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World Of Echo announces the reissue of two remastered albums by Japanese guitarist and songwriter Naoki Zushi, 1988’s Paradise, and 2005’s III. Two classics of Japanese psychedelia, both Paradise and III were originally released on Org Records, the imprint of Shinji Shibayama of acid-folk group Nagisa Ni Te, with whom Zushi has guested on second guitar for decades. Both intimate and expansive, rich with revelatory songwriting and blasted, sky-scouring guitar, these reissues return these albums to print for the first time since the 2000s. It’s the first time III has been officially released on vinyl, with an extra, previously unreleased track, “Under The June Moonlight.”

Recorded in Kyoto’s Townhouse Studios in mid 1987 and released in limited-to-500 vinyl pressing in 1988, Paradise emerged from a scene in Kansai, Japan that was embracing the idiosyncracies of 1970s singer-songwriters, the soaring solos of early seventies psychedelia, and the DIY impulse of 1980s post-punk. While Zushi’s musical history stretched back to the early eighties – he was a founding member of Jojo Hiroshige’s noise outfit Hijokaidan – he found his feet with groups like Hallelujahs, whose dream-pop collection Niku O Kuraite Chikai Wo Tateyo was recently reissued by Black Editions, and Idiot O’Clock.

Paradise appeared two years after that Hallelujahs album and share much the same membership – Zushi’s backing band on several of the songs includes Shibayama on drums and Ken-Ichi Takayama (aka Idiot) on electric guitar, though just as often, Zushi plays all the instruments himself. The coordinates here are wide-reaching – you can hear the volume and intensity of Neil Young & Crazy Horse (on “Hallelujah: Left Side” and “Paradise: Midday”), the slow-motion magic of Galaxie 500, the idiosyncratic spirit of The Only Ones, all mixed up with tender guitar miniatures and stumbling garage-psych-pop moves.

Seven years later, after the transitional album Phenomenal Luciferin, Zushi released III. Perhaps his masterpiece, it’s already been bootlegged on vinyl, but this reissue is the real deal. The album was recorded at Studio Nemu over seven years, and sees Zushi backed by Shibayama (bass) and Masako Takeda (drums), his erstwhile bandmates in Nagisa Ni Te. By this stage, Zushi had started to really stretch out, and many of the songs on III swoon languorously, taking their sweet time to say what they need to say. It’s rich with lovely, melancholy songs, in a similar realm to bandmates Nagisa Ni Te, of course, but you can also hear traces of everything from Syd Barrett’s The Madcap Laughs, through seventies private press loner folk, to the slow-burn meanderings of the likes of early Low or Damon & Naomi.

When interviewed by Shibayama in the mid-nineties, Zushi said of Paradise, “it was a sort of collection of songs that had meant something to me up to that point… it was my paradise. I wanted to create paradise.” That’s something Zushi achieves on both of these albums – visionary Japanese psychedelia, en route to paradise. - Jon Dale







g Under The June Moonlight vinyl only bonus track

“'Lyceum' is a fountainhead of unqualified greatness. It’s a strange, sad sound harking back to old school tunesmanship – Aztec Camera, ‘Rattlesnakes’, prime-time Felt – but the whole affair is permeated with a resonant, almost tearful quality. ‘Lyceum’ is reminiscent of Galaxie 500’s ‘Today’ in that it sounds like it cost less than a round of drinks to produce. But the lo fi sound merely enhances the misty glazed-pop sound and raises the hallelujah choruses to the forefront. Rather than drowning them in production mush. Don’t pass it by”.
– Bob Stanley, Melody Maker 1989
Hailing from the suburbs of Glasgow, this five-piece are best known for their three starry-eyed albums on the renowned Sarah Records - this being an expanded version of their first (an eight-track 10” at the time).
By the tail end of the 1980s the independent music scene in the UK was turning its back on the polish and over-indulgence of the mid-80s with its gated drums and wallpaper production. And those who weren’t stretching the boundaries of sonic innovation had tuned back to the post-punk ethos of ramshackle charm and zealous melody, even dousing the spirit with some political fervour once more. Influences were more likely to be Television and the Television Personalities than MTV.
The Orchids and The Sea Urchins were the first two bands to release 7” singles on the Sarah label having previously begun their recording existence on a shared flexi disc in 1987 (The Sea Urchins went on to become Delta, whose classic album ‘Slippin' Out’ from 2000 will be the second release on Circuitry). The Scottish five-piece released ‘I’ve Got a Habit’ and ‘Underneath the Window, Underneath the Sink’ as EPs before really finding their feet with ‘Lyceum’; the tracks, remastered from the original Toad Hall tapes are included on this reissue as are the three songs from the ‘What Will We Do Next?’ 7” (this collection closes with the frazzled stretch that is ‘Yawn’). 'Lyceum' was originally released in August 1989.
The album opens with ‘It’s Only Obvious’ and its gloriously youthful chorus of “who needs tomorrow when all I need, all I needed was you”. James Hackett somehow appears both forthright and rejected, something that one of their musical heroes The Go-Betweens also had down to a fine art. It barely takes a breath until midway through side two where ‘Hold On’ (sounding suspiciously like an unlikely objective) descends into the intro of ‘Blue Light’, the counted-in ‘1, 2, 3, 4’ whispered like the most hopelessly dejected rally. If that sounds depressing it isn’t. This record by The Orchids was a spirited source of comfort for an 18 year old at the time and still shudders with the best type of melancholy, one that’s spirited not indulgent. If you’re not familiar with the band’s charm, this is where you should begin.
'Lyceum' is released on double black vinyl by new label Circuitry.

Japan’s electronic music scene has always stood out as uniquely distinctive. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, a wave of underground projects, bands, and independent labels—primarily based in Tokyo and Osaka—began crafting their own sound. Inspired by the post-punk, new wave, and experimental movements emerging from Europe and North America, these artists embraced a DIY ethic, using whatever technology they had access to in order to forge something entirely their own.

This movement, often referred to as the "Nippon-wave" scene, remained largely hidden from the outside world. Many of its releases—on cassette tapes, flexi-discs, and privately pressed vinyl—were never distributed beyond Japan’s borders, making them rare treasures for the few who managed to discover them. “Nihon No Wave” presents a selection of these long-overlooked recordings, making them accessible to listeners beyond Japan for the first time.

20,000 fans were there for The Beatles’ first appearance in Canada at the open-air Empire Stadium, Vancouver. The boys’ set lasted just under half an hour and they forgot to play ‘I Want To Hold Your Hand’. The show was broadcast live by local radio station CKWX and the engineer only got the balance right on the fourth song, the vocals on the previous songs had too much distortion. It almost didn’t happen as the airline pilot didn’t have the correct paperwork for entering Canada, and the group only got to the venue at 9.15pm. The fans loved it but the critics were less impressed. “Seldom in Vancouver’s entertainment history have so many paid so much for so little” said Jack Wasserman, covering for Owl Prowl radio show.

Nu-hardcore quintet, Bodyweb, are the sound of someone’s nervous system on the verge of breakdown—hyperactive, tormented and unflinchingly vulnerable. Born out of the Leeds hardcore scene, they’re a shape-shifting alloy of jagged emotion and precision chaos. What began as late-night jams between Louis Hardy (Higher Power, Big Cheese, Fate) and Ben Jones (Pest Control) eventually mutated into train_wreck_simulation, a debut EP filled with frantic breakdowns and nu-metal swag that felt like the soundtrack to a digital exorcism. The final piece of the puzzle came from Hardy’s estranged childhood friend, pq. His twisted samples and synthetic textures are haunted and disturbed, injecting cyberpunk soul into hardcore flesh. Contorting through several iterations in the following years, the band absorbed Luke Thompson (Stiff Meds) on drums, filmmaker Tom Hobson on guitar and Naomi Macleod (Empire State Bastard) on bass, and laid down their first collective offering. deadwired is due out on Flatspot Records later this year. Bodyweb's second EP is a violent thesis on connection and pain that sends Hardy’s unfiltered vocals through heaven and hell. Four overstimulating tracks run a gamut of styles and influences from Slipknot to Björk, constantly lane-switching between dizzying heaviness, ambient soundscapes and brain-burrowing hooks. Entirely self-produced, deadwired upgrades the sonic formula laid down on the last record and raises the question: what else could exist in Bodyweb’s twisted roadmap? Nothing seems impossible. What seems important, however, is retaining the rawness in a style that can often turn sterile. “We still wanted it to sound very human. It had to be well produced but not cold and lifeless.” shares Hardy. “We didn’t use a click track. All guitars were real amps with microphones. We tried to make everything as real and raw as possible, we recorded using all the same gear we use when playing live too to really capture the energy of how it feels when we jam together." ‘Deadwired’ is a snapshot of violent implosion. Four ADHD-fuelled transmissions from the edge of spiritual collapse. It drags metallic hardcore through glitched-out ambience to confront ego death, generational trauma, and the violence of being alive. On stage, Bodyweb don’t just perform, they purge. Raucous live electronics meld with digitally contorted guitars. Breakbeats meet breakdowns—no backing track in sight. Bodyweb enable a collective catharsis. Mosh, dance, dive, scream, heal. A physical therapy session screamed into the void.

Philipp Priebe, a true romantic in the realm of electronic music, is ready to captivate audiences with his latest masterpiece, “Until The End”.

This album is a vivid canvas painted with Priebe’s signature blend of emotive melodies and pulsating rhythms, promising an experience that ignites both movement and emotion. Renowned for his talent in crafting immersive sonic landscapes that resonate with longing and ardor, Priebe’s forthcoming release on “Paradijs Boogie”, the first offshoot of the esteemed German label Freund der Familie is highly anticipated.

With a decade of musical prowess and a reputation for delivering soul-stirring house music, “Until The End” is poised to take listeners on a captivating journey through the ethereal realms of Priebe’s musical universe.

The latest by Andrew Clinco's acid punk alias VR SEX takes its title from an architectural phrase but more importantly refers to the warped, wicked underworld the songs both chronicle and condemn. Donning the moniker Noel Skum - an acerbic anagram of Elon Musk - Clinco vents his scorn for and fascination with the seedy, surreal margins of low-life Los Angeles, doomed to dead ends of vanity, lust, and technology. Although initially launched as an outlet for "heavier sounds" beyond Clinco's duties in new wave fantasists Drab Majesty, the project has ripened into a compelling exercise in world building, weaving themes of gritty city neofuturist sleaze within a framework of driving, distorted guitars and cathode-blasted synths. Echoes of Chrome, Wire, Minimal Man, and Sisters Of Mercy ripple through the collection but ultimately Rough Dimension charts its own twisted vision of "our unforgiving reality." Written and demoed across two weeks alone in a Marseille flat using his prized 1980's Gibson "Invader" and a laptop, Clinco then took the tracks to Strange Weather studios in Brooklyn to record with Ben Greenberg (Uniform, The Men) who helmed 2019's debut, Human Traffic Jam. The results are notably ripping, refined, and riveting. Riffs in alternate tunings chug and churn over mid-tempo drums punctuated by spikes of sci-fi electronics while the vocals swagger and spit venom ("where we walk is also where we shit / but if we bark at our reflections are we hypocrites? / impulses bleed right into our seed / where hate culminates the apple rotted on the tree"). It's a bristling mix of the melodic and the macabre, absurdist observations of fast living and desperate measures, the clock of youth ticking towards midnight as dreams unravel in Babylon. VR SEX's specialty is making these cautionary tales of psychic decay and tainted love a thrill rather than a drag. There's a sunglasses at night glamor to Clinco's choruses and solos, a wit to his black leather judgements ("what is the answer / to cancerous people / walking in my line of sight?"). The music's milieu tends towards parasites and predators but its mood skews refreshingly accelerated and amused, cruising the strip with a cigarette, watching goths and limousines crawl in gridlock beneath digital billboards. The Rough Dimension may be a cesspool, but it's home.

In the smoggy orange light of a new millennium, the young Deb Demure would take the bus, once a week, from his home in crumbling Hollywood to his grandmother's apartment, nestled in the pastel pristineness of Beverly Hills. During these visits, Deb couldn't help but notice the disconnect between the glow of his grandmother's temple, and the downtrodden, alienated figures that populated the seats of the mass transit that took him there. Week after week, he would observe these characters: fading B-movie starlets, leisure-suited alcoholics and forgotten civil servants. But one fateful commute home, as the twilight waned to the purple Los Angeles night, he realized these figures were not as lost as they appeared - there was a nobility in their failure, reflective of the dignity of the city's vanishing golden era. They were survivors, in need of a voice: a spokesperson for every color of hope and hopelessness, transcendent of gender and time; Drab Majesty became Deb's musical podium for this undertaking. Raised in a music-centric household, Deb would find the time to teach himself to play his father's right-handed guitar upside down and left-handed; an unorthodox fashion from where his earliest understanding of chords and harmony were conceived. Exploring the bins of discarded vinyl in his neighborhood thrift stores, his toolkit expanded with the subterranean sonic gems of the recent past. Influences range from the virtuosic arpeggiated guitar work of Felt's Maurice Deebank and the grittier pop progressions of Red Lorry Yellow Lorry's Chris Reed as well as Steve Severin from Siouxsie and The Banshees. He also studied the harmonic oscillations and utilization of the occult power of vibratory frequency present in New Age sounds of Greek artist, IASOS. In terms of orchestration, he consciously culls from the seaside maximalism of Martin Dupont and mechanized grooves of early Depeche Mode. Like a dualistic pendulum, his vocals swing from a preistly baritone to a choir boy's falsetto reflecting the sepulchral ambiance of church visits with his grandmother. Currently the drummer for Los Angeles lo-fi rock ensemble Marriages and having honed an unorthodox home recording style, Deb sources his sounds from a repository of "mid-fi" synthesizers and other lesser-quality instruments. Following the release of his debut cassette EP, "Unarian Dances", he also shared a split 12" with synth pop forefathers, Eleven Pond. During the Spring of 2015, Drab Majesty signed with Dais Records and released his first single, Unknown to the I, as a introduction for his first initial foray into the album format, romantically titled Careless. Written over the course of 2 years, "Careless" is a compendium of songs that have outlasted a malicious burglary of his studio, his struggles with substance addiction, and most recently, the death of his beloved grandmother.

Gastr del Sol"s second album returns at last to the vinyl format - its first physical manifestation in well over a decade. Once again, a drop of the needle may ignite any number of queries, summed simply in one: What IS this music? Such is the potent energy of Crookt, Crackt, or Fly, retaining its otherworldly qualities some 32 years and countless musical movements since. Crookt, Crackt, or Fly expands upon The Serpentine Similar"s minimalist stance in unexpected ways, imposing further austerity in the soundscape but for an unpredictable expansive quantity periodically overflowing, waves of blood sluicing through the elevator doors. This is partially due to a change within the group dynamic: the departure of bassist Ken "Bundy" Brown and the arrival of a new partner for guitarist and singer David Grubbs - guitarist and sound fuckerer Jim O"Rourke. O"Rourke"s initial work with Gastr involved editing and recomposing recordings of the Grubbs-Brown-&-sometimes-John-McEntire lineup, producing an utterly outré collage of cut-ups and other types of tape processing. This became the "20 Songs Less" single, after which he was invited to play with the group. It was a time of flux; Brown recalls playing a Gastr show at the Metro around this time featuring himself, John McEntire, Grubbs and O"Rourke - and one of the pieces played was a Tortoise song! Throughout these shifts, Gastr del Sol"s music was never less than fully considered and composed, even in moments redolent with the suggestion of the random and the non-sequitur. Grubbs and O"Rourke made no attempt to replicate Serpentine"s arrangement of thick, scaly drones and hypnotic song-visions in their own partnership, finding Crookt, Crackt,"s sound instead in spiny, gamelan-like interactions between their (mostly acoustic) guitars, played precisely in and out of formation with bright, fleet-fingered abandon. O"Rourke"s fondness for field recordings and his capacity for tape manipulation intersected with Grubbs" sensibilities, edifying his evolving song style: written with increased sharpness and sly surreal humor, sung closer to silence. Halfway into "Work from Smoke", the sudden collapse of the sound-walls around us signals Crookt, Crackt"s major departure. From the thicket of guitars, a swell of drones and free-jazz squeals, made up of bass clarinet, vibraphone and organ, pulls the listener into an entirely other acoustic space. "Every Five Miles" derails in similarly tactile fashion: a guitar duet boils up thunderously, then fragments and spirals apart. As a free electric guitar part crops up, improbably holding the center, the acoustic space around it continues to disintegrate in ambient stereo. A wedding of folk music idioms to classical, improvised and modern compositional modes (including Gastr"s own formative post-punk mode), Crookt, Crackt, or Fly is a song-based reality steadily giving way to its alternative alchemies playing out within.

Back from the undead in the fresh (because we believe in upgrades & afterlifes!) is this new pressing of the first of all Gastr del Sol records, The Serpentine Similar. It is one of several distinct initiators of a definitive musical drift in the 1990s, and a drift all of its own, to boot! At the time, this album was largely heard within an underground whose boundaries were clearly defined - but if today"s sound-pool of "commercial" music is deeper and wider than it was back then, it is without a doubt due to the cracking open of certain doors of perception by Gastr del Sol, alongside their esteemed others. The year was 1992. After a bruising run of tour dates the year before, the final lineup of Bastro, a power-trio of David Grubbs, Ken (Bundy) Brown and John McEntire, retired, exhausted. Shortly thereafter, they were rebirthed, sans drums, via a new set of ideas composed in the cut-down configuration of Grubbs on guitars, keyboards and vocals and Brown on bass. Playing in duo format opened up sound and intention, leaving the need for speed (and the stock in rock) out, while letting in an expanse of brooding, droning acoustic space that highlighted the songs" serpentine shapes. This was something so radically different as to require a new calling card: henceforth, Gastr del Sol. Signing to Teen Beat, Gastr del Sol completed The Serpentine Similar in late 1992 for release the following year (the DC reissue came in "97). In the final rendering, Serpentine"s roof-rent, white-sky execution was attenuated with several percussion appearances from the prodigal John McEntire. Over the next five years, his cameo presence was a constant in Gastr del Sol"s steadily-evolving tradition of significant breaks from tradition at every turn. There would be an even more significant tradition-breaker onboard for all this; following the release of The Serpentine Similar, Jim O"Rourke joined Grubbs in Gastr as Brown exited (to focus on Tortoise, with McEntire et al). For the new Gastr duo, a world of new directions in music awaited, the future became the past, and the music of Gastr del Sol emerged from the thin air, then returned there. Now, The Serpentine Similar has been returned to vinyl from the temporal streams of contemporary music listening, a glorious rematerializing of all its spatial details on LP for the first time in 20 years.

In the spring of 2020, Ben Cook _ a.k.a. Young Governor, Young Guv, or just Guv _ was holed up in the New Mexico high desert, his U.S. tour having been abruptly covid-cancelled during a southwest swing. He and his bandmates were living moment to moment in something called an Earthship, a solar-rigged adobe structure sustainably constructed with, among other things, recycled bottles and tires. And out there in the serene vastness, as a short ride-it-out stint turned into a nine-month sojourn, Ben was writing music, slowly, little by little, mostly at night while the others slept. By the New Year, almost in spite of himself, he had created a new album, two new albums actually, and through the ordeal he was forever changed. In a place he never expected to be, under circumstances no one could have predicted, and in the face of physical isolation, emotional desolation, and existential dread, Ben created GUV III & IV, a collection of songs dedicated and testifying to the eternal healing power of love _ how to find it in the world, in others, and most importantly, in himself.

Forming in 2014, Fury established themselves quickly, releasing both a demo on Washington, D.C.'s Mosher Delight Records and the "Kingdom Come" EP on Boston's Triple B Records in the same calendar year. They built on the melodic legacy of Orange County by way of heavy, rhythmic, start-stop guitars and Stith's wordy and referential lyrics. Then, in 2016, came their debut LP on Triple B Records, "Paramount," which was met with respect from the hardcore community and praise from outsider critics."Failed Entertainment" documents the work, both personal and creative, undertaken since the release of "Paramount," a period of time marked by as many difficulties as successes. Stith said, "I've asked myself `Why have I done this?' and `Why do I continue to do this?' more times in the last two years than the rest of my life combined." Those eternal, existential questions form the thematic foundation of the new songs, which look past the superficial concerns about status and popularity that preoccupy so many musicians, focusing instead on life's inevitable, inescapable problems and the ways in which they can be compounded by the banal realities of art-making _ the isolation of being on tour, the pressure of being expected to somehow transform that universal angst into nice, catchy songs that provide simple lessons.

Nestled away in the UKs quiet, picturesque east coast town of Ipswich, the lads in Basement are conflicted between the comfort of the beautiful familiar and the allure of escape. This duality pervades the band's existence. As frontman Andrew Fisher's gravelly yowl skips and stretches over driving rhythms and poignant guitar melodies, its clear Basement expertly walk the line between the contrasts of heartrending pop and gruff post-hardcore. When working through a slow-burning mid-tempo or pounding out driving punk, Basement has a quiet layer of jagged desperation weaving songs together under the smooth melodic surface. Much like a coming of age, the songs are toiling, torn and bursting at the seams.

Through the album trilogy Misanthropical House, Algorithm and Blues and Research and Destroy, The Good The Bad and The Zugly have limped their way through midlife crises and pubescent antics. Loud-mouthed and bitter, we have embraced our fate as mediocre losers on the narrow and winding Scandirock path. Haunted by a constant bad conscience over the outcome of our miserable lives, which in addition to bitterness, have resulted in substance abuse, pettiness, greed, spiritual lethargy, bastard offspring, excessive self-confidence, understated self-awareness, and of course - bodily decay. In breif; A urinal without a drain. The question has always been nagging: Why us? Why have we, since the dawn of time, been made to curse the day we were born? Well, the truth shall set you free, as they say.

Limited pink vinyl. Through the album trilogy Misanthropical House, Algorithm and Blues and Research and Destroy, The Good The Bad and The Zugly have limped their way through midlife crises and pubescent antics. Loud-mouthed and bitter, we have embraced our fate as mediocre losers on the narrow and winding Scandirock path. Haunted by a constant bad conscience over the outcome of our miserable lives, which in addition to bitterness, have resulted in substance abuse, pettiness, greed, spiritual lethargy, bastard offspring, excessive self-confidence, understated self-awareness, and of course - bodily decay. In breif; A urinal without a drain. The question has always been nagging: Why us? Why have we, since the dawn of time, been made to curse the day we were born? Well, the truth shall set you free, as they say.

In the smoggy orange light of a new millennium, the young Deb Demure would take the bus, once a week, from his home in crumbling Hollywood to his grandmother's apartment, nestled in the pastel pristineness of Beverly Hills. During these visits, Deb couldn't help but notice the disconnect between the glow of his grandmother's temple, and the downtrodden, alienated figures that populated the seats of the mass transit that took him there. Week after week, he would observe these characters: fading B-movie starlets, leisure-suited alcoholics and forgotten civil servants. But one fateful commute home, as the twilight waned to the purple Los Angeles night, he realized these figures were not as lost as they appeared - there was a nobility in their failure, reflective of the dignity of the city's vanishing golden era. They were survivors, in need of a voice: a spokesperson for every color of hope and hopelessness, transcendent of gender and time; Drab Majesty became Deb's musical podium for this undertaking. Raised in a music-centric household, Deb would find the time to teach himself to play his father's right-handed guitar upside down and left-handed; an unorthodox fashion from where his earliest understanding of chords and harmony were conceived. Exploring the bins of discarded vinyl in his neighborhood thrift stores, his toolkit expanded with the subterranean sonic gems of the recent past. Influences range from the virtuosic arpeggiated guitar work of Felt's Maurice Deebank and the grittier pop progressions of Red Lorry Yellow Lorry's Chris Reed as well as Steve Severin from Siouxsie and The Banshees. He also studied the harmonic oscillations and utilization of the occult power of vibratory frequency present in New Age sounds of Greek artist, IASOS. In terms of orchestration, he consciously culls from the seaside maximalism of Martin Dupont and mechanized grooves of early Depeche Mode. Like a dualistic pendulum, his vocals swing from a preistly baritone to a choir boy's falsetto reflecting the sepulchral ambiance of church visits with his grandmother. Currently the drummer for Los Angeles lo-fi rock ensemble Marriages and having honed an unorthodox home recording style, Deb sources his sounds from a repository of "mid-fi" synthesizers and other lesser-quality instruments. Following the release of his debut cassette EP, "Unarian Dances", he also shared a split 12" with synth pop forefathers, Eleven Pond. During the Spring of 2015, Drab Majesty signed with Dais Records and released his first single, Unknown to the I, as a introduction for his first initial foray into the album format, romantically titled Careless. Written over the course of 2 years, "Careless" is a compendium of songs that have outlasted a malicious burglary of his studio, his struggles with substance addiction, and most recently, the death of his beloved grandmother.

Established in 2022, Warm Exit is a post-punk quartet hailing from Brussels, Belgium. Their violently frontal music is an explosive blend of sonic intensity that sets them apart as one of the country's most electrifying and raucous acts. Drawing inspiration from Krautrock, Punk, and Noise, their relentless rhythmic prowess is a testament to their diverse influences. Channeling the spirit of iconic 1970s bands like Wire, The Fall, and Public Image Limited, Warm Exit ventures into the shadowy realm of post-punk with their latest EP. Here, they seamlessly oscillate between fast and slow tempos, high and low energy levels, and vocals that span from tense whispers to unbridled screams. This journey takes the listener through a landscape of discordant riffs, haunting groans, evocative spoken word passages, and industrial undertones. Over the past three years, Warm Exit has cultivated a devoted following both locally and internationally, thanks to their electrifying live performances that leave audiences in awe. Carrying the reputation of a striking live band, they are eager to storm the stage at any and every given opportunity.

Why the Eye is an experimental masked quartet from Brussels that propels bodies into trance during its live performances. All instruments are DIY and played in real time, without loops or sequencers. Fans of The Residents, Société Étrange, Autechre, Boards Of Canada, The Meridian Brothers and Fulu Miziki could easily relate to their sound. On the recording of 'Inspirex', Damien Magnette who produced the album says, "The album is live music based on energy. It has a chaotic side. How do you convey the chaotic, wild, animal energy of live music on record? My point of view is that to achieve this energy, you have to do exactly the opposite in the studio. A lot of layering. Lots of overdubs that we can't do live. It's all these elements that give the album its wildness."

Bendik Giske’s Beatrice Dillon-produced 2023 album gets an addendum with reworks from Carmen Villain, aya, Hanne Lippard, Hieroglyphic Being, Wacław Zimpel and Dillon herself.

Giske’s clearly got his ear to the ground; his last remix record was an invitation for Laurel Halo to put her stamp on »Cruising«, while 2018’s »Adjust EP« roped in Deathprod, Total Freedom, Lotic, and Rezzett. Now comes this new LP of remixes and it’s one of the best we’ve heard in aeons. Carmen Villain boots things off with a remix of »Slipping«, following her excellent (and way, way too underrated) »Nutrition EP« with a giddy, subtle roller that sounds as if it’s been constructed using only Giske’s raw stems. His breaths and leathery key presses – already amped up by Dillon’s detailed recording – are magicked into a dubby concrète groove that’s enhanced with the sparest melodic elements: echoing rainforest-at-night horn blasts, and lopped off decay trails that help fuel the momentum.

aya’s revision of the same track takes a different approach, forming forceful overlapping polyrhythms from Giske’s clanks, using the gamelan-like arpeggios for melodic weight and repetition. The result is a constantly shifting, hypnotic trancer that’s achingly organic – more Raja Kirik than Paul Van Dyke. Polish clarinetist and producer Wacław Zimpel, meanwhile, supplements his trippy recent collaboration with James Holden on a similarly levitational wrinkle of »Slipping« that twists Giske’s quivering sequences with microtonal synth prangs, and gusty echoes. But it’s Jamal Moss who plays fastest and loosest with Giske’s source material, calling back to April’s psy-house stunner »Dance Music 4 Bad People« with a powdery, sexualised banger that buries the breathy »Start« stems underneath neon synths, and brittle drum loops.

»I’m a digital nomad,« Lippard deadpans over Giske’s »Not Yet«. »I’m addicted you know that.« It’s a typically dry treatment from the conceptual artist that unexpectedly amps up the hypnotic qualities of Giske’s original, adding her circuitous charm to his concertina-ing sax sequences. And to tie things up perfectly, Beatrice Dillon returns with her diaphanous remix of »Rise and Fall«, built to emphasise the radically different approaches of each artist.

20th Anniversary Edition of «The Creep» by Slomo, this ambient doom masterwork is available on vinyl for the first time via Ideologic Organ. This is a storied album of verbal history, and emerged from a figurative long barrow deep within a virtual space of great depth and contemplation, an inverted framing of acoustic space with heavy floors ranging from the wake of COIL to the heaviest Japanese fire of psychedelia to the monuments of drone coagulating in the early ‘aughts. A first CDR edition in 2005 garnered focus of heavyweights like SUNN O))), Julian Cope, the esoteric legendary record store Aquarius, and the Wire.
Ideologic Organ are honoured to have been tasked to bring this to a limited LP for the very first time, and collaborated with mastering genius Rashad Becker to create a 61 minute single LP in a perfect cut.
Highly Ritualised Somnambulant Glumbient Downer band from Yorkshire, UK.
‘Slomo is a 2-piece made up of myself, Holy McGrail, and Howard «Iron Man» Marsden. Our debut album THE CREEP was released in a run of 100 copies on FUCK OFF & DI in 2005, after attracting a great buzz in its earlier promo form. THE CREEP is a single 1-hour-long track recorded live with minimal overdubs & zero eye-contact. Malnourished musical structures flourish, flounder and flag in virtual stasis.