As the album progresses, low-pass gate vactrols coalesce into a clear and vital theme, conveying immanence through woody timbres at times reminiscent of the Shinrin-yoku aesthetic (Japanese ‘forest bathing’), though always with a grainy transcendence rather than invoking any clean pure sheen. Gowdy consistently heats and heightens the presence of each component in the mix, balancing different elements in democratic compression/distortion, attaining an unornamental and earnest form of mantric-industrial majesty. Miracles is live, corporeal, activated electronic music of the highest caliber, deployed with monastic and meditative focus. Tracklist: 1 350J 2 Miracles 3 Déneigeuse 4 Transcend I 5 U4A 6 Vidisions 7 Clipse 8 Transcend II

Hervorragendes Album eines fantastischen joint venture Teams: Inkswel aus Australien und Colonel Red aus Birmingham machen unbeschwerten Hip Hop-beeinflussten Downbeat mit Soul. Perfekt balancieren sie fette Beats, gute Melodien, geradeaus Messages mit geräuschvollen Unter- oder Obertönen.

Beide haben eine beeindruckende Vita mit tollen Produktionen. Colonel Red kennt man von einigen West London Produktionen (Bugz In The Attic) und cutting edge Songwriting für Teddy Pendergrass, Amp Fiddler, Maurice White, Tony Allen u.a.
Inkswel ist nicht nur durch seine Arbeiten für Talib Kweli, Lee Scratch Perry, Andrew Ashong, Dwight Trible, Amp Fiddler u.v.m. bekannt.

Checkt das Video zu “Make Me Crazy” und auch die grandiosen Remixe von Moodymann, Potatohead People, Moodorama.
Das Cover wurde von Our Machine aus Holland gestaltet, die viel für Kindred Spirit, Tom Trago, Versatile, Build An Arc et cetera designed haben.

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

=

Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

Vinyl Only

Following his maiden collaboration project with the immensely talented Furz, Ali Demir is not looking to slow things down any time soon with his record label. The Iceland-based label is not only carrying the aesthetic set in this debut but delving further into it. Distrakt Audio proudly presents the secret ingredient, the multi-talented Patagonian soul and Pryma Records co-owner, Dani Labb!

Up first is Dani Labb's mind-bending, bass-driven groove, "Atemporal" that builds through signature drums and dystopic pads. It's an absolute club cut. Followed by a darker one, "Adori Vita Vis" is a perfect sound for that meditative, hazy, late morning mood.

Much like the previous release, Ali provides the pleasure of his calm and refreshing, yet unique take of dancefloor heaters. "Rewind the Mind" is a hypnotic bass jam, tightened with deeply atmospheric pads and sparkled with floating synth lines. It's a must-have opener. "Trip to Andes" is a subtle club cut offering a juicy sub bassline that propels the track forward and balances it with dreamy melodic elements. This post-pandemic masterpiece is a surefire filled with instant all-timer dancefloor hitters.

On May 6th 2022 two-time Grammy nominee Beth Nielsen Chapman returns with her bluesy new single ‘Hey Girl’, her first new music in over four years, and the first taste of her upcoming 15th album, CrazyTown, out this autumn on Cooking Vinyl With a career spanning nearly 40 years, Beth proves she’s still as vital as ever with this anthemic new track written in reaction to the ‘Me Too’ movement, a song Beth calls her “celebratory shout out to our sisters making their way in the world.”

Ali Farka Touré trekked the world, bringing his beloved Malian music to the masses. Dubbed "the African John Lee Hooker," one could hear strong connections between the two; both employed a bluesy style of play with gritty textures that elicit calm and fury in equal measure. While the influence of Black blues music prevailed, Touré created a West African blend of 'desert blues' that garnered Grammy awards and widespread reverence. Though he transcended in 2006, Ali's musical legacy lives on through his son, Vieux aka "the Hendrix of the Sahara," an accomplished guitarist and champion of Malian music in his own right. On Ali, his collaborative album with Khruangbin, Vieux pays homage to his father by recreating some of his most resonant work, putting new twists on it while maintaining the original's integrity. The result is a rightful ode to a legend. Ali isn't just a greatest hits compilation. It's a lullaby, a remembrance of Ali's life through known highlights and B-sides from his catalog. It is a testament to what happens when creativity is approached through open arms and open hearts. "To me, music is magic, it is spontaneous, it is the energy between people," Vieux says. "I think Khruangbin understands this very well." The genesis of the album dates back to 2019, when Khruangbin, coming off their breakthrough album Con Todo el Mundo, was beginning to playto bigger crowds. The record was finished in 2021, as a global pandemic shuttered businesses and forced us to take stock of what Earth was becoming. Indirectly, Ali captures this as a moment of peace within a raging storm, a conversation between past and present without allegiance to suffering. Now, given Khruangbin's reach as a unit with legions of fans (including the likes of Jay-Z and Paul McCartney), they're poised to bring Malian music to broader groups of listeners. Ali is a masterful work in which the love surrounding it is just as vital as the music itself, driving it to unforeseen places; Vieux and Khruangbin are spreading the good word to a completely new generation. "I hope it takes them somewhere new, or puts them in a place they haven't felt or heard," Lee says. "It is about the love of new friendship and making something beautiful together," Vieux continues. "It is about pouring your love into something old to make it new again. In the end and in a word it is love, that's all."

Ali Farka Touré trekked the world, bringing his beloved Malian music to the masses. Dubbed "the African John Lee Hooker," one could hear strong connections between the two; both employed a bluesy style of play with gritty textures that elicit calm and fury in equal measure. While the influence of Black blues music prevailed, Touré created a West African blend of 'desert blues' that garnered Grammy awards and widespread reverence. Though he transcended in 2006, Ali's musical legacy lives on through his son, Vieux aka "the Hendrix of the Sahara," an accomplished guitarist and champion of Malian music in his own right. On Ali, his collaborative album with Khruangbin, Vieux pays homage to his father by recreating some of his most resonant work, putting new twists on it while maintaining the original's integrity. The result is a rightful ode to a legend. Ali isn't just a greatest hits compilation. It's a lullaby, a remembrance of Ali's life through known highlights and B-sides from his catalog. It is a testament to what happens when creativity is approached through open arms and open hearts. "To me, music is magic, it is spontaneous, it is the energy between people," Vieux says. "I think Khruangbin understands this very well." The genesis of the album dates back to 2019, when Khruangbin, coming off their breakthrough album Con Todo el Mundo, was beginning to playto bigger crowds. The record was finished in 2021, as a global pandemic shuttered businesses and forced us to take stock of what Earth was becoming. Indirectly, Ali captures this as a moment of peace within a raging storm, a conversation between past and present without allegiance to suffering. Now, given Khruangbin's reach as a unit with legions of fans (including the likes of Jay-Z and Paul McCartney), they're poised to bring Malian music to broader groups of listeners. Ali is a masterful work in which the love surrounding it is just as vital as the music itself, driving it to unforeseen places; Vieux and Khruangbin are spreading the good word to a completely new generation. "I hope it takes them somewhere new, or puts them in a place they haven't felt or heard," Lee says. "It is about the love of new friendship and making something beautiful together," Vieux continues. "It is about pouring your love into something old to make it new again. In the end and in a word it is love, that's all."

Perpetual Doom is proud to present a special double-LP from Mountain Brews. Spearheaded by Jake Longstreth, Los Angeles-based painter and co-host of Apple Music’s Time Crisis with Ezra Koenig, Mountain Brews was founded around a vital American tradition: sippin’ cold ones to the “tasteful palette of seventies rock.” Full of warm melodies and guitars that evoke a Mojave glow, Mountain Brews occupy the sunny spot right between the studio-slick hits of early Eagles and the laidback jams of the Grateful Dead. And now that their four previous EPS are available in a single package, there’s nothing left to do but grab a seat, turn up the music, and crack one open.

Mountain Brews are pros at keeping things loose and light. Recorded by the same group of old pals that make up a LA based Grateful Dead cover band, Richard Pictures—including Longstreth, Aaron Olson, Ryan Adlaf, and John Nixon—these seventeen tracks celebrate the early seventies’ spirit of easy-going collaboration. You can hear it when a guitar slide greets the opening strum on the title track, an assuming ode to the pleasures of drinking and hiking: “As we get to the top of the mountain, there’s a view,” Longstreth sings. “Take a load off and crack a few mountain brews.” And while the song boasts virtuoso playing worthy of Desperado, the vibe is less barstool machismo than six-pack camaraderie.

It’s a self-aware R&R mindset that pulses through tracks like “You Eagled,” which ponders both a great golf score and the trials of becoming “classic,” and “It’s My Masterpiece,” with its tightly coiled licks and breezy nonchalance with regards to inevitable civilizational demise. Sure, the Brews know there’s a down for every up. “Raised in a Place” and “Big Bummer Hotel” acknowledge that even the chillest California cowboys get the middle-aged blues, resurrecting the heartland synthesizers of late eighties Don Henley and Bruce Hornsby to find a little meaning in the madness. And Ezra Koenig and Danielle Haim contribute vocals to help “The Worst Margarita of My Life” go down just a little easier.

These four EPs were recorded between 2019 and 2021 in various bedrooms and studios across California. “Uphill From Here” brings it all back around as guitarist Aaron “Bobby” Olson sings about meeting Jake on the trail once again: “And it’s all uphill from here,” he sings. “We may have to stop and down these beers.” But whether it’s uphill or down, Mountain Brews makes it clear—the journey is better with company.

Things are looking up for The Harlem Gospel Travelers, who return here with a new album, a new lineup, and a new lease on life. Produced by Eli Paperboy Reed, Look Up! marks the group's first full-length release as a trio, as well as their first collection of totally original material, and it couldn't have come at a more vital moment. The music still draws deeply on the gospel quartet tradition of the '50s and '60s, of course, but there's a distinctly modern edge to the record, an unmistakable reflection of the tumultuous past few years of pandemic anxiety, political chaos, and social unrest. The songs are bold and resilient, facing down doubt and despair with faith and perseverance, and the performances are explosive and ecstatic, fueled by dazzling vocal arrangements punctuated with gritty bursts of guitar and crunchy rhythm breaks. Born out of an non-profit music education program led by Reed, The Harlem Gospel Travelers_singers Thomas Gatling, George Marage, and Dennis Bailey_released their debut LP, He's On Time, to rave reviews in 2019, with Pop Matters hailing the album's "musical transcendence" and AllMusic praising it as "dreamlike and joyous." The record charted on Billboard, earned the Travelers high profile fans like Elton John (who invited them to appear on his Rocket Hour radio show on Apple Music), and landed them festival slots everywhere from Pilgrimage to Telluride Jazz.