Suche:walk

Spoken word recordings from Gregory Corso, Tina May Hall, Sam Lipsyte, Christine Schutt, Gary Lutz, Allen Ginsberg, Dawn Raffel, Jason Schwartz, Kathryn Scanlan, Scott McClanahan, & Terry Southern. About 40 years ago, in a record shop on Long Island during a weekend visit there to see my parents, i found a double-LP that looked like something i should definitely buy. It was called "BIG EGO", by the The DIAL-a-POEM POETS. On the cover was a picture of John Giorno (a great poet Ed Sanders had turned me on to) on a NYC rooftop with Philip Glass, Meredith Monk, and two kids. It cost $2. I bought it and rushed back to my parents house, where i still had my old turntable in the basement, not far from my Jimi Hendrix and Zappa Crappa posters, and my framed portrait of John Cage. My copy of Eno's "Discreet Music" was still on the turntable, having been left there years before, when i'd fled Long Island for good. I lifted it from the platter, gently slid it back into its sleeve, like a priceless religious artifact, and put Side A of the Dial-a-Poem LP on. I almost lost my mind while listening to it. The next day i went back to the same record shop looking for more DIAL-A-POEM LP's. i found two. One had a long list of names on the back, some famous, and some i'd never heard of before. I bought both LP's, and an hour later, for the first time in my life, i was exposed to the art of Laurie Anderson, whom i'd never heard of before. This was 1978. Her contribution was a piece called "Time To Go". It changed my life. Or at least, that’s how I remember it. I was just a kid, so there were a lot of moments like that, around then. Nowadays, these moments can be had in seconds, with a click of the cursor. That evening, as i sat alone by my imaginary campfire (ie; that record player in my parents basement), i promised myself that someday, somehow, i would embark upon a WORDS & MUSIC project that might move people the same way i was moved when i first heard Laurie, and Robert Wilson & Christopher Knowles, and Burroughs, and Ginsberg, and Corso, and Anne Waldman, and John Ashbery, and the great Charles Olson, and so many others. Words, for the very first time, had wielded the same power as music. And it was visceral. Just like music. It ran deep. It was a FEELING. John Giorno died in 2019, but he kept poetry alive like nobody's business. I was lucky enough to have spent some time with him in the early 1980's, when i was briefly a member of The Fugs, and often found myself surrounded by those Ginsberg called, "...the greatest minds of my generation". Ed Sanders (who'd ushered me into that scene) once told me that when he came to NYC, it was easy to go to a cafe, or to St Marks Church, and hear Burroughs, Corso, Ginsberg, and all the greats, reading their poetry. He said that even if you were just a bum on the street, you could just walk right up to them, and start a conversation. They were totally accessible, if they were in the right mood at that particular moment. So i was shocked when Sanders told me he didn't approach any of them, not even once, til he'd been going to their readings for nearly ten years. "For almost a decade, I went to every reading, every lecture, every panel discussion. But I never went near them. Never approached them. Not even once", Sanders told me. "For ten years, all I did, was listen." It took me four decades, but ... better late than never. I finally made WORDS & MUSIC, Book One.

In November 1976, Jef Gilson’s phone rang. What a surprise! It was Serge Rahoerson, one of the musicians he had met in Madagascar at the end of the 60s and who had played on his first album “Malagasy”. Rahoerson announced that he was in Paris for a few days.

Immediately, Jef wanted to organise a recording session, starting the next day. He thought of a trio including Serge, Eddy Louiss on organ and cellist Jean-Charles Capon, who had also been on one of the trips to Tananarive and so had also known Rahoerson there. Unfortunately, Eddy Louiss –who had already played with Gilson and Capon on the album “Bill Coleman Sings And Plays 12 Negro Spirituals” in 1968- had to drop out at the last minute: he was delayed by a session with Claude Nougaro. Jean-Charles Capon had also become a sought-after studio musician since his trip to Madagascar in 1969. He appeared on several key albums on the Saravah label including the now famous “Comme À La Radio” by Brigitte Fontaine, “Un Beau Matin” by Areski and “Chorus” by Michel Roques, without mentioning the album by his own Baroque Jazz Trio. He was also to be found with Jef Gilson for his album on Vogue with the ex-drummer from Miles Davis’ first great quintet, Philly Joe Jones, or also in the orchestra led by Jean-Claude Vannier for the album “Nino Ferrer & Leggs”. He also played regularly on albums by Georges Moustaki.

Jean-Charles Capon and Serge Rahoerson found themselves thus in the studio, with Jef at the controls. He had decided to record the rhythmic structure right away. He would find the soloists later, that didn’t worry him. Serge Rahoerson was on drums. Though a saxophonist by training, Jef remembered that Serge was also capable of great things behind a drum kit: he was the improvised drummer on their cover of “The Creator Has A Master Plan” on the album “Malagasy”... The great memories came flooding back (the nod on the title “Orly - Ivato”), and the old magic worked again.

Brought in momentarily from Europamerica, Gilson’s new big band, in which JC Capon also played, the saxophonists Philippe Maté, from France (another Saravah stablemate) and the American Butch Morris (soon to be a key member of David Murray’s band) were invited to record their parts later and Gilson mixed it all as if it had been one single session (as he had already done on other albums, with the tracks by Christian Vander recorded before the creation and success of Magma).

The album would not appear until 1977, on Palm, Jef’s own label, and was dedicated to the memory of Georges Rahoerson, Serge’s father, who had also played on the album “Malagasy” and who had died prematurely at the age of 51 in 1974.
“I only received my own copy of the album in 1981 when I came to live in France definitively”, a still-moved Serge Rahoerson told us in 2013. “I was playing in a club one night and Jef turned up by surprise with a copy of the album for me, I was so pleased to see him again. When I arrived in France, I told everyone that I had played with Jef Gilson a few years previously, and I was surprised to learn that so few people knew of him. For us, he was of one of the great jazz visionaries.” (Jérôme "Kalcha" Simonneau)

Permanent pressing of 20th anniversary of U2’s 10th studio album All That You Can’t Leave Behind. Remastered studio album, pressed on 180g black vinyl and cut across four sides. Comes with 20 page 12” x 12” booklet and download card.

BERTIE MARSHALL is a writer/ performer. He is also an acclaimed memoirist, most well known for his book ‘Berlin Bromley’ (2006) about his transformation from Bertie, an anxious, androgynous, depressed teenager, into Berlin, a teenager who would reject suburban values and become a founding member of punk’s ‘Bromley Contingent’, alongside Siouxsie Sioux, Steven Severin and Billy Idol.

October 29th sees Upset The Rhythm release ‘Exhibit’ by Bertie Marshall, collecting for the first time his songs and spoken word tracks from this fertile period of the 80s-90s.

He’s currently working on ‘Looking: Backwards To Go Forwards’, picking up from where ‘Berlin Bromley’ left off. His other books include the debut novel ‘Psychoboys’ (1997), ‘Nowhere Slow’ (2014), ‘From Sleepwalking to Sleepwalking’ (2016), ‘Wild - re write’ (2017), ‘The Peeler’ (2018) and ‘Pete’s Underpants’ (2019). In 2015 the British Library purchased his writing archive.

From 1980-83, Bertie was the frontman for post-punk boundary-pushers Behaviour Red - they released one single (favourably played by John Peel), did a mini-tour and broke up. At various times Behaviour Red featured Noel Blanden of Normil Hawaiians and fine artist Nicola Tyson. Their sound was characterised by looseness and freedom, boasting at times tribal drumming, streams of vocals, dazed guitars and feedback. Bertie continued sketching out atmospheric compositions afterwards too, walking a tightrope between bewildered pop and gothic folk. Central to everything is Bertie’s commanding voice; heartfelt, impassioned and masterfully leading you through the story.

Bertie became interested in spoken word and performance poetry in the 90s, which then led him into writing and performing in his own plays and devised theatre pieces. He did regular readings and performances in NYC and began writing books inspired by the visceral talents of Acker & Burroughs. Having lived in Berlin, San Francisco, and Brittany, Bertie now lives in London.

Does returning to a place have a sound? Can the ear have a memory? And what if places which we return to are just empty shells? Choreographed rooms which we need to play, fill from scratch each time with fragments from the past and present, layer upon layer, familiar and still somehow always new and differently assembled. Paula Schopf’s Espacios en Soledad are acoustic walks around present day Santiago de Chile, the city where she was born - which she always left, had to leave and to which she always returns - but more than anything also through her own memories which resonate throughout the public places, squares, streets though still in their own way remain strange.

„Every immigrant in the world has a piece like this - a kind of missing link, something which is incomplete. And every time one returns to the home country you are looking for it. For me it was a matter of sound.“ (Paula 2019).

In the mid 70s leaving Santiago was a flight of exile as a child with her family. Leaving in 1990 was an autonomous decision to head for Europe, Berlin, where the wall fell, where the heavens opened up all at once and electronic music became a kind of new home to so many. Paula Schopf belonged there. For her the Ocean Club at Tresor club was a central place where friends and mentors like Gudrun Gut and Thomas Fehlmann made it possible for her to get really into it. Dancing, being and feeling your body, forgetting oneself in the bass and beats, who one is and where one’s from, to becoming the DJ Chica Paula. Chile was very far away during this time, Latin America was more just a code, a musical and habitual cliche to be cautious of. This was especially true for the culture of the Chilean exile, the pathos of the “Canto Nuevo”, the sound and ideologically charged instruments of the „música andina“, for example the Zampoña, Quena or Charango. Techno was the greatest thinkable alternative to this even if or perhaps because so many kids exiled from Chile became key figures in the German and European scene: Ricardo Villalobos, Dandy Jack, Cristian Vogel, Matias Aguayo and many more.

How does returning to a place sound? Does the ear have its own memory? The field recordings which were recorded in Santiago de Chile in 2016 and form the central sonic material for Espacios en Soledad represent the paradox for Schopf’s return to her home country after emigrating: the inevitable drifting apart of her own lived time from that of her former home. Already the Venezuelan and Colombian hawkers are unmistakable signs of the deep change in Chilean society which has happened in recent years due to immigration. Which is in contrast to the old lady who sits on the floor in a pedestrian zone and without break sings the same three songs by Violeta Parra and then keeps falling asleep while doing so. The fragile presence of her voice is joined with a repertoire which is almost mythologically timeless in Chile in a particularly moving way.

By layering, ordering and conjoining such found sounds from modern day Santiago this piece become about the urban sound of Chile’s present. But more than anything by doing this Paula Schopf becomes an arranger of her own sonic memory or sound-triggered memories of returning to this city. Just as techno and Berlin helped her for such a long time to get away from too strong of an identification as a Chilean in exil, now with Espacios en Soledad she has found a way to bring these two seemingly disparate lives and remembered worlds together.

Matthias Pasdzierny

Both regulars of the club, arts and queer scenes of New York, Berlin and London of the last three decades, it's surprising Wolfgang Tillmans and Honey Dijon only met five years ago. A walk between clubs in Brooklyn resulted in the two having a mutual interest to collaborate. Busy as both are, the wait was long, but well worth it. This week's release of Honey Dijon's Euphoria Mix of 'Can't Escape into Space' sets the tone for what is left of this summer: Our desire to be together, with friends and strangers, close up on dancefloors, festivals and open airs. Honey's and Wolfgang's shared unapologetic spirit comes alive as Dijon transforms Tillmans's original song into an electrifying dance floor banger. As we can already sense a reawakening of our freedom blowing in the air, even if many clubs remain closed, the two musicians' call to come together again is euphoric and inescapable.
The original version of the song was released last winter in the midst of lockdown, accompanied by a video showing an empty nightclub and its mirror balls performing for the camera, filmed in 2017 by Tillmans, in pre-pandemic Fire Island. A new video accompanies Honey Dijon's Euphoria mix with three vignettes of longing and passion.

In pairing words with art, the ESP Institute often does everything journalists hate. We drown the reader in hyperbole, abstractions as opposed to didactic or literal depictions, and paint the press release with superlatives that construct an existential struggle around the art and its conditions. To articulate our reasoning behind collaborating with the artist, or the synergy between their work and our catalogue, is sometimes so challenging that crossing that finish line is achingly delayed. Patrick Conway’s 2xLP 'Cellular Housekeeping', his fourth release with the label, is one of these works so monumentally exciting for us that we’ve strained over how to deliver with honor his art unto the masses. After the initial hurdle of visual representation (in this case handled with gusto by artist Hassan Rahim), how do we directly and intentionally talk about the art we deeply love, when in reality we’re largely guided by instinct? We explore many angles, often failing along the way, until finding a final click in the combination that unlocks the floodgates. With Patrick’s album, that elusive impetus revealed itself in a literary gem that both symbolized his aggressive, melancholic, romantic, and bleak overtones, as well as synchronized his work and our task with a metaphor so grand it justified putting these words to paper. In the deeply British poem of despair and hope, 'Comus: A Mask Presented at Ludlow Castle', John Milton immortalized the classic idiom of the “silver lining”, and we find comfort in this transaction between struggle and what the poet considered divine intervention. Our bout of procrastination that brewed a cloud over the art may too tout a silver lining, the time that’s elapsed clearing a path for the album to exist in its rightful place, as opposed to fighting for a voice at an overcrowded table. In hindsight, this final hurdle might have only existed because without it, there is no glory, no resolution, but as all the pieces click and we collectively cross the finish line, Patrick Conway’s once captive 'Cellular Housekeeping' is now truly released.

Red Vinyl

nown for her delicate compositions, soaked in dream-like surrealism, Icelandic musician Sóley has attracted a huge following since launching her solo career back in 2010. Her 2012 single ‘Pretty Face’ went on to generate an enormous amount of buzz, and quickly became a viral sensation. Now, with three solo LPs under her belt, Sóley is preparing to debut a completely new sound via the release of her new concept album, Mother Melancholia, on October 22nd.

Described by the artist as "Nosferatu meets Thelma and Louise in a vampire church under the watchful eye of David Lynch", Mother Melancholia is the soundtrack to the end of the world as we know it. As a self-confessed news addict, Sóley became obsessed with the idea that the world is ending. Having surrounded herself with real-life stories of global warming and patriarchal politics she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was going to die. This feeling was so all encompassing that it sparked the idea for a new project. Could there be a soundtrack for the last days of humans on earth? How would that sound?

“I read books about possible dystopian worlds and started writing poems about irrational and in love characters who live in gray and cold imaginary loneliness. In each other’s burning arms. Walking in circles with no way out” she explains. “After all, the album reflects our life here and now. Our life and reality is a kind of dystopian world.”

Whilst writing the album, which serves as a tongue-in-cheek eulogy to our planet, Sóley began reading about ecofeminism, a branch of feminism which uses the concept of gender to analyse the relationship between humans and the natural world. Ecofeminism emphasizes that both women and nature must be respected but also separated. Since the beginning of time, the natural world has been synonymous with female identity, phrases like Mother Nature are commonplace. “The patriarchy views women as volatile and hysterical. Earth and women are either our saviours or our destroyers,” explains Sóley. “It’s so easy to abuse the earth, like the patriarchy has abused women since the dawn of time, then ask for forgiveness afterwards and promise they´ll never do it again”.

The new album sees Sóley move away from the indie-pop of her previous releases. She began by experimenting with writing songs on the accordion, allowing her a new sense of freedom in her writing. The process allowed her to broaden her horizons even further and experiment with a whole range of new and exciting sounds. “I bought myself a theremin as I was really excited about the unpitched sound and there is no perfect pitch during the end of days,” she laughs. “I also bought a mellotron, my first moog and a cello and taught myself how to play each of them. All of these new instruments are particularly suitable for the kinds of aesthetic inconveniences which I have learned to embrace.”

Album opener ‘Sunrise Skulls’, one of the most cinematic moments on the album, was inspired by the Me Too and SlutWalk movements and tells the story of a group of women who rise up and fight the patriarchy. ‘Blows Up’, a track that would be at home on any horror soundtrack, is a sarcastic love letter from the Earth to humans. Standout track ‘Desert’ is an incredibly moving song dedicated to the next generation. “It’s about the guilt you feel, as a mother, for having children and leaving them on the frontline. My daughter, for example, will take over this inevitable war” explains Sóley.

In true soundtrack style, the album flows through the end of the world in chronological order, closing with the Earth’s final moments. ‘Sundown’ is a dark piano ballad detailing human kind’s final day on Earth. “And everyday, I dig my own grave, and as I dive in you´ll hold my hand” she sings, over twinkling piano and swirling synths. We then hear the world end on ‘XXX’, a dark and swirling soundscape that swells before fading to silence. On ‘Elegía’ the silence then turns to the sound of the ocean, as we hear the Earth, like a woman finally free from a violent relationship, healing on her own.

Mother Melancholia is the mark of an artist confidently striding into more experimental territory. With a lengthy and successful career behind her, Sóley felt compelled to try something new and express the real her. The music might be shrouded in darkness but it’s a move that fills her with joy and freedom. “I hope that people not only enjoy the new sound, but also that Mother Melancholia might raise some questions in people, particularly women,” she says. “I’m under no illusions that this album will change the world but I hope that people can connect with the idea”.

The first vinyl LP release from Fluxus pioneer Alison Knowles (b. 1933). Sounds from the Book of Bean is an assemblage of noises and texts related to The Book of Bean (1982), Knowles’ 8-foot tall walk-in book constructed at Franklin Furnace in New York. This recording, the sounds of making the big book, was continually played back inside of the installation. Echoes of Yoshi Wada hammering together the circular spine of the book, other collaborators mixing ink, feeding a horse, the flowing waters of the Hudson Valley... all superimposed with texts and poems read by Knowles and her daughter Jessica Higgins.

On the second side of the album, the piece Essential Divisions features Knowles performing with red, black, and white beans. Recorded in Annea Lockwood’s underground studio, Knowles sounds the beans in glass, ceramics, wood, as well as in her mouth. Further bean histories and sound poems are recited, concluding with “Popular Bean Soup” – an ancient recipe translated by George Brecht.

Knowles’ big books are, as she describes them, transvironments: a transformationally experienced environment. The phenomenological nature of her book is distilled aurally in the case of this record. As Knowles describes the end of her book, “the reader leaves via a ladder or out the window and through a muslin panel printed with contradictory wisdom concerning beans and dreaming… one can begin again either by going on or turning back.”

Originally published as a cassette in 1982 on the New Wilderness Audiographics label, this remastered edition has been transferred from original tapes. An expansive 20-page booklet is included, holding graphics and writings from Alison Knowles, George Quasha, and Charlie Morrow.

Recorded by Alison Knowles, 1980
Produced by Alison Knowles, Sean McCann, & Charlie Morrow
Design by Alison Knowles, cover image courtesy George Quasha
Jessica Higgins adds voice to tracks 1, 3, 4, 5

Have we ever needed great storytellers so badly? Voices to snap us out of our collective grey funk, to pull us out of our narrow, hemmed-in worlds and to lighten our days and enlighten us with their perspectives, Immersing us in their worldview and history. People who can make us laugh, cry, gasp or nod sagely, to see our world anew and not feel so alone. We need stories, vignettes, new windows to look out of, and narrators to help those new visions make sense.

In short, we need Scott Lavene. Born and raised in Essex, but a man of the world who has wandered far and wide, Lavene’s a storyteller who can capture all the madness, joy and frustration of life while singing about worms writhing in the ground. Lavene’s been in bands since his teens, but only really located the voice that makes his new album Milk City Sweethearts so remarkable – that combination of wry observation, humble wisdom, unguarded vulnerability and unpredictable humour – in a music workshop for alcoholics and addicts, long after he’d bid farewell to childhood dreams of pop stardom, and the ghosts and demons that accompany those dreams.

He released an album as Big Top Heartbreak, 2016’s Deadbeat Ballads, and followed it with his first album under his own name, 2019’s droll and marvellous Broke. “I was signed to a little label in Bristol, but then they went skint,” he remembers. This time, however, the disappointment didn’t shake his confidence or his resolve. “I started writing prose, like ‘flash fiction’, and I’ve begun a novel,” he says. “And I’ve started some creative writing workshops for people who’ve come out of my situation.”

Amid all this activity, the songs that became Milk City Sweethearts began to take shape. Lavene noticed the border between his prose and his songwriting beginning to become porous, and the album feels like a clutch of excellent short stories set to music. Without a label, he recorded the album at home, and assembled it in a week in his mum’s garage during lockdown’s heavy manners. It’s a warm, witty, charismatic record with a dark heart at the centre, Lavene sounding dislocated and therefore able to write his everyday stories with a left-handed brilliance and blunt honesty that keeps them so fresh, like classic Kinks, or David Bowie if he’d never had to go to space to feel otherworldly. His songs are talking blues, set to loose and minimal and excellent art-rock with a pop sensibility, the honk of Roxy sax and the guttural weird-funk of Ian Dury’s Blockheads haunting their grooves.

Have we ever needed great storytellers so badly? Voices to snap us out of our collective grey funk, to pull us out of our narrow, hemmed-in worlds and to lighten our days and enlighten us with their perspectives, Immersing us in their worldview and history. People who can make us laugh, cry, gasp or nod sagely, to see our world anew and not feel so alone. We need stories, vignettes, new windows to look out of, and narrators to help those new visions make sense.

In short, we need Scott Lavene. Born and raised in Essex, but a man of the world who has wandered far and wide, Lavene’s a storyteller who can capture all the madness, joy and frustration of life while singing about worms writhing in the ground. Lavene’s been in bands since his teens, but only really located the voice that makes his new album Milk City Sweethearts so remarkable – that combination of wry observation, humble wisdom, unguarded vulnerability and unpredictable humour – in a music workshop for alcoholics and addicts, long after he’d bid farewell to childhood dreams of pop stardom, and the ghosts and demons that accompany those dreams.

He released an album as Big Top Heartbreak, 2016’s Deadbeat Ballads, and followed it with his first album under his own name, 2019’s droll and marvellous Broke. “I was signed to a little label in Bristol, but then they went skint,” he remembers. This time, however, the disappointment didn’t shake his confidence or his resolve. “I started writing prose, like ‘flash fiction’, and I’ve begun a novel,” he says. “And I’ve started some creative writing workshops for people who’ve come out of my situation.”

Amid all this activity, the songs that became Milk City Sweethearts began to take shape. Lavene noticed the border between his prose and his songwriting beginning to become porous, and the album feels like a clutch of excellent short stories set to music. Without a label, he recorded the album at home, and assembled it in a week in his mum’s garage during lockdown’s heavy manners. It’s a warm, witty, charismatic record with a dark heart at the centre, Lavene sounding dislocated and therefore able to write his everyday stories with a left-handed brilliance and blunt honesty that keeps them so fresh, like classic Kinks, or David Bowie if he’d never had to go to space to feel otherworldly. His songs are talking blues, set to loose and minimal and excellent art-rock with a pop sensibility, the honk of Roxy sax and the guttural weird-funk of Ian Dury’s Blockheads haunting their grooves.

Bear's Sonic Journals: Johnny Cash, At the Carousel Ballroom, April 24, 1968 — Johnny Cash

There are records with empathy, records which are your friends and then there's the others... There might be little difference between them, a certain "je ne sais quoi", an "almost nothing but still something" which makes the difference between almost pointless and vital records. Despite, or rather thanks to his cynical despair, Matt Elliott's music never holds up a moralizing mirror to us - on the contrary, it creates a compassionate dialogue with listeners like the rhythm of two steps that synchronize to become as one. In 2016, Matt Elliot brought out his seventh solo album The Calm Before whose obscure title is neither exactly threatening nor comforting... the calm before what? Before the storm for sure but maybe also before the great record, the immediate classic we felt might be coming for a long time in the dual discography of the Bristol-born artist working under his own name and his electronic alias Third Eye Foundation. The elegant details and perspectives of Little Lost Soul (2000) already hinted at the upcoming masterpiece from the English singer-songwriter. The Mess We Made (2003) was Matt Elliott's first solo album and portrayed a universe in a kind of flight towards Balkan horizons made up of visceral despair. With the Songs trilogy, he put aside the electronic side of his work to continue working with a minimalist, stark and lucid style of writing. The Broken Man (2012) was full of tears and long laments sometimes carried by Katia Labèque's piano on a record which painted new shades of grey. On this record Matt began working with the producer, arranger and multi-instrumentalist David Chalmin (La Terre Invisible) who has kept on collaborating with the Bristol-born singer since then. Their partnership continued on Only Myocardial Infection Can Break Your Heart (2013) and The Calm Before (2016). Stéphane Grégoire is the head of the Ici D'Ailleurs label which has accompanied Matt Elliott since 2005 and perhaps he describes this album the best: "This new record by Matt is without a doubt his best album to date, a record that takes him into another dimension where he fully asserts himself as a songwriter and singer of the calibre of artists like Bill Callahan, Leonard Cohen or Johnny Cash." Matt Elliott's other records all seemed like empathic links between each other. Farewell To All We Know is an instant classic based on the sensitive piano and superb arrangements of David Chalmin, the sensitive cello of Gaspar Claus, the subtle bass of Jeff Hallam (who has also played with Dominique A and John Parish). There is a clear form of alchemy in all of this and still we find Matt Elliott's usual atmospheres and scenery, the same Eastern European folk music, long songs that take time to settle over time. Everything is the same but also is transfigured. By making his music stark and purifying and redefining the subject matter, Matt Elliott's work became so much more delicate. However this work is never frail nor really turned in on himself and thus becomes like a vital tune that vibrates and unfolds. The opening song Farewell To All We Know seems torn between the fear of what tomorrow may bring, inevitability and hope for the future in a permanent and progressive dramatic tension expressed by his Spanish guitar, the impressionist style piano and Matt's voice teetering on the edge of whispers. A funereal tribute to endless twilights and the dawns we all dream of seeing. There are touches of Leonard Cohen from Songs from a Room or Thanks For The Dance in The Day After That with Gaspar Claus's counterpoint cello. There is no spirit of resignation in Matt Elliott's work - life's path has to be followed against all odds. We have to follow the river's flow to reach the immense ocean and its infinite freedom. The haunted instrumental Guidance Is Internal harks back to the atmospheres of Howling Songs (2008) with its guitar parts full of scansions and muted threats. The music is transcendental but never seems afraid of the risk of falling. This is also what Bye Now tells us with its quasi-obsolete simplicity and sunburst melancholy reminiscent of the work of Luiz Bonfá, Bill Evans on Peace Piece or laidback crooners of the 50s. In Farewell To All We Know, Matt Elliott incessantly alternates between the dual desires to face up to the world or to protect himself from it. Hating The Player, Hating The Game is a lucid statement about the dullness of our daily lives sometimes, our right to get out of the game and no longer want to be part of it. Matt Elliott is tender but spares no one, particularly himself. Aboulia speaks of the tiredness of living and of looming death while Crisis Apparition says that there is always a time for reconstruction after chaos. This is like initially wearying wandering in the ruins of Aleppo with the slow dilution of the melody into a hallucinated drone. However the smell of great fires always fades and the earth always regenerates. Matt Elliott seems to suggest that the survival instinct is stronger than any cold winds could ever be. Matt Elliott never sings of certainties and prefers possibilities. Possibly the worst is over? Maybe... Maybe the storm has passed and devastated everything, now we just have to rebuild and live again. Farewell To All We Know shows us the distance that still needs to be walked and he walks next to you - right next to you, he is the friend who doesn't spare you the truth like all true friends really do.

Infamous Southern wrecking crew return with an all country & western album, marking their 25th anniversary. Features numerous guest legends from the Grand Ole Opry along with Jello Biafra. Join those Legendary Shack Shakers as they mark their 25th anniversary as a band on Planet Earth to celebrate the occasion, they’ve invited former members to help them record an all country & western album! From spaghetti western to bluegrass, western swing to rockabilly, Tex-Mex to country folk, the variety of the genre is on full display. Always ones to respect their history, the Shack Shakers have also included some Kentucky local legends to “pick and grin”. Hotshots such as Stanley Walker (Grand Ole Opry band leader for Jean Shepard and guitarist for Sun Studio’s “Rockin’ ” Ray Smith) and Jack Martin (dobro-player for Lester Flatt) really give those “young ‘uns” a run for their money. And the always-ornery “Hillbilly” Bob Prather (Louisiana Hayride fiddler and running buddy of Opry star Onie Wheeler) pitches in too. Just add The Dead Kennedys’ Jello Biafra, hillbilly royalty Chris Scruggs and an Old Crow Medicine Showman and you’ve got a recipe for what could only be a Legendary Shack Shakers masterpiece. Titling it Cockadoodledeux was done, admittedly, to bookend 2002’s Cockadoodle-Don’t, an album by which many fans were first made aware of the group. However, it also serves to signal the start of another twenty-five years! Just as the plucky, two-headed chick emerges from the egg on the cover, so too begins a fresh start for the band’s creative energies. Once again, generations of fans both young and old get to lean in, listen and expect the un-expected.

Brand New Tom Moulton Exclusive mixes
It's June 2020 and I'm on a video call with Tom Moulton. We're in the middle of a worldwide pandemic but life for Tom Moulton hasn't particularly changed a great deal. He's effectively been in self-isolation for most of his life wedded to the two things he likes most in life, namely, music and cats.

I've known Tom for almost 50 years. The first 20 of those years were spent listening to Tom's mixes, and I listened to everything he did (including all the un-credited stuff) and quickly realised he was the master. I wore all those 70s Trammps albums out very quickly. The dynamic on all those mixes was really off the scale. I eventually met Tom when I did Salsoul Mastercuts in the early 90s. Little did I realise I'd be working with the guy forevermore.

Over the last 30 years I've been fortunate enough to work with him on a variety of projects and all of them were fantastic experiences. Tom's what I call an original creative and the whole art of mixing is a very emotional thing for him. It made for some long conversations. We fall out all the time but I'm always there for him and he's always there for me. It's one of those annoying Master-Servant relationships. Plus I always need access to his archives.

Anyway Tom got access to the Spring/Event vaults and then started working. This project started almost four years ago and, typically in this day and age, went through a number of mutations and delays. We're lucky it's finally here.

I still listen to everything that Tom does. These mixes bring out aspects of the songs that I never properly listened to before and, in a couple of cases, had never even heard. Thus is the art of the creative remixer.

It's been particularly poignant talking to Tom throughout this pandemic. Tom is really the last survivor of his type. A master-craftsman using 80 years of skill and knowledge and who is every bit as passionate today, surrounded by his cats and computers, as he was in the 60s, surrounded by a coterie of young and adoring music fans.

Raised on the salted air and pebbled beaches amidst the faded seaside opulence of Brighton, Tigers & Flies spent much of their formative years building a friendship forged on a diet of the melodies and rhythms to be found deep within their parents’ wildly eclectic record collections. A worthy and noble pursuit for anyone, from those wonderfully endless hours, those bottomless cups of tea great ideas can flourish. Tigers and Flies are a great and flourishing idea.

From the bounce and sunny optimism of Orange Juice to the brutalist edge of Gang of Four. From XTC to Bacharach. Each listen offers more. A harmony appears where you’re convinced there wasn’t one before, or a rhythmic change you hadn’t noticed. A lyrical twist. Harmonies that seem to float in through an open window.

With "Broken Land" Daniel Nitsch presents the first album of his latest project "Hounah" - and thus grants a deep look into his feelings and thoughts. Pieces like "Sorrow", "Fairbanks" or "Norton Bay", which invite you trace inside, are accompanied by those that present Daniel's personal views on very political and generally relevant issues, presented in songs like "Revolution", "Guilty State" or "Cash For Your Home". They cover topics like racism and gentrification, deal with the burden that imperialism places on us. Ask for what a future could look like - and how it could successfully happen at all. Thus, Hounah is not a feel-good project, "Broken Land", the title suggests it, a profound, here and there even painful inventory, which wants to stimulate reflection and further thinking. Very diverse, thematically as well as musically – and created with great attention to detail. Listening closely allows light bulb effects in terms of content, but also in terms of sound, lets us walk in the footsteps of downbeat, hip-hop, trip-hop, ambient, electronica and jazz. Hounah quickly reveals here that they are not afraid of breaks, but are also capable of soulful fusions in sound collages. The circle of friends behind Hounah, consisting of producer Daniel Nitsch, pianist Johann Blanchard, singer Lena Schmidt and guitarist Marten Pankow, came together for the album "Broken Land" in order to immediately try out further alliances: two of the songs on the album were created in creative cooperation with A-F-R-O, the internationally known rapper from Los Angeles. And so it is little surprise that each song creates a new world of sounds and thoughts – and one suspects already after the first tracks that there is more waiting for us, that "Broken Land" will not remain Hounah’s last work.

Home to Cuca Records and hundreds of Nashville-fantasizing pluckers and singers, Wisconsin’s Driftless region was a hotbed of country music in the 1960s. Influenced by old-timey ethnic songs, Bakersfield outlaws, countrypolitan rainbows, and the lonesome twang of every rural route roadhouse, these 17 Driftless Dreamers washed up at Jim Kirchstein’s Sauk City record plant with little more than $100 and a longing. Collected here are the fruits of Cuca’s documentary approach to record making, capturing the voices and stories of a culture and glacier in abatement.

"Live in Paris" - Nathan Davis, (sax); Georges Arvanitas (p, org); Jack Diéval (p); Jacky Samson, Jacques Hess (b); Franco Manzecchi, Charles Saudrais (dr)

Style is not a given. Not many musicians reach the level of artistic personality where you can unmistakably recognize them. It takes character, roots, honesty, soulfulness. Nathan Davis had style.

His tone on tenor was unique. So was his soprano sound and his distinctive approach to flute. His musical world was equally original and knew no boundaries.

This concert in Paris is audible proof that as a performer, his fluid phrasing, distinct articulation, booming bottom register, growls and shrieks were fuelled by tremendous drive and furious invention - the man was on fire!

These live sessions demonstrate the limitless invention of Nathan’s solos. Holding no punches, weaving signature phrases, shouts and riffs into his solos, he was a fierce and fervid performer. With a sort of hollow resonance at the heart of his reedy and warm sound, Nathan Davis was a highly original artist, from an era when having a distinct sound on your instrument was the grail of jazz artistry. Harold Land, Jimmy Heath, John Gilmore, Paul Gonsalves, Charlie Rouse, George Coleman, Booker Ervin, Clifford Jordan ... Jazz is made of such giants and Nathan Davis was one of them.