Ghostly International News

After nearly three years and sixty demos, Launder’s full-length debut is Happening. In 2019, Orange County-raised, Los Angeles-based musician John Cudlip signed to Ghostly International to build his recording project, developed out of casual sessions with friends Jackson Phillips (Day Wave), Soko, and Zachary Cole Smith (DIIV). Launder’s music had seen unexpected attention, with

After nearly three years and sixty demos, Launder’s full-length debut is Happening. In 2019, Orange County-raised, Los Angeles-based musician John Cudlip signed to Ghostly International to build his recording project, developed out of casual sessions with friends Jackson Phillips (Day Wave), Soko, and Zachary Cole Smith (DIIV). Launder’s music had seen unexpected attention, with

Classic 2001 collection from Detroit's ADULT. 20th anniversary of the original release, 10th anniversary of the first vinyl pressing. Available for the first time in red & black marbled vinyl. "We've wanted to re-release this album for some time," says ADULT.'s Adam Lee Miller, "but we weren't ready until now. We have some new material in the pipeline, and we thought this would be a nice way to reintroduce ourselves." It is indeed a nice way for the hugely respected Detroit duo to herald their return to the world of music, especially for anyone who missed out on Resuscitation the first time around _ the album was never available digitally until the 2012 re-release and vinyl pressing on Ghostly International. The reissue thus presented the chance to own one of the more influential records of the early 2000s: either on double 12" LP or, for the first time, as a digital release. Now, in 2022, the vinyl is available for the first time in a new red and black marble colorway. When it first dropped in 2001, Resuscitation served as a de facto introduction to the duo, collecting a bunch of songs on CD that had only previously been available on hard-to-find singles and EPs. Eleven years later, it does the same thing, except this time around, we can see just how influential its creators' work has been _ and ADULT.'s music only sounds more remarkable with the benefit of hindsight. At the time, Resuscitation's combination of crisp beats, squelch-laden synths and Nicola Kuperus' detached monotone sounded like a broadcast from the future, steeped in the analog synth sounds of forebears like Kraftwerk but possessed of an ultramodern sheen all its own. The duo's visual aestheticwas just as important _ Kuperus' photography adorned all their album packaging (including this re-release), and their liveshows drew on a sense of what a reviewer once called "detached intrigue." Echoes of ADULT.'s aesthetic can be heard today in everythingfrom today's surfeit of analog synth-toting minimal wave bands to the highly stylized divas who dominate the pop charts. But really, in 2022 Resuscitation still sounds like no-one else.

"His music filled me with the urge to connect with the world," Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith says of Emile Mosseri. She first heard his work while watching the 2019 film The Last Black Man In San Francisco; just minutes in, she paused it to look up who did the score and wrote to him immediately. "I love Emile's ability to create melodies that feel magically scenic and familiar like they are reminding you of the innocence of loving life." Those talents saw recognition in 2020 with an Oscar nomination for Mosseri's original score to the film Minari. He was already a fan of Smith's and became increasingly intrigued by her impressionistic process as they started to talk. "The music feels so spiritual and alive and made from the earth," Mosseri says. "I think of her as the great conductor, summoning musical poetry from her orchestra of machines." I Could Be Your Dog / I Could Be Your Moon, their two-part collaborative album, introduces an uncanny fusion of their sonics. Constructed using synthesizer, piano, electronics, and voice, this soft-focus dream world is lush, evocative, and fleeting. It finds two composers tuning their respective styles inward as an ode to mutual inspiration, a celebration of the human spirit and its will to surrender to the currents of life. As a full album set, I Could Be Your Dog / I Could Be Your Moon moves fluidly from track to track, panning through textural vignettes. Two roughly 17-minute halves, the set evokes the bittersweet sense of something too bright or rare to last, a short-lived glimpse into a golden hour. There is a dreamy, elemental intention to this music, which Smith and Mosseri say came naturally, as they both embraced intuitive interplay throughout their creative back-and-forth. The stylistic threads of each composer are recognizable yet become more ambiguous as the album progresses, sewn into a singular vision.

Kate Bollinger's songs tend to linger well beyond their run times, filling the negative space of ordinary days with charming melodies and smart phrasings. She writes them at home in Richmond, Virginia, letting her subconscious lead, an open-ended process she likens to dreaming. From a chord progression appears a line, maybe a syllable will start to stick, enough to pursue, but she says sometimes the words don't feel likeher own, more like shapes that form in the mind's sky. Bollinger's musical universe is relaxed, tender, and unassuming; within lives a timeless sensibility, a songwriter's knack for noticing the little things and their counterpoints. Darkness and light, pain and pleasure, reality and escape. Her new EP, Look at it in the Light, her first project on Ghostly International, is collaborative; she shoots music videos with her friends and colors each of her folk-pop songs with musicians in her community. The title Look at it in the Light is a reference to the aspects of Bollinger's life that she knows need examining. For one, there's her persistent resistance to change _ she chooses to ignore it on the title track ("I try not to notice / I deny my fate"), as wiry strums sync with crisp drums. She surrenders to comfort on "Who Am I But Someone," a light and softly psychedelic number. "Yards / Gardens" finds Bollinger in full swing, skipping verses of uncertainty above a bright and nimble bassline and kick. Guitar riffs unravel across the bridge, trailing her lines like ellipses. The string-backed "Lady in the Darkest Hour" is the set's most luxuriant statement, recorded during a session at Matthew E. White's Spacebomb Studios with in-house arranger Trey Pollard (Natalie Prass, Helado Negro). Here her lines ring bittersweet yet reassuring, uplifted by swells of golden-hued instrumentation. From the hushed abstractions of "I Found Out" to the biting suspicions of closer "Connecting Dots," Kate Bollinger uses every inch of this dazzling EP to find her footing amidst the ever-present sways of life.

Kate Bollinger's songs tend to linger well beyond their run times, filling the negative space of ordinary days with charming melodies and smart phrasings. She writes them at home in Richmond, Virginia, letting her subconscious lead, an open-ended process she likens to dreaming. From a chord progression appears a line, maybe a syllable will start to stick, enough to pursue, but she says sometimes the words don't feel likeher own, more like shapes that form in the mind's sky. Bollinger's musical universe is relaxed, tender, and unassuming; within lives a timeless sensibility, a songwriter's knack for noticing the little things and their counterpoints. Darkness and light, pain and pleasure, reality and escape. Her new EP, Look at it in the Light, her first project on Ghostly International, is collaborative; she shoots music videos with her friends and colors each of her folk-pop songs with musicians in her community. The title Look at it in the Light is a reference to the aspects of Bollinger's life that she knows need examining. For one, there's her persistent resistance to change _ she chooses to ignore it on the title track ("I try not to notice / I deny my fate"), as wiry strums sync with crisp drums. She surrenders to comfort on "Who Am I But Someone," a light and softly psychedelic number. "Yards / Gardens" finds Bollinger in full swing, skipping verses of uncertainty above a bright and nimble bassline and kick. Guitar riffs unravel across the bridge, trailing her lines like ellipses. The string-backed "Lady in the Darkest Hour" is the set's most luxuriant statement, recorded during a session at Matthew E. White's Spacebomb Studios with in-house arranger Trey Pollard (Natalie Prass, Helado Negro). Here her lines ring bittersweet yet reassuring, uplifted by swells of golden-hued instrumentation. From the hushed abstractions of "I Found Out" to the biting suspicions of closer "Connecting Dots," Kate Bollinger uses every inch of this dazzling EP to find her footing amidst the ever-present sways of life.

Loraine James' new ambient-minded alias, Whatever The Weather, follows her 2021 solo LP Reflection (Hyperdub). In contrast to her club music sensibilities, this mode embraces keyboard improvisations and vocal experimentation, foregoing percussive structure in favor of shaping atmosphere and tone. From this divergent headspace emerged new coordinates and climates, a new outlet: Whatever The Weather. A longtime fan of ambient-adjacent Ghostly International artists such as Telefon Tel Aviv (who she'd ask to master the album), HTRK (whose singer Jonnine Standish features on Nothing), and Lusine (whom she remixed at the start of 2021), James saw the label as the ideal home for this eponymous album of airy, transportive tracks as they began to formulate. The titling on Whatever The Weather works in degrees; simple parameters allowing James to focus on the nuances as a mood-builder. Her suspended universe fluctuates; freezing, thawing, swaying and blooming from track to track. James describes her jam-based approach for the sessions as "free-flowing, stopping when I felt like I was done," allowing her subconscious to lead. The improvisations have an intrinsic fluidity to them, akin to sudden weather events passing over a single environment - the location feels fixed while the conditions vary. The album opens at "25°C," a sunshower of soft hums and keys. As the longest piece, it serves to establish stability, the inflection point where any move above or below this temperate breeze breaks the bliss. Given James' proclivity for organized chaos in her production, this scene is fleeting, naturally. From that utopia, we plummet to the most melancholic read on the meter, "0°C," its isolated synth line traversing a hailstorm of steely beats and static. Next, the dial jumps for the propulsive standout "17°C." Like a timelapse of springtime in the city, the single accelerates across a frenzy of frames; car horns, screeching brakes, and crosswalk chatter fill the pauses between rapid jolts of multi-shaped percussion. For portions of the work, James leans neo-classical, rendering pensive vignettes of cascading piano keys and warm delay. "2°C (Intermittent Rain)" ends the A-Side on a short and stormy loop; a resulting sense of reset permeates the B-Side's opener, "10°C." The producer mingles intuitively on echoed organ, locking into and abandoning atypical rhythms that suggest her jazz-oriented interests. "4°C" and "30°C" display the range of James' vocal experiments. The former chops and pitches her voice to a rhythmic, otherworldly effect, the latter reveals James at her most straightforward (she cites Deftones' Chino Moreno and American Football's Mike Kinsella as inspirations), singing tenderly and unobstructed for nearly the duration before beats collide in the climax. Whatever The Weather closes at "36°C," while a sweltering heat by any standards the track eases along comfortably on a chorus of synth waves, acting as an apt bookend for this evocative, sky-tracing collection that started in a similar state. Cyclical, seasonal, and unpredictable, true to its namesake.

Loraine James' new ambient-minded alias, Whatever The Weather, follows her 2021 solo LP Reflection (Hyperdub). In contrast to her club music sensibilities, this mode embraces keyboard improvisations and vocal experimentation, foregoing percussive structure in favor of shaping atmosphere and tone. From this divergent headspace emerged new coordinates and climates, a new outlet: Whatever The Weather. A longtime fan of ambient-adjacent Ghostly International artists such as Telefon Tel Aviv (who she'd ask to master the album), HTRK (whose singer Jonnine Standish features on Nothing), and Lusine (whom she remixed at the start of 2021), James saw the label as the ideal home for this eponymous album of airy, transportive tracks as they began to formulate. The titling on Whatever The Weather works in degrees; simple parameters allowing James to focus on the nuances as a mood-builder. Her suspended universe fluctuates; freezing, thawing, swaying and blooming from track to track. James describes her jam-based approach for the sessions as "free-flowing, stopping when I felt like I was done," allowing her subconscious to lead. The improvisations have an intrinsic fluidity to them, akin to sudden weather events passing over a single environment - the location feels fixed while the conditions vary. The album opens at "25°C," a sunshower of soft hums and keys. As the longest piece, it serves to establish stability, the inflection point where any move above or below this temperate breeze breaks the bliss. Given James' proclivity for organized chaos in her production, this scene is fleeting, naturally. From that utopia, we plummet to the most melancholic read on the meter, "0°C," its isolated synth line traversing a hailstorm of steely beats and static. Next, the dial jumps for the propulsive standout "17°C." Like a timelapse of springtime in the city, the single accelerates across a frenzy of frames; car horns, screeching brakes, and crosswalk chatter fill the pauses between rapid jolts of multi-shaped percussion. For portions of the work, James leans neo-classical, rendering pensive vignettes of cascading piano keys and warm delay. "2°C (Intermittent Rain)" ends the A-Side on a short and stormy loop; a resulting sense of reset permeates the B-Side's opener, "10°C." The producer mingles intuitively on echoed organ, locking into and abandoning atypical rhythms that suggest her jazz-oriented interests. "4°C" and "30°C" display the range of James' vocal experiments. The former chops and pitches her voice to a rhythmic, otherworldly effect, the latter reveals James at her most straightforward (she cites Deftones' Chino Moreno and American Football's Mike Kinsella as inspirations), singing tenderly and unobstructed for nearly the duration before beats collide in the climax. Whatever The Weather closes at "36°C," while a sweltering heat by any standards the track eases along comfortably on a chorus of synth waves, acting as an apt bookend for this evocative, sky-tracing collection that started in a similar state. Cyclical, seasonal, and unpredictable, true to its namesake.

A decade ago, the static signal of “Terminal” booting-up sounded and Galactic Melt launched into the atmosphere for the first time; Seth Haley’s Com Truise project arrived in full. A graphic designer based in New Jersey at the time, Haley found a sound on his synthesizers that sparked an immediate nostalgia response, tapping into classic sci-fi and proto-electro in a way that felt early ‘80s in scope, but also remarkably weird — stutter-step proggy and intoxicatingly psychedelic. Unknowingly he had stepped into a genre prism; suppose we know it now as synth-wave though the tag never landed squarely. To Haley, this was a space to explore and a story to tell, which he’d do across a saga of releases that would resonate with a legion of fans and send the producer touring the world in perpetual orbit. His full-length debut on Ghostly International, Galactic Melt delivered on the promise of Haley’s Cyanide Sisters EP as well as high-profile remixes for Twin Shadow, Neon Indian, and Daft Punk. Bold, imaginative, and unapologetically cosmic, the set occupies a beloved coordinate in the Com Truise catalog, considered the gateway for many. To celebrate its 10th

anniversary, Haley and Ghostly have repressed the long-sold out 2xLP and added five unreleased tracks to the expanded digital edition, giving this classic its due treatment as it passes the milestone.

From the keyed-up, skyscraping machine love of “VHS Sex” and “Cathode Girls” to pulsing cuts like “Air Cal” and “Ether Drift,” the music on Galactic Melt is mathy, forlorn, funky, and mighty in technical ambition. That they’re all noticeably cinematic is, of course, by design. Haley envisioned Galactic Melt as a “sort of film score...from the mind,” chronicling the life and death of Com Truise, the world’s first synthetic/robotic astronaut, from his creation and time on earth to his subsequent mission to a newly discovered galaxy called Wave 1 (released in 2014).

- Followup to 2015's Insides. - RIYL: Jacques Greene, Leon Vynehall, DJ Seinfeld, Project Pablo - Features cover art by Salvador Dalí protégé Steven Arnold. - Silver halide (gray + black marble) vinyl limited to 1,500 copies worldwide - Vinyl is housed in a black dust sleeve inserted in to a matte varnish jacket with metallic silver spot color // After a run of critically-acclaimed singles and EPs, British producer Michael Greene, aka Fort Romeau, returns to the full-length format with Beings of Light, the long-awaited follow-up to 2015's Insides and his second LP on Ghostly International. While a prolific DJ who orients many of his productions for the dancefloor, Greene still sees the album as the ultimate statement of intent, "a space to stretch out, to speak in full paragraphs rather than stunted sentences." He has explored several stylistic fragments in recent years (including the summer 2018 anthem "Pablo," hailed a Best New Track by Pitchfork), but when faced with the extended pause to the dance community in 2020, Greene felt compelled to focus on a larger body of work. Embracing a back-to-basics mentality, he amassed over a dozen hours of sounds, asking himself throughout the sessions: "Does the music move you? Is it honest?" He came out the other end with Beings of Light, an expressive collection traversing rainy day ambient, moonlit disco, and dream-like techno in pursuit of the power found within our subconscious. Album opener "Untitled IV" ushers in a sprinting tempo in its exploration of the human voice, a recurring device in the Fort Romeau project. Greene uses it as a compositional layer, disembodied with its context often opaque or reduced to a single phrase. Here the voice is scattered in percussive twitches, colliding with a kick drum to induce a near state of hypnosis as horns sound off in the distance. Propulsive standout "Spotlights'' is Greene's ode to the romanticised New York City that lives in our hearts, nocturnal and carefree. A vocal snippet repeats the title with a breezy poise, reminiscent of classic house cuts. "Ramona'' honors the beloved Robert Johnson club in Offenbach, Germany. Hazy, spacious, and sustained, Greene designed the beat with their system in mind, "also with a strong nod to the more modern lineage of exceptional minimal house music from Frankfurt," he says. Two ambient pieces surround the track, "(In The) Rain" sets the scene and "Porta Coeli" (a Latin phrase which loosely translates to "heaven's gate") soundtracks the comedown. The album's closer, the title track, is an arc constructed with atmospheric textures, euphoric swings of percussion, and a well-placed piano refrain, "Beings of Light" is adaptive; one could imagine it reverberating from a club, scoring the emotional apex of a film, or radiating through the realm of dreams.

"Three years on from Lucky Shiner and following his DJ-Kicks set, the new EP from Gold Panda finds him refining his approach and exploring familiar themes, mixing bell-like textures, slow-mo house, and foggy drone." - PITCHFORK Gold Panda is the moniker of English electronic record producer and songwriter Derwin Schlecker. He released several small-issue 7" records and singles in 2009, and in 2010 he signed with Ghostly International to release his debut full-length Lucky Shiner. In 2013, Gold Panda started the year releasing the EP Trust. His second album, Half of Where You Live, followed six months later.

In the afterglow of her acclaimed 2020 album Silver Ladders (a year-end favorite of NPR, Pitchfork, The New Yorker, and others), Los Angeles-based harpist Mary Lattimore returns with a culminating counterpart release, Collected Pieces: 2015-2020. The limited-edition LP features new and previously unreleased material, Bandcamp-only singles, and other obscurities alongside standouts from her 2017
tape Collected Pieces. Beyond the vinyl compendium, an expanded tracklist on the cassette/digital version brings more of Lattimore’s archives together for the first time. Lattimore has described the process of arranging these releases as akin to “opening a box filled with memories,” and here that box continues to populate, accessible for both the artist and fans. Evocative material separated by years, framed as a portrait of an instrumental storyteller who rarely pauses, recording and often sharing music as soon as it strikes

Limitierte farbige LP! "Public Storage" baut auf dem Sound von Vus früheren Veröffentlichungen auf und unterstreicht ihre Stärken als Songwriterin mit einem tieferen Sinn für Glanz, Raffinesse und Dringlichkeit. Sie nennt es eine "sehr invasive und intensiv klingende Musik", die erfrischend unkonventionell zu den zeitgenössischen Trends ist; dies ist Musik, auf die man sich einlässt, anstatt sich zurückzulehnen. Co-Produzent Jackson Phillips (Day Wave) half Vu dabei, eine riesige, körnige, facettenreiche Welt zu erschaffen, in die sie sich stimmlich hineinbegeben kann, wobei ihre ausgeprägte Altstimme frei zwischen beschwörenden, tiefgründigen Betrachtungen und gefühlvollen, himmelwärts strebenden Ausbrüchen hin- und herpendelt. Die ersten Klänge, die wir hören, sind bezaubernd: Vereinzelte Klaviertasten gehen in "April Fool" in warme Schläge und Selbstharmonien über, während Vus Protagonistin ihre Umgebung und ihre Fähigkeit zu kommunizieren verleugnet. Das sanfte bernsteinfarbene Glühen geht über in den Titeltrack des Albums, einen dunkleren, düsteren, lauteren Ort. Vu rennt durch "Public Storage" mit einer Reihe von trotzigen Zurückweisungen (Versagen, Familie, Magie) und kathartischen Forderungen. Es ist eine seltene und kraftvolle Zurschaustellung von Verletzlichkeit von einem Texter, der das Abstrakte dem Autobiographischen vorzieht. Aubade", das auf einem Disco-Synthie-Muster und groovenden Bass-Stabs aufbaut, hat den hellen Schwung seines morgendlichen Namensvetters, der geschickt im Widerspruch zu seinem niederschmetternden Thema steht. Der Kontrast setzt sich in "Keeper" fort, einem pulsierenden New-Wave-Song mit träumerischen Synthesizern und einem coolen, knurrenden Erzähler, der diese Kraft erneut herausfordert. "Gutter" kehrt zum grungigen Lowlight zurück, mit muskulösen Gitarrenriffs, die sich über einem Bett aus Rückkopplungen abzeichnen und zusammen mit orchestralen Streichern zu einem brüllenden Finale anschwellen. Die hintere Hälfte von Public Storage bietet einige der markantesten Momente: Das rhythmische, hooklastige "Everybody's Birthday" spricht von der bösen Absurdität der Gegenwart, dem Ende der Zeiten. Die Nacht ist rot, die Stimmung ist blau, und die Scham ihrer Figur ist goldfarben. Vu hebt sich "Maker" für den Schluss auf, einen letzten Versuch im Existenziellen.

Storage units hold possessions on pause from the outside world, objects capable of reconnecting us to a time or place. Hana Vu (born in 2000s California) grew up with her family making regular use of public storage spaces in Los Angeles, moving every few years, leaving a mix of the sacred and the mundane to sit inside concrete and steel. The 20-year-old musician sees the art of making and releasing songs in a similar sense: “these public expressions of thoughts, feelings, baggage, experiences that accumulate every year and fill little units such as ‘albums.’” She lived next to one of these buildings when she started writing her full-length Ghostly International debut, Public Storage, and its towering presence lends a metaphor to a record that sounds far bigger than the bedroom it came from.

Vu’s relationship with music began when she picked up a guitar her dad had lying around and taught herself to play. She’d wake up every day and listen to LA’s ALT 98.7, home to ‘90s and ‘00s alternative rock; later in high school, she found the local DIY scene. She remembers, “A lot of my peer musicians were surf rock/punk type bands and so I tried to fit into that when I was gigging around. But what I was listening to at that time St. Vincent, Sufjan Stevens was very different from what I performed.” Ultimately she’d do her own thing, keeping a journal of bedroom pop ex-periments on Bandcamp, including a low-key Willow Smith collaboration and covers of The Cure and Phil Collins. She caught the ear of Gorilla vs. Bear, who released Vu’s self-produced debut EP in 2018 on their Luminelle Recordings imprint, followed by a double EP the next year.

Public Storage builds on the sound of Vu’s early work underscoring her strengths as a songwriter with a deeper sense of luster, sophistication, and urgency. She calls it “very invasive and intense sounding music,” refreshingly out of step with contemporary trends; this is music to engage with rather than lean back to. For the first time, she welcomes a co-producer, Jackson Phillips (Day Wave), who helps Vu create a vast, grainy, multifaceted world to stretch into vocally, her distinct contralto drifting freely between evocative low-lit ruminations and soulful, skyward bursts.

Storage units hold possessions on pause from the outside world, objects capable of reconnecting us to a time or place. Hana Vu (born in 2000s California) grew up with her family making regular use of public storage spaces in Los Angeles, moving every few years, leaving a mix of the sacred and the mundane to sit inside concrete and steel. The 20-year-old musician sees the art of making and releasing songs in a similar sense: “these public expressions of thoughts, feelings, baggage, experiences that accumulate every year and fill little units such as ‘albums.’” She lived next to one of these buildings when she started writing her full-length Ghostly International debut, Public Storage, and its towering presence lends a metaphor to a record that sounds far bigger than the bedroom it came from.

Vu’s relationship with music began when she picked up a guitar her dad had lying around and taught herself to play. She’d wake up every day and listen to LA’s ALT 98.7, home to ‘90s and ‘00s alternative rock; later in high school, she found the local DIY scene. She remembers, “A lot of my peer musicians were surf rock/punk type bands and so I tried to fit into that when I was gigging around. But what I was listening to at that time St. Vincent, Sufjan Stevens was very different from what I performed.” Ultimately she’d do her own thing, keeping a journal of bedroom pop ex-periments on Bandcamp, including a low-key Willow Smith collaboration and covers of The Cure and Phil Collins. She caught the ear of Gorilla vs. Bear, who released Vu’s self-produced debut EP in 2018 on their Luminelle Recordings imprint, followed by a double EP the next year.

Public Storage builds on the sound of Vu’s early work underscoring her strengths as a songwriter with a deeper sense of luster, sophistication, and urgency. She calls it “very invasive and intense sounding music,” refreshingly out of step with contemporary trends; this is music to engage with rather than lean back to. For the first time, she welcomes a co-producer, Jackson Phillips (Day Wave), who helps Vu create a vast, grainy, multifaceted world to stretch into vocally, her distinct contralto drifting freely between evocative low-lit ruminations and soulful, skyward bursts.

Portland, Oregon-based musician Graham Jonson started early: playing piano as a toddler, finding the music of J Dilla in fifth grade, and self-releasing singles by age 16. First appearing under the name quickly, quickly in 2017, his project’s profile has since grown fervently with fans in the beats-oriented corners of SoundCloud, YouTube, and Reddit. Some of his early tracks tally north of 10 million plays on Spotify. The figure isn’t meant to flex as much as it is to point out that Jonson’s work has resonated without the traditional industry levers; he is a wunderkind DIY internet success story, but, by his own assessment at the present age of 20, he’s only now getting serious. With The Long and Short of It, his Ghostly International debut, Jonson reinvents his project as a full-fledged

Dieses ausgegrabene Matthew Dear Album wurde ursprünglich nach seinem gefeierten Album Asa Breed (2007) aufgenommen. Für Fans von Beck, Bill Callahan/Smog, Bibio. In erster Linie kennt man den gefragten texanischen DJ und Elektronikproduzenten Matthew Dear seit über zwanzig Jahren als Grenzgänger der Clubmusik, der nur im erweiterten Sinne als Popmusiker aktiv ist. Auf seinem 'neuen' Studioalbum überrascht der US-Musiker jetzt mit ungewöhnlichen Klängen. "Preacher's Sigh & Potion: Lost Album" wurde vor zehn Jahren aufgenommen, aber das Material nie veröffentlicht. Inspiriert vom Gitarrenspiel seines verstorbenen Vaters und klassischen Country-Folk-Favoriten wie Emmylou Harris, wendete Dear an, was er über Techno-Arrangements wusste, um einen organischen, loop-zentrierten Sound zu erforschen, der bluesig, persönlich und verspielt ist und die Geschichte von Pop und Rock, den Twang von Country, den Aufbau und das Loslassen von Techno durcheinander wirbelt.

Los Angeles-based harpist Mary Lattimore returns with Silver Ladders, the full-length follow-up to acclaimed album Hundreds of Days. Since 2018, Lattimore has toured internationally, released collaborative albums with artists such as Meg Baird and Mac McCaughan, and shared a friends-based remix album featuring artists such as Jónsi and Julianna Barwick. At one of her festival appearances, Lattimore met Slowdive’s Neil Halstead: “A friend introduced us because she knew how big of a fan I was and Neil and I had a little chat... The next day, I just thought maybe he’d be into producing my next record.” He was. Lattimore traditionally records her albums holed up by herself, so the addition of Halstead’s touches as a producer and collaborator leave a profound trace. “I flew on a little plane to Newquay in Cornwall where he lives with his lovely partner Ingrid and their baby. I didn’t know what his studio was like, he’d never recorded a harp, but somehow it really worked

Recorded over nine days at Halstead’s studio stationed on an old airfield, Silver Ladders finds Lattimore exercising command and restraint. Her signature style is refined, the sprawling layers of harp reigned in and accented by flourishes of low end synth and Halstead’s guitar. The music can feel ominous but not by compromising vivid wonder, like oceanic overtones that shift with the tides. This material is colored by specific memories for Lattimore; “Neil has this poster of a surfer in his studio and I’d look at it each day, looking at the sunlight glinting on the dark wave. In these songs I like the contrast between the dark lows and the glittering highs. The gloom and the glimmer, the opposites, a lively surfing town in the winter turned kinda rainy and empty and quiet.”

Lattimore and Halstead reformed three existing demos and improvised the remaining four songs. Among the batch she brought with her, the title track recalls a trip she took to Stari Grad, Croatia on the island of Hvar. “I spent some days there just swimming in the bay, silver ladders right into the sea.” The image stuck with her when she found herself performing at a cliffside wedding overlooking the Pacific. “Before anyone showed up, I had time to set up and play and this song came to me, ‘Silver Ladders (to the sea)’, so I made a little recording on my phone to remember it.” This sketch expanded; a delicately glittering harp melody comes over the horizon, swelling and rolling towards the shore on ebbs of synth and refractory delay.

Since his 2012 debut as Heathered Pearls, Jakub Alexander has constructed art — music, objects, installations, performances — as a way of re-imagining fragments of his past and mapping ideas for his future. The Polish-born, Michigan-raised, New York-based artist and producer sees imagery and narrative framework as fluid components to his craft. Alexander’s first album, Loyal, mimicked the hypnotic motions of ocean waves at night, offering melodic, loop-based ambient music as a tribute to the tasteful influence of his mother and aunt. The second Heathered Pearls album, Body Complex, found inspiration from comfort, imperfection, and visions of interior architecture, transforming Loyal’s soft textures into driving 4/4 figures, glacial tone drifts, and starry synth plateaus. His 2017 EP, Detroit, MI 1997 - 2001, reflected on a formative era through ephem- eral dance music. The third Heathered Pearls full-length,


Cast, returns to moodier loop formats joined by the distinctly new presence of the spo- ken word. The move mirrors the multitudes of its namesake: collaborators comprise a cast, healing in the bind of a cast, complex emotions and the shadows they cast. Alexander started work on Cast when living in Berlin and in Queens.

“I hit a wall listening to these tracks when they were instrumental.” This is where he diverged from previous modes, deciding to integrate speech. With a healthy distaste for aspects of performance art, he invited strictly non-scripted recordings, a series of anti-performances. This new format adds a surprising human element to music that has previously operated as sea-shapes or infrastructure. These flashes of language, Alexander’s close friends speaking about things, narratively and cerebrally, casually and profoundly, turn the distinctive Heathered Pearls sound into some- thing surprisingly gritty, tangible, and in certain sweeps, cinematic. It is as if the world outside of these compositions bleeds into the music, casting their verbal being from just off the surface, like the album’s cover artwork where the light hits the plexi object but misses the wall.

Alexander sees his covers as naturally unfinished workstations; the gauzed and patinaed copper on Cast continues in this philosophy. This is all to say Cast deals with absence as much a presence. Among the guest storytellers is Alexander’s friend and tourmate Nick Murphy (formerly Chet Faker), who unwinds a series of tender observations on “Basic Needs.” The swirling synthesizer immerses a series of empathies; feeling like an egg yolk, a window’s view, his love for the color yellow, and wanting yellow to love him back.

LTD. BLUE & PINK SWIRL VINYL

"Do you feel what I feel too?" Brijean Murphy floats the question at the start of Feelings, the full-length Ghostly International debut from Brijean, her collaborative project with Doug Stuart. Guided by a lush mix of charismatic keyboard chords, grooving bass lines, and radiant bongo-driven rhythms, the "Day Dreaming" lyric doubles as an invitation and a statement of intention. Brijean want you to move, physically, mentally, dimensionally; this is dance music for the mind, body, and soul. With Feelings, they've manifested a gentle collective space for respite, for self-reflection, for self-care, for uninhibited imagination and new possibilities. The album cultivates a specific vibe, a softness Murphy has come to call "romancing the psyche." Growing up in a family immersed in jazz, Latin and soul music, Murphy would become an accomplished DJ, session and live player in Oakland's diverse music scene and one of indie's most in-demand percussionists (Poolside, Toro Y Moi, U.S. Girls). In 2018, she began recording songs with multi-instrumentalist and producer Doug Stuart, who shares a background in jazz and pop in bands such as Bells Atlas, Meernaa, and Luke Temple. Following their first sessions, which resulted in the mini-album Walkie Talkie (released in 2019 on Native Cat Recordings), the duo continued freeform hangs in Oakland, inviting friends Chaz Bear, Tony Peppers, and Hamir Atwal. "We improvised on different feels for hours," says Murphy. "Nothing quite developed at first but we had seeds. We re-opened the sessions a couple months later, after returning from tours, and spent a month developing the songs in a little 400 square foot cottage." Aforementioned album opener "Day Dreaming" is a dynamic celebration of newness: the excitement in finding deeper understandings of yourself as you get to know someone, something, or somewhere new. "Wifi Beach" drops a pin in pure psych-pop exotica. With Atwal on drums, Stuart on bass, Peppers on keys, and Bear engineering, the group improvised the track's intro sequence based on the vision of a lavish 1970s pool party. Establishing the scene is a mid-frequency drum kit disco shuffle augmented by tight congas and timbale effect, as Murphy sings in spurts: "I want to be / Deep in love / I want to be / Say you love me too / I want to be / Honey." The stanzas cut between "reflective moments of wants and being overwhelmed by feelings of the present," she explains. "A lot of the `love songs' I write are to my psyche, self-reflections on how to encourage tender perspectives and make more time for the sweet stuff." Though there is a loose, dance-oriented motif throughout, the material gives way to somnolent turns. On "Ocean," Brijean's anodyne lyrics, reminiscent of Astrud Gilberto's airy croon, float atop a brushed drum pattern, sparkling rhodes lines, and pittering and softly funky woodblock bops. The opening line sets up the rest, "In this gentle space we lay" _ among the album's propensity for movement, tracks like "Ocean" stand out by leaning back for momentary sways of blissful introspection. Murphy calls the charming "Hey Boy" a "psychedelic guide _ the exploration of finding what feels good _ through sorrow, anxiety, apathy." This mentality applies to Feelings on the whole: in these nebulous and verdant worlds of hazy melodies, feathery hooks, and percussive details, the songs simply want us to feel alive. They radiate in wonderful abandon and with a sense of devotion to the self. RIYL: Stereolab, Astrud Gilberto, Air, Little Dragon, Broadcast, Khruangbin, Poolside.

"Do you feel what I feel too?" Brijean Murphy floats the question at the start of Feelings, the full-length Ghostly International debut from Brijean, her collaborative project with Doug Stuart. Guided by a lush mix of charismatic keyboard chords, grooving bass lines, and radiant bongo-driven rhythms, the "Day Dreaming" lyric doubles as an invitation and a statement of intention. Brijean want you to move, physically, mentally, dimensionally; this is dance music for the mind, body, and soul. With Feelings, they've manifested a gentle collective space for respite, for self-reflection, for self-care, for uninhibited imagination and new possibilities. The album cultivates a specific vibe, a softness Murphy has come to call "romancing the psyche." Growing up in a family immersed in jazz, Latin and soul music, Murphy would become an accomplished DJ, session and live player in Oakland's diverse music scene and one of indie's most in-demand percussionists (Poolside, Toro Y Moi, U.S. Girls). In 2018, she began recording songs with multi-instrumentalist and producer Doug Stuart, who shares a background in jazz and pop in bands such as Bells Atlas, Meernaa, and Luke Temple. Following their first sessions, which resulted in the mini-album Walkie Talkie (released in 2019 on Native Cat Recordings), the duo continued freeform hangs in Oakland, inviting friends Chaz Bear, Tony Peppers, and Hamir Atwal. "We improvised on different feels for hours," says Murphy. "Nothing quite developed at first but we had seeds. We re-opened the sessions a couple months later, after returning from tours, and spent a month developing the songs in a little 400 square foot cottage." Aforementioned album opener "Day Dreaming" is a dynamic celebration of newness: the excitement in finding deeper understandings of yourself as you get to know someone, something, or somewhere new. "Wifi Beach" drops a pin in pure psych-pop exotica. With Atwal on drums, Stuart on bass, Peppers on keys, and Bear engineering, the group improvised the track's intro sequence based on the vision of a lavish 1970s pool party. Establishing the scene is a mid-frequency drum kit disco shuffle augmented by tight congas and timbale effect, as Murphy sings in spurts: "I want to be / Deep in love / I want to be / Say you love me too / I want to be / Honey." The stanzas cut between "reflective moments of wants and being overwhelmed by feelings of the present," she explains. "A lot of the `love songs' I write are to my psyche, self-reflections on how to encourage tender perspectives and make more time for the sweet stuff." Though there is a loose, dance-oriented motif throughout, the material gives way to somnolent turns. On "Ocean," Brijean's anodyne lyrics, reminiscent of Astrud Gilberto's airy croon, float atop a brushed drum pattern, sparkling rhodes lines, and pittering and softly funky woodblock bops. The opening line sets up the rest, "In this gentle space we lay" _ among the album's propensity for movement, tracks like "Ocean" stand out by leaning back for momentary sways of blissful introspection. Murphy calls the charming "Hey Boy" a "psychedelic guide _ the exploration of finding what feels good _ through sorrow, anxiety, apathy." This mentality applies to Feelings on the whole: in these nebulous and verdant worlds of hazy melodies, feathery hooks, and percussive details, the songs simply want us to feel alive. They radiate in wonderful abandon and with a sense of devotion to the self. RIYL: Stereolab, Astrud Gilberto, Air, Little Dragon, Broadcast, Khruangbin, Poolside.

Much like its predecessor, In Decay, the 2014 compilation of unreleased, early Com Truise recordings, In Decay, Too unlocks a new set of rarities and unheard fragments from the past for the producer's legion of fans. To accomplish such a feat, the Com camp tapped the Internet's foremost Com Truise archivist, Polychora (formerly Comrade), whose YouTube channel has diligently documented Seth Haley's musical output since his earliest Komputer Cast (Haley's podcast mix series) days. Polychora's vault and input helped Haley and the team locate and curate the ultimate sequence of career-spanning off-album material, showcasing an artist in perpetual orbit of hazy machinist nostalgia. Haley's singular style of melodic beat music is the work of countless iterations; with In Decay, Too, his idiosyncratic exercises, experiments, and pivots pause for a rightful wave of appreciation. Following the smeared introductory tones of "Zeta," the album locks into its first robotic groove on "Compress_ Fuse," a trademark Truise treatment with cascading synth lines and deep, sinister low-end bass stabs. Further down is the suspiciously bright "False Ascendancy," which lures listeners through a labyrinth of drum patterns and siren-like keys, all colliding into "Constant Fracture." The track pushes to the point of stress, reaching the album's apex with a punishing series of blows before fading to relief, where the beatless and contemplative "Trajectory" awaits. In 2019, Com Truise left his previous sci-fi narratives behind for the visceral Persuasion System, a markedly more human record, which now makes In Decay, Too something like a bookend to an era. One last transmission from coordinates unknown; a culminating exhale ahead of what's still yet to come.

Much like its predecessor, In Decay, the 2014 compilation of unreleased, early Com Truise recordings, In Decay, Too unlocks a new set of rarities and unheard fragments from the past for the producer's legion of fans. To accomplish such a feat, the Com camp tapped the Internet's foremost Com Truise archivist, Polychora (formerly Comrade), whose YouTube channel has diligently documented Seth Haley's musical output since his earliest Komputer Cast (Haley's podcast mix series) days. Polychora's vault and input helped Haley and the team locate and curate the ultimate sequence of career-spanning off-album material, showcasing an artist in perpetual orbit of hazy machinist nostalgia. Haley's singular style of melodic beat music is the work of countless iterations; with In Decay, Too, his idiosyncratic exercises, experiments, and pivots pause for a rightful wave of appreciation. Following the smeared introductory tones of "Zeta," the album locks into its first robotic groove on "Compress_ Fuse," a trademark Truise treatment with cascading synth lines and deep, sinister low-end bass stabs. Further down is the suspiciously bright "False Ascendancy," which lures listeners through a labyrinth of drum patterns and siren-like keys, all colliding into "Constant Fracture." The track pushes to the point of stress, reaching the album's apex with a punishing series of blows before fading to relief, where the beatless and contemplative "Trajectory" awaits. In 2019, Com Truise left his previous sci-fi narratives behind for the visceral Persuasion System, a markedly more human record, which now makes In Decay, Too something like a bookend to an era. One last transmission from coordinates unknown; a culminating exhale ahead of what's still yet to come.

It's been four years since Sweatbox Dynasty, the fourth solo LP from Pennsylvanian experimentalist TOBACCO. In that time, Tom Fec's project has toured with Nine Inch Nails, provided the theme song to HBO series Silicon Valley, and teamed with Aesop Rock for a collaborative album as Malibu Ken. He now returns to Ghostly International for Hot Wet & Sassy, a full-length album oozing with his most playful and approachable songs to date, which, conversely, express notions of antilove, self-hate, and disappointment in others. Pop impulses have always surged beneath the surface of his sound - blown-out bass, analog synths, drum machines, and Fec's unmistakable analog gurgle and hiss - here they've bubbled to the top. "I feel like it's the most I've been able to refine what I'm doing," says Fec. "For the past decade I've had this motherfxcker on my shoulder that makes me pick away at structure and melody. Purposely covering up moments because I can. That really came to a peak on Sweatbox. So I wanted the opposite this time. Write the songs without ripping them in half. I went from 'what would the Butthole Surfers do?' to 'what would Cyndi Lauper do?'" And what would Trent Reznor do? Fec found his answer straight from the source. Their collaborative track, "Babysitter," fuses their voices into one deranged presence: "I'm the new babysitter," they alert, before pivoting into a menacingly saccharine bridge. The track tumbles on a tom fill, then a punishing synth line rips into a cacophony of drums and feedback like a lawnmower gnawing through the living room carpet. "This was new for me, but I wanted to write a song that was everything I am and have been, and then like one notch further. Trent was the notch further," adds Fec. The collaboration is a work of alchemy seamlessly blending TOBACCO's trademarks with Reznor's industrial rust and sonic gore. Downcast, sincere, woozy, "Jinmenken" might be the closest Fec has come to a ballad. "Maybe you can find me down the line," his vocoded delivery bounces along the beat. "It's me trying to write a Jets song," says Fec. Album opener "Centaur Skin" presents the stylistic concoction that has been the TOBACCO MO from the beginning, crossing dreamy melodic shimmer with the sinister tones and slime. This has become easier to digest, but also far more potent. A motorik beat steadies the track's galloping arpeggio, acting as a springboard for Fec's dark ruminations as well as an uncharacteristically crystalline synth solo. "It's my feel good self hate anthem. Don't worry, I'm good. It was fun to write." TOBACCO hasn't been reinvented, but it has been refined and distilled. Brighter, sharper, and far more dangerous because of it. Hot Wet & Sassy is practically staring at the sun without shades and feeling those corneas roast. Everything looks good as your vision fades. The pop-forward structures exert their undeniable hooks with baneful precision, pulling listeners into their clutches; once there, sugary melody rewards submission.

Die in Los Angeles lebende Harfenistin Mary Lattimore kehrt mit ihrem neuen Album ,Silver Ladders" zurück. Seit ihrem letzten Longplayer ,Hundreds Of Days" aus dem Jahr 2018 ist Lattimore international getourt und hat gemeinsame Alben mit KünstlerInnen wie Meg Baird und Mac Mccaughan veröffentlicht. Außerdem erschien 2019 ein Remix-Album von ,Hundreds Of Days" an dem sich unter anderem Jónsi und Julianna Barwick beteiligten. Bei einem ihrer Festival-Auftritte traf Lattimore Neil Halstead von Slowdive: ,A friend introduced us because she knew how big of a fan I was and Neil and I had a little chat... The next day, I just thought maybe he'd be into producing my next record." Das tat er schlussendlich auch. Lattimore nimmt ihre Alben traditionell allein auf, daher hinterlässt Halstead als Produzent und Mitarbeiter eine ganz eigene Note. Der Aufnahmeprozess in Halsteads Studio, das auf einem alten Flugplatz stationiert ist, dauerte über neun Tage. Lattimores unverkennbarer Stil ist auch auf ,Silver Ladders" elegant - im Vordergrund stehen sich ausbreitende Harfen-Schichten, welche mit aufblühenden Low-End-Synthesizern und Halsteads Gitarre angereichert werden. Die Musik kann sich teils bedrohlich anfühlen wie der Klang des Ozeans, der sich mit den Gezeiten verändert. Inspiriert von den Erzählungen aus Cornwall, die Halstead mit Lattimore teilte, sowie von diversen Gesprächen, Ideen und ihren eigenen Reisen, haben die Songs deutlich etwas märchenhaftes - und doch ist ,Silver Ladders" offen für eigene Interpretationen. LATTIMOREs Erinnerungen - ,the Cornish landscape, the hotel from the movie The Witches, the cream tea, winning the pub quiz, the Sunday Roast, the ghosts of all of the surfers who had died in the wild waves, the night walks to the top of the hill to see the moon shining on the water." - scheinen durch diese Werke hindurch, ohne sie zu definieren. In gewisser Weise gehören sie, ähnlich wie das Meer oder der Himmel, allen. Das ist die Schönheit ihres Handwerks!

West coast composer, artist, and producer Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith has chartered a pioneering career with multiple critically-acclaimed albums since 2015. Following the release of The Kid in 2017, Smith focused her energy in several directions. She founded Touchtheplants, a multidisciplinary creative environment for projects including the first volumes in her instrumental Electronic Series and pocket-sized poetry books on the practice of listening within. She's continued to explore the endless possibilities of electronic instruments as well as the shapes, movements, and expressions found in the physical body's relationship to sound and color. It is this life-guiding interest that forms the foundational frequencies of her most recent full-length, The Mosaic of Transformation, a bright, sensorial glide through unbound wave phenomena and the radiant power discovered within oneself. "I guess in one sentence, this album is my expression of love and appreciation for electricity," says Smith. While writing and recording, she embraced a daily practice of physical movement, passing electricity through her body and into motion, in ways reflecting her audio practice, which sends currents through modular synthesizers and into the air through speakers. Not a dancer by any traditional definition, she taught herself improvisatory movement realizing flexibility, strength, and unexpectedly, a "visual language" stemming from the human body and comprised of vibrational shapes. Understood as cymatics, as Smith says, "as a reference for how frequencies can be visualized," much like a mosaic. Smith describes her first encounters with this mosaic; "the inspiration came to me in a sudden bubble of joy. It was accompanied by a multitude of shapes that were moving seamlessly from one into the other...My movement practice has been a constant transformation piece by piece. I made this album in the same way. Every day I would transform what I did yesterday...into something else. This album has gone through about 12 different versions of itself." As it has arrived, in a completed state, The Mosaic of Transformation is a holistic manifestation of embodied motions. Smith's signature textural curiosity that fans have grown to adore pivots naturally into a proprioceptive study of melody and timbre. Airy organ and voice interweave with burbling Buchla-spawned harmonic bubbles. "The Steady Heart" quivers to life, peppering blasts of wooden organ between winding vocal affirmations. As with a body, moving one portion requires a balance and counterbalance; here, subtle tonal twitchy signals fire in conjunction with coiling arias to create a mesmeric core. When the beat arrives at the midway mark, a swooping and jittery waltz, a sense of stasis in motion, a flow state, is sonically achieved. As soon as it syncs, it disappears back into the swirling ebbs of electric force. Other tracks stray into more ruminative physical realms. "Carrying Gravity" is built around string-like pads that expand and contract like a solar plexus, becoming taught and then loose. If the record could be summarized in a single movement, it is the 10-minute closing suite, a rapturous collage called "Expanding Electricity." Symphonic phrases establish the piece before washes of glittering electric peals and synthesized vibraphone helix into focus. Soon, Smith's voice grounds it all with an intuitive vocal hook, harmonized and augmented by concentric spirals of harp-and-horn-like sounds. Smith's music doesn't capture a specific emotion as much as it captures the joys of possessing a body, and the ability to, with devotion and a steady open heart, maneuver that vessel in space by way of electricity to euphoric degrees.

As electronic musician Lorenz Brunner sketched his vision for the first Recondite full-length on Ghostly in five years he took a step back to assess who and where he was as an artist. 2013’s Hinterland accelerated a progression — he’s since been touring around the world and releasing music with labels such as Hotflush and his own Plangent Records — yet, for him, the album cast a shadow of pressure that widened over time. As with most art forms, perhaps especially music, there is an expectation to change, to creatively pivot elsewhere with each project. After careful consideration, Brunner rejects this notion with his new work, opting alternately to use the icy Hinterland as an aesthetic and tonal template for a like-minded map of evocative compositions aptly titled after the German word “stillstand,” now presented as Dwell.

“I am coherent with what I do, even if I’m not reinventing myself,” Brunner says contentedly. In regards to the album title, he adds, “It’s like when you’re on a hike and you stop and look at the scenery; you may know which path you want to go next but right now you are dwelling.” The title also doubles as a reference to everyday domestic life, a restorative haven for Brunner between tours. Like Hinterland, he incorporates a subtle range of field recordings to intensify the textural atmosphere. While he worked at home on “Mirror Games,” Brunner noticed the buzz coming from across the room, where his wife was using an electric toothbrush, naturally harmonized with the track. He decided to push that frequency further and record the device directly, syncing vibrations for added urgency across the propulsive piece as well as parts of the ambient “Interlude 2.”

Windswept, moody, and melodic, moments on Dwell linger with emotional resonance. The title track sends an eerie synth loop through a field of techno kicks. The beats recede for a breather four minutes in as if to survey the surroundings. If Brunner pivots anywhere — possibly just a new perspective afforded by being confidently stationary in his craft — it’s by leaning more into hip-hop structures. He’s an avid rap fan and his love for those production techniques is notably present on “Nobilia,” a queasy shuffler (titled in reference to the Super Nintendo game Secret of Evermore), “Interlude 1,” which skitters in lockstep with contemplative synth chords, and “Surface,” an isolatory, ruminative sequence. The closer “Moon Pearl” soothes and shimmers like its namesake, a cherished gem in The Legend of Zelda series that allows carriers of the gem to retain their shape and essence in the Dark World.

In an era where constant reinvention and highly self-reflexive brand awareness reigns supreme in the music industry, Brunner as Recondite does something many artists try to avoid, he dwells in his own established identity, one that has garnered him a devoted fanbase. His murky electronic productions, built around mirage-like pads and clipped drum programming, have proven to be highly functional and spectrally enveloping; Dwell is not a return to form, it is a further study of the shapes, it is the modes, and the structures Brunner has trademarked.

As electronic musician Lorenz Brunner sketched his vision for the first Recondite full-length on Ghostly in five years he took a step back to assess who and where he was as an artist. 2013’s Hinterland accelerated a progression — he’s since been touring around the world and releasing music with labels such as Hotflush and his own Plangent Records — yet, for him, the album cast a shadow of pressure that widened over time. As with most art forms, perhaps especially music, there is an expectation to change, to creatively pivot elsewhere with each project. After careful consideration, Brunner rejects this notion with his new work, opting alternately to use the icy Hinterland as an aesthetic and tonal template for a like-minded map of evocative compositions aptly titled after the German word “stillstand,” now presented as Dwell.

“I am coherent with what I do, even if I’m not reinventing myself,” Brunner says contentedly. In regards to the album title, he adds, “It’s like when you’re on a hike and you stop and look at the scenery; you may know which path you want to go next but right now you are dwelling.” The title also doubles as a reference to everyday domestic life, a restorative haven for Brunner between tours. Like Hinterland, he incorporates a subtle range of field recordings to intensify the textural atmosphere. While he worked at home on “Mirror Games,” Brunner noticed the buzz coming from across the room, where his wife was using an electric toothbrush, naturally harmonized with the track. He decided to push that frequency further and record the device directly, syncing vibrations for added urgency across the propulsive piece as well as parts of the ambient “Interlude 2.”

Windswept, moody, and melodic, moments on Dwell linger with emotional resonance. The title track sends an eerie synth loop through a field of techno kicks. The beats recede for a breather four minutes in as if to survey the surroundings. If Brunner pivots anywhere — possibly just a new perspective afforded by being confidently stationary in his craft — it’s by leaning more into hip-hop structures. He’s an avid rap fan and his love for those production techniques is notably present on “Nobilia,” a queasy shuffler (titled in reference to the Super Nintendo game Secret of Evermore), “Interlude 1,” which skitters in lockstep with contemplative synth chords, and “Surface,” an isolatory, ruminative sequence. The closer “Moon Pearl” soothes and shimmers like its namesake, a cherished gem in The Legend of Zelda series that allows carriers of the gem to retain their shape and essence in the Dark World.

In an era where constant reinvention and highly self-reflexive brand awareness reigns supreme in the music industry, Brunner as Recondite does something many artists try to avoid, he dwells in his own established identity, one that has garnered him a devoted fanbase. His murky electronic productions, built around mirage-like pads and clipped drum programming, have proven to be highly functional and spectrally enveloping; Dwell is not a return to form, it is a further study of the shapes, it is the modes, and the structures Brunner has trademarked.

As electronic musician Lorenz Brunner sketched his vision for the first Recondite full-length on Ghostly in five years he took a step back to assess who and where he was as an artist. 2013's Hinterland accelerated a progression he's since been touring around the world and releasing music with labels such as Hotflush and his own Plangent Records. His new album uses the icy Hinterland as an aesthetic and tonal template for a like-minded map of evocative compositions aptly titled after the German word "stillstand," now presented as Dwell. Windswept, moody, and melodic, moments on Dwell linger with emotional resonance. The title track sends an eerie synth loop through a field of techno kicks. The beats recede for a breather four minutes in as if to survey the surroundings. If Brunner pivots anywhere - possibly just a new perspective afforded by being confidently stationary in his craft - it's by leaning more into hip-hop structures. He's an avid rap fan and his love for those production techniques is notably present on "Nobilia," a queasy shuffler (titled in reference to the Super Nintendo game Secret of Evermore), "Interlude 1," which skitters in lockstep with contemplative synth chords, and "Surface," an isolatory, ruminative sequence. The closer "Moon Pearl" soothes and shimmers like its namesake, a cherished gem in The Legend of Zelda series that allows carriers of the gem to retain their shape and essence in the Dark World. Recondite does something many artists try to avoid, he dwells in his own established identity, one that has garnered him a devoted fanbase. His murky electronic productions, built around mirage-like pads and clipped drum programming, have proven to be highly functional and spectrally enveloping; Dwell is not a return to form, it is a further study of the shapes, it is the modes, and the structures Brunner has trademarked.

Chicago-based contemporary electronic musician Steve Hauschildt has composed panoramas of synthesized sound for over a decade. First within his former band, Emeralds, an American touchstone of 2000s home-recorded psychedelic noise music, and later across a steady and critically-acclaimed stream of solo releases spanning ambient techno, arpeggiated electronica and post-kosmische styles utilizing synthesizers, computers, and digital processing. In 2018, he extended a collection of rich, visceral tracks titled Dissolvi, his first release on Ghostly International and his most collaborative work to date. Just a year later, Hauschildt returns with Nonlin, an album that's freer, leaner, and looser, both structurally and conceptually; less linear compared to its predecessor, but still captivating. Developed and recorded in several studios during and around the edges of tour - Chicago, Los Angeles, New York, Tbilisi, and Brussels - this material emulates an alienating encounter with a smattering of places, a replicant of culture shock, a solitary and stark experience with uncanny environments, melody and dissonance as oblique locales. Nonlin finds Hauschildt evolving his palette of tools, integrating modular and granular synthesis. The improvisatory and generative nature of modular systems, when paired with his signature grid-oriented and hand-played techniques, guides these compositions slightly out of line to hypnotic effect. Opener "Cloudloss" permeates the mix with an unsettling smog, which reappears and all but engulfs "A Planet Left Behind." On cuts like "Attractor B" and "Subtractive Skies," pockets of air rest between sequenced pulses, whose crumpling and flattening folds build into a restrained rapture of crisp frequencies and milky reverb-swallowed coruscations. The album's title track and centerpiece logs on to a foreign network, a fractured percussion signal that modulates and stutters into static amidst curious melodic sparkling in the hazy bandwidth. "Reverse Culture Music" casts an elegant and brooding stream of strings, pizzicato and churning bow from Chicago cellist Lia Kohl, against chiming minimalist synth frameworks. A surprising pattern emerges in the taciturn systems at work. Hauschildt continues to expand his already horizon-wide repertoire, here exploring the effects of corrupting coordinates; a flight subject to the collapsable abilities of time in remote spaces, a smearing of the axis to elegiac ends.

Legend has it that Brian Eno’s concept of ambient music came to him while laid up in a hospital bed after an automobile ac-cident in the 70's. A friend brought him some records, playing them too low to be properly heard, and Eno couldn’t get out of bed to adjust the volume. While the record spun softly, Eno’s idea for music you could ignore as easily as you could give it your full attention, like a sort of sonic wallpaper, was born. It’s in that spirit of quiet isolation that Ghostly International, in associ-ation with Adult Swim, shares Ghostly Swim 2, our way of giving listeners a space to get away from the manic holiday bustle.

For those keeping track at home, Ghostly is wrapping up its 15th anniversary as an Ann Arbor/Brooklyn-based indie. 2014 has seen the company soundtracking video games (Playstation’s Hohokum), collaborating with awesome companies like Warby Parker and VOID watches, and clearing 300 releases of for-ward-thinking music with records from Tycho, Com Truise, and HTRK. What better way to end this banner year than to revisit one of our favorite partnerships from the past decade and a half?

Released in 2008, Ghostly Swim was praised for its adventurous survey of exploratory dance and pop music. Our curatorial focus has shifted this time around, moving further inward (spiritually) and outward (as far as our roster goes) to reflect the electron-ic underground in all of its hazy and vibrant experimentalism. Ghostly Swim 2 is a document of textured ambient zone-outs and woozy, granular house and techno that will help you find some downtime away from The Most Wonderful Time of the Year. So sit back, lower the volume, and enjoy our selections.

Matthew Dear is a shapeshifter, oscillating seamlessly between DJ, dance-music producer, and experimental pop auteur. He is a founding artist on both Ghostly International and its danceoor offshoot, Spectral Sound. He writes, produces, and mixes all of his work. He straddles multiple musical worlds and belongs to none, now nearly 20 years into his kaleidoscopic career, with ve albums and two dozen EPs plus millions of miles in the rearview of his biography.

Bunny is the name of Matthew Dear's fth album. His rst since 2012, it bounces into plain sight preceded by two slyly different singles in 2017: the moody, urgent "Modanil Blues' and the buoyant, blithe, Tegan and Sara-featuring 'Bad Ones.' Bunny follows both modes, among others, parading down a rabbit hole of unhinged phrasings, dreams, and interludes. It saunters in the shadows; it stands brightly in the moonlight. Bunny is a dual vision of avant-pop; an artistic reckoning from a 21st-century polymath; persona splintered, paradox paraphrased, a riddle rendered.

Matthew Dear's Black City Can't Be Found On Any Map. It's A Composite, An Imaginary Metropolis Peopled By Desperate Cases, Lovelorn Souls, And Amoral Motives. Like Most Literary Gothams, Black City Is A Place To Love And Hate, As Seedy As A Nightclub's Back Room And As Seductive As The Promise Of Power. Matthew Dear, The Musician, May Live In New York City, But The Matthew Dear Of Black City Inhabits A Sound-world Unlike Any Other: A Monument To The Shadowy Side Of Urban Life That Bumps And Creaks, Shudders And Wakes Up Screaming In The Middle Of The Night. Black City Is Matthew Dear's Third Album On Ghostly International, And It's His Darkest And Most Engrossing Work To Date.

From The rst Notes Of Album Opener "honey", It's Clear That The Love-obsessed Matthew Dear Of 2007's Asa Breed Has Given Way To A More Existentially Paranoid Entity, As Creeping Tempos Dominate, Cavernous Atmospherics Envelop The Listener, And Strange Distortions Crackle On The Horizon. In Black City, Nothing Is At It Seems: Leadoff Single "little People (black City)" Is A Nine-and-a-half Minute Disco odyssey, subverting its gleaming electronic lead with eerily giddy backing vocals and cryptic, ominous lyrics ("a frozen wasted heart / has died", "love me like a clown"); "You Put a Smell on Me" is a sordid sex romp set to hysterically chattering percussion and a serrated synth line that will set your teeth on edge; "More Surgery" at rst recalls the barely-there Krautrock of Harmonia in its burbling minimalism, until Dear's chanted chorus of "Alter genetics / to make my body glow / I need more surgery / there's so much more to know" sends the track hurtling into a dystopian future.

And yet, for all the foreboding moods on Black City, it's the album's sweeter moments that illustrate Matthew Dear's growing maturity as a songwriter. "Slowdance" is a futuristic lullaby in which Dear articulates a lover's helplessness ("I can't be the one to tell you everything's wrong") over breathy, Arthur Russell-esque cello swishes; the album-closing "Gem" is an achingly simple, reverb-drenched piano ballad that ends with a long, slow fade. Even in Matthew Dear's Black City, there is hope.

On Respective Edges Of America — Oregon And Maine — Keith Kenniff Records Quiet Music At Night. 'when Things Are Calmer,' He Says. 'my Mind Is Less Distracted When I Know That Everything Is Dark Outside.' For Over A Decade, Such Has Been The Mode — Nocturnal, Unrushed, Using The Same Mini-cassette Recorder, "a Lovely Little Imperfect Way To Treat Sounds" — For One Of The Country's Most Understated Composers. Kenniff Has Housed Dozens Of Ambient Releases Under The Name Helios Since 2004, Alongside Post-classical Output As Goldmund, Shoegaze Pop With His Wife Hollie As Mint Julep, And Commissions For lm And Television. It Is A Reliably Transportive Body Of Work That's Earned Kenniff A Cult Following, And A Genuine Modesty That's Kept Him On The Fringes, Right Where He Prefers, In The Dark.

Kenniff Mostly Lets His Music Breathe Free Of Explanation, Open To Interpretation. As Listeners, We Follow Subtle Suggestions — The ery Sky On The Cover Of 2012's Moiety, The Countryside Daydream Of 2015's Yume — Extracting Meanings From Imagery And Inscriptions. Veriditas, The Sixth Helios Full-length, Shares Its Name With Twelfth-century Philosopher Hildegard Von Bingen's Notion Of "the Greening Power Of The Divine," The Term Derived From The Union Of Two Latin Words: Green And Truth. Bingen Saw The Abundance Of The Earth As Vitality To Be Cultivated, Interconnected With The Body And Spirit. Take The Concept In Concert With Veriditas' Vistas Of Sound, Gazing Beyond The Tree-lined Wonder On Its Artwork, And We Undoubtedly Recognize The Album's Rooting. Kenniff Elaborates, "while I'm Not A Very Spiritual Person As It Relates To A Religious Belief, I Do Feel An Overwhelming Connection Between The Aesthetics I nd Pleasing In My Experience Of Nature And My Experience Of Writing Music."

In search of the sublime, contemporary electronic musician Steve Hauschildt has designed grids and panoramas of sound across multiple releases through the rise and dissolution of his former band, Emeralds, an American touchstone of 2000s home-recorded psychedelic noise music. Consistent with his solo work is Hauschildt's ability to coil his craft in precise, varied, and distinctly physical forms. Gently spinning arpeggios converse with post-industrial decay. Sonic bers sway like pendulums from static melancholy to motorik bliss. Dissolvi, the artist's rst full-length with Ghostly International, engages sublimation from an ontological perspective: by dissociating the self. Hauschildt steps out from the singular path, for the rst time in a traditional studio, to compose and arrange contributions from friends. As a result, his most collaborative work to date extends a vast, vibrating framework in which to consider the state of being.

The album's title — a reference to cupio dissolvi, the Latin phrase meaning "I wish to be dissolved" — needn't be taken one-dimensionally or as purely solipsistic. It does, however, serve an apt reference. Physiological phenomena are of interest to Hauschildt. These back-of-mind ruminations nd their way out. Songs are cerebral in orientation, but beyond explanation, the music is truly visceral.

Involuntary eye movement inspires the serene, sanguine-nearing-suspicious "Saccade." Hauschildt feathers soft percussion beneath the echoed refrains of Los Angeles musician Julianna Barwick, together shaping a svelte suggestion of the anxieties brought about by modern-day surveillance; if everyone is being watched constantly, there is no individual, no self, only a broadly monitored and clumsily cataloged populous. The work of Chicago poet Carl Sandburg comes to mind: 'I am the people—the mob—the crowd—the mass.' The individual dissolves into the taxonomic crowd.

Minimalist techno impulses provide a stylistic through-line for Dissolvi. Understated synth phrases and drum grooves take hold in selective moments, like synchronistic structures onto which nebulous mists, like the rapturous voice of Gabrielle Herbst aka GABI on "Syncope," cling to and cloud, producing a dazzling rift in consciousness. The 7-minute centerpiece "Alienself" reiterates this creative logic, burbling like an amorphous body of water on a low-gravity planet, on the verge of dissolving, but never fully dematerializing.

The album was constructed in Chicago (where Hauschildt now resides) and partially in New York. "Much of it was recorded in a windowless studio which removed elemental or seasonal references to time in the music," says Hauschildt. "The focus this time was on mixing the album and incorporating a broader set of instrumentation. I describe my compositional approach as being quasi-generative." Embracing new methods and philosophical curiosities, and in turn, expanding the range of his repertoire, Hauschildt proposes a fascinating and profoundly rich experience in listening, being, and deliquescing.

When Ann Arbor's Tadd Mullinix began exploring hip-hop under the name Dabrye 20 years ago, he soon honed in on a startling vision of what the genre could be: ingenious, refined, daring. This vision came to life across two albums for Ghostly International — 2001's One/Three and its 2006 follow-up Two/Three— with each record further positioning the quiet Michigan producer as one of his generation's best, equally comfortable creating minimalist instrumental meditations or sharp rap salvos. In the late 2000s, following critical acclaim and accolades from both peers and inspirations (including the late Jay Dee with whom Mullinix collaborated before his untimely passing), Mullinix put the Dabrye moniker on ice and dedicated himself to other genres and ideas. All the while the influence of his work on a new generation of electronic musicians continued to make itself felt in subtle but meaningful ways.

All this changes in 2017 as Dabrye makes his long-awaited return with Three/Three, a razor-sharp rap album that brings to completion a prophetic trilogy. Mullinix's incisive productions provide the backdrop for equally acute rhymes that run the gamut from intergenerational observations and being your best self to back alley deals and having fun in the ride. Guests include indie rap legend DOOM, whose previous collaboration with Dabrye remains a point of reference for many, Wu Tang storyteller Ghostface Killah, L.A word fanatic Jonwayne, and Long Island's rugged surrealist Roc Marciano. Most importantly Three/Three is, much like its predecessor, an unfettered celebration of Detroit-area talent with Guilty Simpson, Phat Kat, Kadence, Quelle Chris, Danny Brown, Shigeto, Clear Soul Forces and more all lending their touch to Dabrye's return.

The blend of American and British dance music, hip-hop sampling, and Jamaican sound clash energy that underpinned Two/Three remains a quiet, guiding principle. At the same time Mullinix rejoices in a refreshed perspective, having had time to incubate ideas and find clarity in the distance between albums and the evolution of scenes.The beats are looser and less angular, more embracing of repetition. Organic techniques inspired by soul and jazz round off some of the harsher sonics. The resulting broad palette of tracks reflects both this evolution and the range of the Dabrye persona: relaxed headnod ("Tunnel Vision"), nervous, slow-motion electro ("The Appetite"), glacial motifs ("Emancipated"), jazzy, cut-up funk ("Sunset"), minimal brutalism ("Electrocutor"), intricate layering ("Culture Shuffle").

Three/Three marks the return of an innovator after close to a decade of silence. Despite what the title might imply, the album isn't the end of the story but rather the completion of a creative arc. Expect more Dabrye in the near future. The game is far from over.

- Final installment of the /Three series, started in 2001
- Guests include Ghostface Killah, Jonwayne, Doom, Danny Brown, Shigeto, and more.
- Media support from: The Wire, FACT Magazine, The Detroit Free Press, Pitchfork, XLR8R
- Past collabs with Jay Dee (J Dilla), MF DOOM, Beans & more
- Vinyl is housed in a matte jacket with black hot foil and includes 24-page zine designed by Michael Cina.

As naturally as X-Altera came to be, the music itself is a unique refraction of styles and bold, contradictory approaches. But it all blends together uncannily well—maybe because of the decades of production experience that went into it, or the holistic mindset Mullinix took from the beginning. The name itself reflects as much. "X-Altera references two things. It comes from Latin—ex altera—which means 'from or of the other side.' Which could be a metaphysical thing, or you could say it's jungle ethics brought into the techno world. And I spelled it this way as a reference to X-101 and X-102, the Underground Resistance project of Je- Mills, Mike Banks, and Robert Hood." Detroit meets London, deep techno meets drum & bass, old meets new—X-Altera unites these threads in order to take them in unknown directions.A fresh debut from one of the most vital electronic producers of the last 20 years, Tadd Mullinix (Dabrye, JTC, Charles Manier), who looks to the past of techno and jungle to find a new ways forward.

"It was the most beautiful summer of my life."

Memories — places, vacancies, allusions — are fundamental characters in Mary Lattimore's evocative craft. Inside her music, wordless narratives, indenite travelogues, and braided events skew into something enchantingly new. The Los Angeles-based harpist recorded her breakout 2016 album, At The Dam, during stops along a road trip across America, letting the serene landscapes of Joshua Tree and Marfa, Texas color her compositions. In 2017, she presented Collected Pieces, a tape compiling sounds from her past life in Philadelphia: odes to the east coast, burning motels, and beach town convenience stores. In 2018, from a restorative station — a redwood barn, nestled in the hills above San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge — emanates Hundreds of Days, her second full-length LP with Ghostly International. The record sojourns between silences and speech, between microcosmic daily scenes and macrocosmic universal understandings, between being alien in promising new places and feeling torn from old native havens. It's an expansive new chapter in Lattimore's story, and an expression of mystied gratitude. A study in how ordinary components helix together to create an extraordinary world.

Awarded a residency at the Headlands Center for the Arts, Lattimore spent two summer months living with 15 fellow artists — writers, playwrights, musicians, poets, painters, activists, curators — in a cluster of old Victorian military buildings on the Northern Pacic Coast. Days offered solitude, Lattimore set up in a spacious barn, able to arrange her instruments at will. Nights welcomed new perspectives. "Hanging out with a lot of accomplished artists with poetic ways of looking at the world was really inspiring. My heart was in a bit of a tangle after leaving Philadelphia. I was holding onto things instead of moving forward. My time there was a nostalgia detox, a way to press reset in a healthy way. Also breathing in the freshest air in America, straight off of the ocean, felt good."

Throughout the shifting locales there is one consistent companion Lattimore engages: a 47-string Lyon and Healy harp. The instrument wires directly into her psyche. Pitchfork's Marc Masters posits, "she can practically talk through it at this point, she's created a language." The space and stillness of the Headlands afforded Lattimore freedom to her expand her vocabulary, to stretch out and experiment with layers of keyboard, guitar, theremin, and grand piano. Lattimore's voice sweeps beneath the plucks and washes of opener It Feels Like Floating,' enraptured by the winding current, and reappearing in the second minute of the immense "Never Saw Him Again." The track elevates towards a shimmering apex of static and percussion before organ drone yields to signature halcyon utters. As with much of Lattimore's work, the track titles are telling, "Baltic Birch" is a somber windswept march that sways gracefully out of step, a remembrance of a recent trip to Latvia where she was struck by the abandoned resort towns along the Baltic Sea. Hello From The Edge of The Earth' is an earnest reection of Lattimore's love of the natural world, recognizing the thresholds of varying terrains.

The album's fth track borrows its name from Lattimore's favorite line in Denis Johnson's short story Emergency' from Jesus' Son. A character, lost in a blizzard, reassesses a disjointed universe, a clash between curtains of snow and angels descending out of a brilliant blue summer: it isn't an apocalypse, it is a drive-in movie, with stars hovering above the lot, off the screen, in the throes of the Midwestern storm. This mix-up is disorienting and existentially tragic, Lattimore's darkly strummed piece is a melancholic parallel, mimicking Johnson's elegant suture attaching two remarkably discontinuous spaces.

Micro-revelations, not quite as bright as torn skies but nonetheless enlightening, were everyday occurrences during Lattimore's residency. Living small days with small tasks — feeling little dramas within the arcadian universe of a national park — rendered her the sense that disjointed spaces can be interconnected no matter the enormity that divides them. It's in this elastic scale of perception that something as simultaneously simple and intricate as Hundreds of Days can ourish.

- Second solo album for Ghostly, past releases on Thrill Jockey
- Recently toured w/ Sharon Van Etten, Jarvis Cocker, Kurt Vile, Steve Gunn, Julia Holter, Iceage
- Mary Lattimore has been featured on Pitchfork, NPR, The Wire Magazine, and more