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Black Swan is a 2010 American psychological thriller film directed by Darren Aronofsky and starring Natalie Portman, Vincent Cassel, Mila Kunis and Winona Ryder. The plot revolves around a production of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake ballet by a prestigious New York City company. Usually described as a psychological thriller, Black Swan can also be interpreted as a metaphor for achieving artistic perfection, with all the psychological and physical challenges one might encounter.

The original score for the film was composed by Clint Mansell, an English musician, composer, and former lead singer of the band Pop Will Eat Itself. Mansell was introduced to film scoring when director Darren Aronofsky hired him to score his debut film, Pi. Ever since Mansell wrote the score for many of Aronofsky’s films. Notable additional film scores include The Fountain, Moon, Smokin’ Aces, Requiem for a Dream, The Wrestler, Doom, and High-Rise.

Black Swan is available as a limited edition of 750 individually numbered copies on silver and black marbled vinyl and includes a 4-page booklet.

A new collaboration of Philoxenia Records founders Luigi Di Venere and Neu Verboten, Affekt Unit is informed by an aim to "spark new feelings on the dancefloor". The three track Discorgy EP celebrates their musical obsessions - Italo house, Frankfurt EBM-house and trance - with the result proving an electrifying crossover of these classic genres together with surprising new sounds. 'Oct-Opus' boasts a serious electro component, fused with progressive trance, UK bass, techno, transcendental rave and even a climactic outbreak of rave-era breaks. The title track 'Discorgy' draws from Euro dance and EBM, experimenting with a polyrhythmic bass line and bringing the kind of 'stadium house' that The KLF were always aiming for. Closing track 'Dreams Of Wrestlers' is cosmic house at its sweetest and beefiest, spruced here and there with Italo stabs and pianos, drum machine fills and some lovely subtle filtering. Not so much a case of something for everyone than everything from everyone, you might even say.

Active since 2013, Paisley Fields is a singer, songwriter, and bandleader
splitting time between Brooklyn, New York and Nashville, Tennessee.A
touring member of the newly reformed Lavender Country, Paisley also
played keyboard on their album "Blackberry Rose"
On his new album, "Limp Wrist", he draws inspiration from queer icon Andy
Warhol and the myriad drag artists with whom he's collaborated. His years of
experience in Manhattan piano bars did not diminish his love for country music,
and he released two albums that pay homage to the music of his youth.
"Limp Wrist" is an exploration of where rural queerness intersects religion.
Paisley's family were devout Catholics, and he served as the official church
pianist in his parish throughout his teens, playing every Sunday.
The songs on the album are deeply personal, and often touch on what it was like
to grow up closeted and queer in rural Iowa in the early 2000s. "Black Hawk
County Line" tells the story of Paisley being outed by a former friend his senior
year in high school, "Dial Up Lover" is about logging on to gay AOL chat rooms to
find other queers in the area, and "Plastic Rosary" recounts the experience of
being told he'll never get into heaven while praying the rosary.
The most personal and biographical moment comes during "Iowa", which
recounts the tragic murder of Matthew Shepard, and the visceral fear he had to
wrestle with since he was already aware of how different he was.
The album ends on an uplifting note, sharing a message of friendship and hope
with "Tomorrow Finds a Way".
The stories are his, but the feelings they convey - love, loneliness, lust, fear - are
still universal.
Pressed on Red color vinyl.

Dove Award-nominated band We Are Messengers, who has amassed over
187 million on-demand streams and played to over 2 million people
worldwide, is back with the brand-new album, 'Wholehearted', which
features current radio single "Come What May
" Lead singer Darren Mulligan shares, "Like most artists, our world kinda fell apart
when touring got shut down. So we did what every good songwriter should do, we
catalogued every feeing imaginable and tried to make sense of a strange new
world. We danced in the darkness, wrestled with doubt, reconnected with God in a
really authentic way, and found the beauty in the forced simplicity of our lives. We
gave ourselves fully to the process of telling the truth again and not caring about
what the world thought of us. This album captures the heart of a follower of
Jesus in one of the most wonderful and horrific times we have faced in modern
history. We went all in, held nothing back. This one is 'Wholehearted'."

Back in 2017, Moderat announced that they’d be taking an extended break following a final concert in front of 17.000 people in their hometown of Berlin. And now they return. MORE D4TA, the group’s fourth album, arrives more than six years after its predecessor (2016’s III). Created largely during a time when touring (and most traveling) was off the table, MORE D4TA is an album that wrestles with feelings of isolation and information overload—issues that have become particularly pronounced over the past two years. The ten songs on MORE D4TA are rooted in collaboration, but long before any of its tracks were laid down, Moderat spent months hanging out and getting musically reacquainted, indulging in extended bouts of experimentation and slowly fleshing out ideas as they dove into modular composition, field recordings and other sonic oddities.
But no matter how far the band ventures into music’s outer realms, they always wind up back in their own unique soundworld, a place where emotive pop and fluttering electronic soundscapes walk hand in hand. Many of its lyrics are rooted in Ring’s frequent trips to Berlin’s Gemäldegalerie museum (often with his infant daughter in tow), where he’d seek refuge in the great paintings of the past while worrying about the future.
What they make isn’t necessarily dance music, but it is something that shines brightest in the dark of night, the group’s rich melodies and Ring’s ethereal vocals emitting a warm, almost bioluminescent glow. After spending the better part of two decades making music together, they’ve carved out a sound and aesthetic that are all their own, and MORE D4TA showcases a group that’s creatively recharged and fully dedicated to its craft.

Deluxe Edition / LP+Poster

Back in 2017, Moderat announced that they’d be taking an extended break following a final concert in front of 17.000 people in their hometown of Berlin. And now they return. MORE D4TA, the group’s fourth album, arrives more than six years after its predecessor (2016’s III). Created largely during a time when touring (and most traveling) was off the table, MORE D4TA is an album that wrestles with feelings of isolation and information overload—issues that have become particularly pronounced over the past two years. The ten songs on MORE D4TA are rooted in collaboration, but long before any of its tracks were laid down, Moderat spent months hanging out and getting musically reacquainted, indulging in extended bouts of experimentation and slowly fleshing out ideas as they dove into modular composition, field recordings and other sonic oddities.
But no matter how far the band ventures into music’s outer realms, they always wind up back in their own unique soundworld, a place where emotive pop and fluttering electronic soundscapes walk hand in hand. Many of its lyrics are rooted in Ring’s frequent trips to Berlin’s Gemäldegalerie museum (often with his infant daughter in tow), where he’d seek refuge in the great paintings of the past while worrying about the future.
What they make isn’t necessarily dance music, but it is something that shines brightest in the dark of night, the group’s rich melodies and Ring’s ethereal vocals emitting a warm, almost bioluminescent glow. After spending the better part of two decades making music together, they’ve carved out a sound and aesthetic that are all their own, and MORE D4TA showcases a group that’s creatively recharged and fully dedicated to its craft.

Kristine Leschper's The Opening, Or Closing Of A Door, is a paean to the
sensory world and is the first Leschper has released under her given
name, having retired the moniker Mothers after eight years of performing
and releasing music under it
Though both projects are guided by Leschper's idiosyncratic approach to
songwriting, they couldn't sound more different. While Mothers drew inspiration
from the stark, skeletal sounds of post-punk and contemporary folk, Leschper's
new work is practically baroque, integrating an array of synthesizers, strings,
woodwinds, and over a dozen percussive instruments.
The at-home recording process gave Leschper freedom to set her personal ethos
to music divorced from the pressure of an audience. As she worked on The
Opening, Or Closing Of A Door, the constellation of ideas that had guided her
personal transformation began to cohere into something communicable through
music

First and foremost, deathcrash approached the task of putting together their debut album as music lovers. To all four members, a good album seemed to stamp out periods of their life, capturing a time, a feeling, a mood. This was their approach when trying to make whole two-years-worth of fragmented songwriting. Their songs may differ from each other in certain ways, but they manage to conjure similar feelings. ‘Return’ captures many of the difficult moments of the last couple years in the band members’ personal lives and yet, as a whole its complexity emerges as a beautiful and hopeful message. Amongst other things, writing the album was a cathartic process for the band, and so it can be for the listener too. The first parts of ‘Return’ came from quite a dark and jaded place. To get better can be a path marred by self-sabotage and a desire to hide. It can be easier to have no faith in something new, and rely on the comfort of an old feeling, even if it hurts. There is a reassurance in pain, a familiarity in its narrative. Return asks when things heal, where does the wound go? deathcrash recorded Return with their close friend and producer Ric James, who they’ve worked with since their early recordings. The album was recorded live, with an emphasis on dynamics, bringing together tense intimacy with atmospheric vastness. The members brought things to light they previously hadn’t, and shared words, riffs, ideas and thoughts for the first time. Each band member is able to see something that the others can’t, and write something unique. For deathcrash that is where the magic of making the album happens, when it clicks for everyone. As the album took form, a lot went on, and in many ways deathcrash got back in touch with a newer, more open feeling, sometimes happy, sometimes fearful. Something good returned that had previously been lost, and this is captured on the album. The album aims not to romanticise a dark place however, being equally about hope and renewal.

"We all know what teenagers are like. Bratty little gobshites. Moody shits. Forever toeing the line between cocky arrogance and whiny self-doubt, and to hell with anyone who gets caught in the crossfire. And this old fucker should know; he was really good at all of the above (still keeping on top of the ‘gobshite’ part, you’ll notice). For some reason, the entirety of rock’n’roll is predicated on music made for and about these states of mind - well, I guess if you mix ‘em all together, they can make for one helluva sense of reckless abandon. So it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Melbourne quartet Mr Teenage sound exactly like their name suggests: chaotic, raw, emotionally volatile… and of course they bind all this together with their own brand of heroically melodic garage rock. Produced by Billy Gardener (of Ausmuteants, Smarts, Cereal Killer and god knows how many other vital Aus-punx), this debut EP snarls, spits and swaggers with all the glorious self-belief of a drunken 4am stumble to the petrol station to buy a pack of skins. And the songs are fucking great too. Title track ‘Automatic Love’ expertly showcases the combined sounds of their cited influences (Thin Lizzy, Dictators, Martha Reeves, etc), with frontman Nic Imfeld’s voice at times edging close to the sandpaper soul of their countryman Shogun (ex-Royal Headache). Meanwhile ‘Waste Of Time’ sees him blending their garage licks with Joey Ramone bubblegum, just as ‘The Loser’ fashions a delightfully adolescent chorus of ‘the loser says what?’ from an airy melody that either The Shangri-Las or Del Shannon would be proud of. They wrap things up with another slab of pure punk/pub rock genius called ‘Kids’ that’ll get the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end, as you fight the urge to crank-call your former school teachers and blame the kid who used to take your lunch money. Of course, singing about ‘kids these days’ marks Mr Teenage out as being older than their name suggests, and sure enough their name comes from an old wrestler rather than identifying with an age bracket they’ve outgrown. But with tunes like this… honestly, who gives a fuck what they’re called? This record is perfect." Will Fitzpatrick.

Written and recorded over the past year, Penny and Sparrow’s remarkable new album, Olly Olly, is a work of liberation and revelation, a full-throated embrace of the self from a band that’s committed to leaving no stone unturned in their tireless quest for actualization. The songs here are fearless and introspective, embracing growth and change as they reckon with desire, intimacy, doubt, and regret, and the arrangements are similarly bold and thoughtful, augmenting the duo’s rich, hypnotic brand of chamber folk with electronic flourishes and R&B grooves. The duo — Andy Baxter and Kyle Jahnke — produced Olly Olly themselves, working on their own without an outside collaborator for the first time, and the result is the purest, most authentic act of artistic self-expression the pair have ever achieved. “Andy and I talk about the process of making this record like a sort of musical Rumspringa,” Jahnke says. “It was an opportunity to truly become ourselves, to evolve outside of the roles we’d been put in — or put ourselves in — because of the way we’d grown up.” Texas natives Baxter and Jahnke first crossed paths at UT Austin, where they developed a fast friendship and a deeply symbiotic musical connection. Jahnke was a gifted guitarist with an ear for melody, Baxter, an erudite lyricist with a mesmerizing voice and crystalline falsetto, and the duo quickly found that their vocals blended together as if they’d been singing in harmony their whole lives. Beginning with 2013’s ‘Tenboom,’ the staunchly DIY pair released a series of critically lauded records that garnered comparisons to the hushed intimacy of Iron & Wine and the adventurous beauty of Bon Iver, building up a devoted fanbase along the way through relentless touring and word-of-mouth buzz. NPR praised the band’s songwriting as a “delicate dance between heartache and resolve,” while Rolling Stone hailed their catalog as “folk music for Sunday mornings, quiet evenings, and all the fragile moments in between.” The duo’s most recent album, 2019’s Finch, marked a turning point in their career, pushing their sound to experimental new heights as it wrestled with notions of masculinity and religion and transformation in deeper, more personal ways than ever before. The record debuted at #2 on the Billboard Heatseekers Chart and was met with a rapturous response from critics and audiences alike, racking up more than 40 million streams on Spotify and earning the band their biggest headline tour to date.

Marshall McLuhan’s famous edict ‘the medium is the message’ has never been more apt than with regard to modern remix culture. Although the idea of the remix goes way back to the Jamaican dub pioneers and New York disco remixers of the 1970s, the form didn’t truly come into its own until the acid house explosion of the 1980s, when remixers’ credentials often subsumed — and sometimes surpassed — the original source material. Some, among them our lost friend Andrew Weatherall, used remixing as a springboard into multiple other directions, and became auteurs in their own right.

Forged in the white-hot heat of post-acid house Britain, these Heavenly remixes are perfectly weighted with respect and irreverence, the remixer in each case carefully chosen to add heft to the song (as on Al Breadwinner’s dubwise reworking of Mattiel’s ’Guns of Brixton’— the pairing more a game of chess than a best-of-three arm wrestle).

Although Heavenly was founded in the wake of huge upheavals in electronic music, it was still imbued with its own curious parallel life. I’ve always thought of Heavenly as one of the UK’s alt-pop labels; a place where brilliant pop bands live and record, if the general public would only realise. Some of them have ended up in the real, actual charts (Saint Etienne, Doves), but that’s missing the point about Heavenly, who are, like Factory and Fast Product before them, pop music’s conscience.

There is no sense of order to this compilation and we make no apologies. It’s the Heavenly way. Think of it as a present from Loki, the Norse god of mischief. You’ll find a smattering of older tracks: album openers Saint Etienne are taken on a Poseidon Adventure with Underworld, who inject ‘Cool Kids of Death’ with typically manic energy. Elsewhere, ’90s Brum duo Mother add dancefloor pzazz to Espiritu’s innate glamour on an all-funked-up reworking of ‘Los Americanos’, and Mark Lusardi’s remix of Moonflowers’ ‘Get Higher’ is an early Heavenly classic.

On ‘Terracotta Warrior’, a perfect, psyched-out, Mancunian union is created betwixt Jimi Goodwin and Andy Votel, whilst Goodwin cohort Simon Aldred, in his Cherry Ghost guise, receives a proper Tamla-Motowning from Richard Norris (aka Time & Space Machine) on an inspired cover of Cece Peniston’s glam-house hit, ‘Finally’.

There are several of Heavenly’s current darlings here too. One of the most exciting young British prospects, Yorkshire’s Working Men’s Club, effectively remix themselves, as Minsky Rock — WMC’s Syd Minsky-Sargeant and producer Ross Orton — cleave ‘X’ into a riotous industrial racket. Jagwar Ma’s Jono Ma takes the Kraftwerkian leitmotif on ‘Automatic’ and drives the Australian jazz-funkers Mildlife down an electro-convulsive psychedelic tunnel (thankfully no-one was harmed during the making of this remix); Sheffield’s DJ Parrot and Jarvis Cocker deliver one of the outstanding remixes of 2018, turning Baxter Dury’s ‘Miami’ into a lovelorn minor opera; and, making its first appearance on vinyl, David Holmes’ Unloved project is taken on a panoramic Welsh waltz thanks to Gwenno.


There may well be no rhyme, nor reason, to how these compilations have been put together, beyond the fact that they are assembled with love, an innate understanding of the power of great pop music, and a skilled marriage of song and remixer — but does one really need anything more than that for an album to make sense? I’d suggest not.

LIMITED RED VINYL.

“I think my music provides space for me to say the things I can’t always say in real life.” says Virginia native songwriter and multi-media artist Corrinne James. “That’s what I love about songwriting—There’s room in music for all of the conversations that can’t exist in reality.”

While studying New Media and Cinematography at the University of Virginia, James created a secret Bandcamp under the alias Naomi Alligator, and began uploading her intimate home recordings online. Inspired by the sparse and confessional qualities of Liz Phair’s early portastudio recordings, James decided to create her own musical journal to share and process personal anecdotes.

Her modern folk production and poetic songwriting links the sounds of classic folk artists like Joan Baez and Steeleye Span to a 21st century context. James wrestles with guilt, purpose, and jealousy through vivid narratives in the songs that make up her vast self-releases. This fall, five years since her first upload and over a dozen releases later, James will share her new four-track EP, Concession Stand Girl, while making her debut on Carpark.

On the title track for Concession Stand Girl that opens the EP, James sings the inner monologue of an unappreciated ticket-taker at a high school football game. James plucks a sparkly banjo and sings details of the concession stand girl’s relationship to each of the spectators who must go through her to enter the game. “Although seemingly insignificant, the concession stand girl must interact with each spectator as they enter the football game. Despite being unable to physically see the game, inside of her head she narrates her relationship to the people at the game.” The track “Anywhere Else” sits in contrast to the rest of the EP, being the only song where James plays guitar instead of banjo.

The last song written for the EP, “Anywhere Else” describes the tense emotions that come from comparing yourself to others in the eyes of your partner. “The protagonist is convincing herself, as well as her partner, that she could leave at any moment. She doesn’t want to be taken for granted anymore.” “Big Blue World” is a touching closer to the EP, where James sings about finding her way back to the place that feels most like home. James examines the fleeting nature of ambition and asks what really creates the feeling of contentment. Describing the song’s lyrics James says, “You can achieve everything you want, but sometimes it doesn’t feel like anything compared to just feeling at home and feeling who you are deep down.”

The War On Drugs first studio album in four years, ‘I Don’t Live Here Anymore’. Over the last 15 years, The War on Drugs have steadily emerged as one of this century’s great rock and roll synthesists, removing the gaps between the underground and the mainstream, between the obtuse and the anthemic, making records that wrestle a fractured past into a unified and engrossing present. The War On Drugs have never done that as well as they do with their fifth studio album, ‘I Don’t Live Here Anymore’, an uncommon rock album about one of our most common but daunting processes—resilience in the face of despair.



Just a month after The War On Drugs’ ‘A Deeper Understanding’ received the 2018 Grammy for Best Rock Album, the core of Granduciel, bassist Dave Hartley, and multi-instrumentalist Anthony LaMarca retreated to upstate New York to jam and cut new demos, working outside of the predetermined roles each member plays in the live setting. These sessions proved highly productive, turning out early versions of some of the most immediate songs on ‘I Don’t Live Here Anymore’. It was the start of a dozen-plus session odyssey that spanned three years and seven studios, including some of rock’s greatest sonic workshops like Electric Lady in New York and Los Angeles’ Sound City. Band leader Adam Granduciel and trusted co-producer/engineer Shawn Everett spent untold hours peeling back every piece of these songs and rebuilding them.



One of the most memorable sessions occurred in May 2019 at Electro-Vox, in which the band’s entire line-up — rounded out by keyboardist Robbie Bennett, drummer Charlie Hall, and saxophonist Jon Natchez — convened to record the affecting album opener “Living Proof.” Typically, Granduciel assembles The War On Drugs records from reams of overdubs, like a kind of rock ‘n’ roll jigsaw puzzle. But for “Living Proof,” the track came together in real time, as the musicians drew on their chemistry as a live unit to summon some extemporaneous magic. The immediacy of the performance was appropriate for one of the most personal songs Granduciel has ever written.



The War On Drugs’ particular combination of intricacy and imagination animates the 10 songs of ‘I Don’t Live Here Anymore’, buttressing the feelings of Granduciel’s personal odyssey. It’s an expression of rock ’n’ roll’s power to translate our own experience into songs we can share and words that direct our gaze toward the possibility of what is to come.

Tonnon produced the album with longtime collaborator, and The Beths’ guitarist and producer, Jonathan Pearce. Tonnon wrote the bulk of the songs during an extensive period of touring after the release of Successor - a period where Tonnon performed with Nadia Reid in Europe, The Veils in the USA, and The Chills, The Phoenix Foundation and Don McGlashan in New Zealand. The pair workshopped songs between tours, often recording new parts as the live versions developed.

Tonnon and Pearce recorded between 2017 and 2020, and in that time, Tonnon’s practise evolved heavily. He incorporated new technology into his set, including the Wellington-designed Synthstrom Deluge, which allowed him to adapt his set for new performance environments;Art Galleries, Museums, even New Zealand Fashion Week. He took that technology further when he collaborated with the Otago Museum on the immersive show for Planetariums, A Synthesized Universe, which travelled to Arts Festivals around New Zealand in 2019.

Creating a music video for ‘Old Images,’ which explored a lost passenger train network, Tonnon came to the idea for a new experience-based show called Rail Land. It took audiences on railways to reach distant community halls around Aotearoa. The show saw Tonnon combine historical research and spoken word narrative, with the immersive lighting and musical technology he developed for A Synthesized Universe. In March, Rail Land finished a three-night run at Auckland Arts Festival, cementing Tonnon’s move to the concept show.

Over time, Tonnon and Pearce’s production moved further from the traditional rhythm sections that powered songs like Successor’s ‘Water Underground.’ In their place came off kilter electronic rhythms, like the beat in ‘Two Free Hands,’ and textures that blur lines between organic and synthesized sound. Guitars are set against synthesizers, and drums against drum machines in ‘Entertainment’ and ‘Peacetime Orders,’ which Tonnon also used in his soundtrack for RNZ’s 80s spy-themed podcast The Service. In ‘Leave Love Out Of This,’ a ballad starts with a piano and a string quartet, but ends in a wall of electronic sound.

The constant has been Tonnon’s lyrics. Whether singing about evolution and the future of work in ‘Two Free Hands,’ the television industry in ‘Entertainment,’ or environmental disaster and regulatory failure in ‘Mataura Paper Mill,’ Tonnon has followed a distinct approach to subject matter, description and phrasing that have seen him longlisted for the APRA Silver Scroll three times.

Tonnon’s explorations of local government and civic infrastructure in his work - an unusual preoccupation for a songwriter, have taken new meaning in his adopted home of Whanganui, where last year, he was elected by councillors as Whanganui District Council’s representative for public transport.

After Tonnon moved to Whanganui, and Pearce toured almost constantly after the success of The Beths’ first album, the pair conducted their collaboration over distance, but with key sessions at Pearce’s Karangahape Road studio, including drums and bass with long time band members Stuart Harwood and David Flyger, a string quartet led by Charmian Keay and arranged by Matthew Bodman, and additional drums with The Beths’ Tristan Deck.

As Leave Love Out Of This is released, Tonnon and Pearce find themselves in very different places to where they started, working on Auckland’s Karangahape Road, close to the venues like Wine Cellar and Whammy Bar where they regularly performed. Back in New Zealand since Covid, Pearce has had to adjust to being in one of Aotearoa’s best-known bands, while Tonnon, when not working on conceptual shows, wrestles with how to restore civic infrastructure to a post industrial city in the regions.

Created over a life-altering period of, Leave Love Out Of This is the culmination of years of experimentation and development - with new technology, new sounds, and new ways of creating, and performing music.

Black Truffle is very proud to present Peaks by Australian cellist Judith Hamann, her debut release of electro-acoustic music. Known mostly for her live performance work with composers including Sarah Hennies, Yvette Janine Jackson, Alvin Lucier, Tashi Wada, and La Monte Young, here she steps away from the cello, moving into an intimate dreamscape woven from recordings gathered over years of itinerant touring.

Peaks is a work in two distinct parts, crossfading between different landscapes and apertures; from rooftop to church, from stasis to flares of momentary romanticism. Peaks considers summits as being both above and below, reframing the idea of apex from a more intimate perspective. Hamann considers how our domestic and personal geographies might form their own apogees, meridians, or nadirs.

Assembled in 2019 while an artist in residence in Krems, Austria, Peaks begins with Hamann’s more familiar cello but soon unravels into resonant electronic interiors; Southern California nightscapes heard through windows, San Francisco bathroom fans, snatches of recordings of friends, hand organs, and engines. signal/centinela draws primarily on recordings from Hamann’s time living in San Diego, and carries with it a certain sense of nostalgia in the sense of homesickness, longing, and displacement of distance and time. Side B is composed from recordings gathered on a different continent, Europe, weaving piano with recordings of sleep, breath, church organ, and the act of climbing. under/over emerges as it recedes, overlapping moments of arrival to create another kind of ‘spire’ in the sense of spir (breath). Peaks, with its omission of any recordings from Hamann’s home of Australia, hints at how the very construction of home itself, might be restless, untethered, changeable, and malleable.

On Peaks, Hamann interrogates tropes of ambient concrète musics, intentionally pivoting formally around material which teeters on the edge of cliche. This exploration asks whether familiar frames of harmony, field recordings and narrative trajectories can excavate new territories, or be ruptured. Peaks untangles a very personal sense of tension between beauty and shame in experimental music: treating lushness and harmony as possessing potentially muscular musical properties that might wrestle with or construct senses of belonging and home.

Repress

First up is a reinvention from Coby Sey - the Lewisham, South London musician who's founded the Curl collective alongside Mica Levi and Brother May and collaborated with Babyfather, Klein and Tirzah, noted as one of the 50 best new artists of 2019 by the guardian. The tone and atmospherics of the original’s combination of synthesiser and woodwind are sliced into ghostly, mesmeric fragments and refitted in layers around loping, propulsive rhythms with something like UKG's steppiness - languid despite being uptempo, bright and almost gleeful despite the inescapable mournfulness of the source material.

Who’s The Technician? of Ireland's Wah Wah Wino label - turns in a remix that wrestles with the original over seven- and-a-half-minutes of relentlessly captivating deep digi-dancehall, less of a remix than a rebirth cycle, with the latent soul-splitting lament of Kolida Babo’s duduk copy-pasted onto a delirious mercurial lead rotating through hedonistic ecstasy and burnout, a snake-eating-its-own-tail of a version cracking open the third eye with a crowbar, plus a post- apocalyptic, ruthlessly space-invading dub that blasts the remix’s scale out to the starkest retreats of the universe in search of...

Official Mr Bongo 7” Hip Hop Reissue.

Craft a record iconic enough and, no matter what you’ve sampled to make it, you’re destined to be sampled more yourself. It helps if you’ve got Rakim’s voice, of course. When he and Eric B went into Power Play Studios in New York in 1987 to record ‘I Ain’t No Joke’, their next move was highly anticipated due to the critical success of the duo’s first record, ‘Eric B. Is President’. Rakim was already seen as a masterful MC with a distinctive slow, baritone flow and seamless access to a rich vein of words not often heard in hip-hop.

People’s first exposure to this track was on the landmark ‘Paid in Full’ album, and it was clear this had the potential to jump off as a single. The repetitive, simply scratched sample of ‘Pass the Peas’ by the JB’s was an infectious ear worm that needed a truly strong MC to stand up to it. He did more than that – here Rakim spun timeless lyrics and lines that would go on to be sampled and referred to dozens of times down through hip-hop history. He took one of rap’s great instrumentals and wrestled it to the floor.

Of course, you can’t have Eric B & Rakim without Eric B. The DJ gets his time to shine on the flip, and while he isn’t a man renowned for his dexterity and turntablist skills, the track still knocks. Maybe it’s because Eric B has already realised what many would come to work out later: If you haven’t got Rakim on your record, at least scratch his vocals. This re-release comes with a brand new cover utilising some of Dan Lish’s trademark artwork.

Emotional Rescue returns to the music of British "pop" band Furniture, with an EP of the band's own extended versions, remixes and unreleased takes of their particular output.

Taken from three 12"s that followed When The Boom Was On (ERC072), the songs included cast a light on their development from 3 to 5 piece, adding Sally Still (bass) and Maya Gilder (keyboards) and the new male/female frontline. The subsequent broadening of their line-up and sound meant they could start to address the kind of pop music they wanted to play.

After the early releases garneered radio play and reviews, Furniture were launched into the melee of '80s pop. An anomaly, the band found they attracted a specific kind of "intense" follower, who were often beguiled by Furniture's freaky normality. This was addressed on the 1984 release, 'I Can't Crack'. A more urgent version of the sound Furniture had debuted with 'Why Are We In Love', the track, sung by Tim, was based around a sequencer-like rhythm played live by drummer Hamilton Lee, and a clarinet part played by Tim's brother, Larry Whelan. A mix of bleakness and euphoria, the song was and is a favourite of the band and considered one of their best self-productions, as well as becoming a latter day club play.

This is followed by the studio experiment 'Throw Away The Script', where the band wrestled with sequencers and synth-pop, but then countered it with a free-jazz sax solo. Found on the flip of the double A -side of 'Love Your Shoes' 12", this instrumental version too became an underground club hit, including a cult play at Fran Lenaer's influential Valencia club, Spook Factory. Played loud, the studio mastery, trickery and oft-accidental discoveries come to the fore, with tissue-damaging frequencies giving extra sound system shaking bottom end.

The B-side continues the band's love of making extended mixes with 'Dancing The Hard Bargain'. Co-produced with Tim Parry (formerly of Blue Zoo), they threw everything at these 12" versions. Able to relax and focus on the sounds they really liked, rather than the ones thought more commercial, this can be clearly heard on this compelling, percussive mix, a stop-start breakdown becoming a band hallmark.
To close this collection is the mammoth 'Bullet'. Again sung by Whelan, an edited version of which debuted on the 1986 Survival compilation of Furniture tracks called 'The Lovemongers', here this previously unreleased original take is centred on a mesmeric tape loop, live drums and a guest appearance by violinist Helena Bjorelius.

Opening track 'In The B' kicks off proceedings in no uncertain fashion. It's 100% wall shaker material, the type of techno music best paired with strobe lights and towering speaker stacks. It mesmerises with its low-slung undulating bassline and Detroit rhythms before giving way to some riotous old school Essex stabs and sharp claps. No messing, this is a certified 3 AM red light burner! Track 2 'Chocolate Biscuit' accelerates proceedings! Beginning with unfussy drums and a robotic, bleep-heavy melody driving it off into a wonderfully off-kilter direction. Its arpreggio'd rhythms may be brutish and wrestle a growling sense of menace out of the track, but the overall feel, however, suggests considerable care and attention has been paid to make it sound this way. There's clearly an uncommon musicality at play here to make something this complex feel so simple.
The BPM drops next on 'Jenny's Hall' but from the offset, there's enough funk and thrust in the motorised synth line to get bodies gently grooving without the beauty getting lost in the slower loop. This is blissed out, psychotropic techno - the kind of track where it feels like you're floating and falling at the same time, but all the while making sure you still remain fit for purpose on the dancefloor. Ian Blevins takes on remix duties this time and the Berlin-based DJ/producer offers up a sleek peak-time banger that fizzes, bubbles and percolates. He gives the rhythm on 'Jenny's Hall' less space to swing and ties it to a tight motorik beat turning it into a slice of shiny, modern techno but with extra shoulder-checking force. Its vibe drawing from a sense of outsider-party fun with a wry smile, and a knowing wink running throughout before bringing the package to a suitably left of field crescendo.

"Feeling numb from all the electronic dancemusic coming out, moaning about how its become a bit samey, or are you just tired of your shitster friends saying its not like in the 90's anymore. This record will shut everyone in the room up. A1 is a deeply psychotic acid death march into confusion, so minimal and primitive (kick, snare, acidsquelch) it will challenge every beard and armpit and might even hypnotize the dj to the point he cannot mix in the next one. A2 is a straight up Commodore 64 SID track with mongoloid data elephants tooting over a wobbly and tarded electroish beat. B1 is a dystopic dreamy rave stomper, starting out kinda datacuddly but gets more and more serious, with choirs of fable mooers taking you into that virtual bad trip you need. b2 continues as expected with more c64 SID madness, so snary I cant even determine if its in 115 or 230bpm. But it leaves you with the feeling your ears and mind just been wrestled, smacked and poked at, and thats the point. This is no record for the safing chickenshit DJ." - /DJ Joakim Cosmo, Sweden.