Cerca:let the machines do the work

UK-based DJ and producer Wallace debuts on Phantasy Sound with an irresistible double A-side single, ‘Cravings (ft. Love Letters) / Concourse.’ Bubbling with sensuality and euphoria, both tracks reinforce Wallace’s burgeoning reputation as one of electronic music’s most impressive new voices, a crowning moment on Erol Alkan’s long-running label following a stellar run of singles for imprints including Cooking With Palms Trax, Rhythm Section, and Moxie's much-loved On Loop.

Led by a longing, inquisitive performance from vocalist and underground house music luminary, Love Letters, ‘Cravings’ builds from a simple throbbing bass line to an eruption of lyrical and musical joy. Exploring onset desire – risk, uncertainty, and ultimately, reward – Wallace’s deep and celebratory arrangement interweaves with Love Letters’ queer perspective to deliver universal satisfaction.

While ‘Cravings’ looks inward to find release, ‘Concourse’ goes for the jugular with a darker, more epic sensibility than Wallace has previously indulged. His flawless production touch seamlessly gifts magic to a widescreen techno epic that might not sound out of place on the terrace at Circoloco or else a field near early-nineties Frankfurt, repeatedly working his acid-oriented machines into a lather and conjuring cosmic drama from eerie, choral voices beneath a powerful groove.

From New Jersey via The Netherlands: longstanding US craftsman Joey Anderson makes his debut on Deeptrax with his inspiring new album… ‘Exotic Sequence’

His fourth LP to date, ‘Exotic Sequence’ is a fully instrumental deep dive into both Joey’s machines and mindset, as he explains himself… “The title ‘Exotic Sequence’ stood out to me because throughout the LP I tended to use a sequencer for the main melody of most of the tracks. Almost every time I approach a track with techno intentions it eventually ends up being deep / housey,” states the artist who broke through 15 years ago on Qu’s Strength Music and has worked closely with the likes of Dekmantel and, more recently, Avenue 66.

Now at home on the relatively new and positively thriving label arm of Dutch record store institution Deeptrax, Joey tells us where he’s at with a body of work that poignantly reminds us that it’s not the destination that counts; it’s the journey we endure to get there.

In this sense, ‘Exotic Sequence’ is the sound of Joey letting his instruments guide, inform and inspire him. Cuts like the constantly rising and hopeful ‘Sky Children’, the deep 808 bubbles and dreamy reflections of ‘Behind The Valley’ and the emotionally rich ‘Stop’ are just a handful of examples of Joey being lost in deep flow, channeling the creative energy in his studio.

It lands exactly three years after his last album ‘Rainbow Doll’, neatly bookending the strangest and most surreal start to any decade we’ve lived through since house and techno culture took root in the 80s. A timeless document that looks forward and back and remains unhurried, thoughtful and crafted with longevity, ‘Exotic Sequence’ is arguably the most honest and frank side to Joey Anderson we’ve heard in his extensive career so far.

Sven Wegner and Reiner Von Vielen debut on Blur Records with a lush, analogue-driven EP here, which fuses live instrumentation, vintage textures and deep dancefloor spirit. The German producers' opener 'Got To Believe' glows with soulful vocals, dusty drum machines and warm synths, while 'Let's Do It' locks into a funk-fuelled, hypnotic groove. The title track then brings some heartfelt emotion with smooth, silky keys and rolling basslines. Next comes a DJ Popinjay remix, which is flipped into a bumping house workout. Closer 'Reboot Me' brings evocative atmospheres to what is an EP steeped in meaningful human feels.

Placid aka Paul Wise is the operator in chief at ‘We’re Going Deep’ – an online community and record label born out of a lifelong love affair with the many shades of electronic rhythm, and an obsession for collecting records since 1988. With a mission to share and release new music via his We’re Going Deep and We’re Going Back imprints, you’ll find only the best in underground Acid, Electro, IDM, Techno and House for the dance floor and your listening pleasure.

Up next in the label series, We’re Going Deep is excited to welcome 4 tracks of fresh material from pivotal electronic music maker Gerard Hanson, under his much prized E.R.P. alias. Renown for keeping his profile below the radar and letting the machines do all the talking for him. Hanson’s work as a producer has been much coveted since his debut back in the mid 90s as Convextion. Hailing from Dallas, Texas, he has become something of a hero in the underground Electro community. His work as E.R.P. has left a huge impression on labels such as Frustrated Funk, Bleep43 and Semantica over the years. Renown for his distinctive shimmering machine funk aesthetic, he ably summons the outer reaches of deep space listening thanks to his innate mastery of brooding, sci-fi soundscapes that few can equal.

Following releases for Apnea and Synchrophone, Hanson lifts off with a heartfelt tribute to our recently departed friend James Baker on ‘One4ReKab’. Ascending with the pulse of a steady kick drum, precision snares take hold as whispered vocals seep in and out of consciousness. Underpinned by trademark angular bass tones, soaring strings inject a deep sense of foreboding as all the parts fuse with a fierce glow. Stepping things a notch back as the sonic trajectory levels out, ‘Onward’ takes a more contemplative stance in a fusion of hypnotic drum programming that leads the fray whilst subtle arpeggios flow, all whilst wistful melodies wind you in.

Over on the flipside, Hanson revisits his 2008 composition “Multipole Vector” to launch yet another interstellar cruise by mission in the shape of “Multipole Vector II”. Leading with the simplest of bass progressions and metronomic beat programming, twinkling synth elements reach across the void as chords sweep to and fro to powerful effect. Ending out on the uplifting yet almost IDM inflected tones of “Self Unemployed”, this low tempo air rounds the EP off on an equally captivating note filled with playful charm, that makes this collection of music all the more pleasing.

»Hug of Gravity« is the second solo album by Raphael Loher and his first for Hallow Ground. The Swiss pianist and composer uses piano preparations, tape machines, and digital means to forge an aesthetic of playful reduction and rhythmic abstraction. The source material for these four sprawling pieces was culled from recordings of the artist performing the album’s predecessor, 2022’s »Keemuun.« Loher used them in a painstaking two-part working process to create an album that is both a product of and an ode to transformation, exploring themes of alternative temporalities and spatialities. »Hug of Gravity« oscillates between experimental electronic music, ambient, and minimal music and calls to mind the work of artists like William Basinski, Linda Catlin Smith, or label mate Andrius Arutiunian.

Loher laid the foundation for »Hug of Gravity« in 2020 with ten solo performances at his studio, during which he presented the pieces from his debut album. For these intimate concerts, he prepared the piano with modelling clay in order to move beyond the well-tempered tuning that dominates most of Western music. He then used a consecutive three-month residency in the Blenio Valley to refine the recordings. »I cut up and rearranged the material, then transferred the results—around 30 pieces—to a varispeed tape machine and then back to the computer. After that was done, I cut them up and rearranged them again,« he laughs. By radically reworking the material, he created an album that eschews traditional notions of time and space.

Loher points out the influence that his surroundings had on him. »The process created the music—and the place was essential to the process.« he says. He wandered through the mountains for up to nine or ten hours a day, which gave him a sense of what he calls expanded temporality. »Time just felt longer, my experiences seemed more diverse and nuanced, and it was as if I perceived my environment more clearly,« he explains. This shift in Loher’s perception of time and space—the latter also expressed in the album’s title—influenced his work with the varispeed tape machine. It allowed him to change the pitch of different recordings while layering them to let interference patterns emerge and emphasise the emotional qualities of the unconventional tunings he had used.

In this way, Loher constructed numerous interlocking narrative arcs throughout »Hug of Gravity,« an album that is ever-changing; an exercise in calm ecstasy that provides its audience with the feeling of being removed from conventional time and space. This approach is also reflected in the artwork for »Hug of Gravity,« which is based on drawings Loher made during his residency at Blenio Valley. Their fine hand-drawn lines run in parallel and let incidental patterns emerge, an effect that is only multiplied when the six different drawings that accompany each vinyl copy of the album are overlapping, forming ever-new visual constellations.

GATEFOLD DOUBLE VINYL WITH SPOT UV FRONT COVER

Following the skewed-unself-help-brilliance of ‘Sus Dog’ (which marked his first full foray into songs, abetted by Thom Yorke), and its companion piece ‘Cave Dog’, Chris Clark returns to the dancefloor’s simple, but no less affecting pleasures, with ‘Steep Stims’.
“I found it hard to pull away from listening to this record, hard to stop making it, I had to remove myself from the Stims and stop enjoying it at some point. The album feels like nature to me. I love it when electronic music feels more naturalistic than acoustic music, more potent, that’s the devil’s trick, the promise of electronic music.” comments Chris.
“I used an old synth - the Virus on all of the tracks. I used it at Mess in Melbourne - run by my friend Robin Fox - I loved it so much I had to buy one when I got back to the UK, it took a while to find. They’re a bit clunky to program but make some of my most favourite sounds.”
‘Steep Stims’ marks a back-to-basics approach, invoking the early years of gung-ho creativity enforced by limitations in technology at the time. “Most of the tracks on this album capture the spirit of making music on old samplers, which don’t have much memory time”, explains Clark. “It reminds me of making ‘Clarence Park’, my first album, where I would have to finish tunes in the session, as they would be saved on floppy disks and I couldn’t easily go between tracks. This new record is just a few synths and a few choice sounds; the writing is the important thing.”
Made quickly, ‘Steep Stims’ reflects the immediate rave energy of his live show, but that’s not to say it’s basic floor fodder, as it’s rife with personality, synth magic, and knack for melody. Although swift and impressionistically captured rather than laboured over, it’s still formidably deft, with plenty of oddball weirdness lurking beneath the dancefloor.
Soft, orange, scorched, brutal, the opening track ‘Gift and Wound’ captures the classic dance music dread / awe / euphoria combo perfectly, before ‘Infinite Roller’ merges sparkly-minimalism with snarling bass and soft sines, which turn more dense and metallic as it progresses.
The melancholic smoke belch of ‘No Pills U’ gives strong classic vibrations, which is belied by its creation, made in just 20 minutes. “I love working quickly sometimes”, comments Clark. “Inspiration hits, rough and ready. It’s off the cuff but also screams ‘don’t gild the lily with nonsense, keep it simple keep it clean’”. Segueing into its elder brother, the piece becomes bigger and beatier on ‘Janus Modal’, where it permutates for over 7 minutes of fluttering, beatific club majesty.
At ‘18EDO Bailiff’ you inexplicably find yourself at a clearing, things have suddenly got much quieter. You enter a decrepit and eerie old house, and as you move through its unsettling interior, you arrive at ‘Globecore Flats’. A real piano tuned to 18 notes per octave gives the pair of tracks a haunted, olde worlde feel, which promptly gets eaten by a huge tech step tearout monster, birthing a strange but exotic beast.
The white hot ‘Blowtorch Thimble’ is all hooktasm-rave-hyper-amen-energy, whilst acidic flute leaps around like Ian Anderson on pingers throughout the catchily simple jump-up lurch of ‘Civilians’.
“‘In Patient’s Day Out’ is like some sort of Morricone-does-kraut-rock-with-drum-machines, but that’s probably just in my head” says Clark. “I made several versions of this then went with the early mix but cranked through some choice outboard because it just had something.”
Drumless, yet still full of exhilarating-big-trance-drama, ‘Who Booed The Goose’ flashes by in stroboscopic fast forward, then ‘5 Millionth Cave Painting’ gives a palate cleanser, letting “the virus with its delicious broken, luxurious reverb have a moment”, before ‘Negation Loop’ swoops down in all its glory, with Clark’s tweaked vocals leading deconstructed trance breakdowns, tape edits and brutal noisebursts.
An antidote to the bombast of its predecessor is ‘Micro Lyf’, which closes the set on a poignant note, of sorts. Muted staccato gives way to field recordings “that gradually put it in this outside space; alien in a meadow somewhere nameless. It feels like a sinkhole. The record kinda swallows itself up and then is gone”, ends Chris.

The Alien Dub Orchestra is ragtag collective of Bavarian musicians, featuring members of The Notwist and G.Rag y los hermanos Patchekos. The cohort formed around the idea of performing the standards of the fabled Breadminster Songbook, aka the back-catalogue of lone dubman Elijah Minnelli. Minnelli is known for constructing wheezy, forlorn odes to his hometown, both as highly sought-after self-released 7" singles, and a critically-acclaimed debut album, ‘Perpetual Musket’ for FatCat Records, lauded by the likes of The Guardian, The Wire, and The Quietus. ‘The Alien Dub Orchestra: Plays the Breadminster Songbook’ finds group covering Minnelli’s cumbia-infused dub reggae with full band, playing an eclectic array of instruments including: guiro, accordion, melodica, sousaphone, trumpet and assorted percussion.

The tale begins in 2022, when Minnelli was invited to lend his unique dubbing style to a pair of remixes for The Notwist, and what followed was an ever-flourishing relationship between the Breadminster native and the wider Munich scene. The seeds of the Alien Dub Orchestra were sown during a support gig for The Notwist, where assorted musicians joined Minnelli for a encore, reinterpreting one of his dub remixes across woodwind, brass and assorted percussion.

“The idea of real, competent professionals playing something you’ve muddled together on a computer in a damp basement is quite overwhelming,” reflects Minnelli on the process, “hearing them interpret and improve these melodies is a real joy and privilege.”

Despite the non-traditional origins of the source material, the inherent musicality of Minnelli’s songwriting shines through across his releases, and this creative kinship is what attracted the Orchestra to reimagining his work. The first live collaboration led to recording sessions and further gigs, with the Orchestra building a full set of Minnelli’s music.

The resulting album puts forward the strongest case yet of the shared musical throughline between the acts, where cumbia, dub and folk sensibilities coalesce to something all together unique. The tracks are wrought new, with melodies fleshed out and broader instrumentation expanding the sonic possibilities of the compositions. The tactility of the tracks is perhaps best demonstrated on the gorgeous ‘Vine and Fig Tree’, with it’s layed vocals and expressive bassline returning as a cavorting sousaphone line. Elsewhere, fan favourite ‘SLATS’ sounds as if it was simply written to be performed this way.

To further instill the cylindrical nature of these collaborations, the entire second half of the album is made up of dub versions of the Orchestra’s renditions. For these dubs, Minnelli is joined by Raimund Wong, who had caught his ear with his ambitious live sets, a daisy chain of tape machines and FX pedals. Again, despite their differing creative processes, the two bonded over a shared love of dub music. Each dub was a one-take, with Minnelli riding the faders and Wong’s filters and FX supplying a sound that doesn’t seek to imitate dub, so much as it tries to be it’s own chaotic self. The droning, psychedelic hypnosis of ‘Pundit Dub’ stretches the material to a whole new realm that feels outside of anything else Minnelli has produced before, an ode to the benefits of recycling sound if ever there was one. The whole second half is a perfect closing note to an album that is undoubtedly a love letter to folk tradition, dub ideology and, most importantly, the joy of uninhibited collaboration.

​Elijah Minnelli - voc, guiro, percussion
Philip Gross - accordion, melodica
Theresa Loibl - clarinet, melodica
Cico Beck - electronics, keyboards
Sascha Schwegeler - congas, steel drum, percussion
Micha Acher - sousaphone, trumpet
Markus Acher - drums, voc
Dub mixes performed live by Elijah Minnelli & Raimund Wong at Breadminster County Council Studios

"Chasing the funky symphonies that filled my head and my dreams..."

December 25th, 2023 - an Instagram post. Stimulator Jones shared half a dozen FIRE tracks from his beat tape archive. We were immediately drawn to the rough hewn boom bap.

"I'd release that", Rob commented.

Hours of material was shared and the result is this: Cool Green Trees (1999-2005). A collection of beats and loops Stimulator Jones created between the ages of 14-20 at home in his basement, bedroom and computer room in Roanoke, Virginia.

You will not believe the profound soulful genius contained within these naive schoolboy melodies.

December 25th, 1998 - 25 years ago to the day and his much-coveted Yamaha SU10 sampler was finally bestowed upon young Stimmy AKA Sam Lunsford: "I immediately hooked up a CD Walkman to the input jack and looped the beginning two bars of Grover Washington Jr.'s "Mercy Mercy Me". I don't know what exactly was so thrilling about hearing two measures of music repeating over and over but it was so infectious and hypnotizing and enthralling to me. I'll never forget that ecstatic rush of making my first loop - an uncontrollable, gleeful smile plastered all over my face." When you hear the pocket breakbeat symphonies featured here on Cool Green Trees, you'll feel the same sense of frisson.

In the wake of his Stones Throw breakthrough - Exotic Worlds & Master Treasures - Stimulator Jones was pegged by many as a 90s throwback artist. However, he literally IS a 90s artist. He's been recording music most of his life and he's now 40. He created the bulk of Cool Green Trees as a teenager. Everything before 2004 was recorded when Sam was still in school. He was in 8th grade when he made the 1999 tracks - he didn't even have his learner's permit. This album is a snapshot of a young man in a simpler time. Things were still mysterious back then and he was flying blind, relying on his ears and having to figure things out for himself: "I had no road map for becoming a beatmaker. I have been collecting music since I was a kid, I am a lifelong digger and seeker of cool and interesting sounds. I was there in the golden age of Hip Hop, and while I may have been a suburban white kid in Roanoke, Virginia, I was tuned in and I bought so many classic albums when they came out. I was attracted to Hip Hop because of the musical and poetic quality. I was hypnotized by the rhythms, partially because I was a drummer. I didn't brag about collecting my breakbeat records or making beats - it was something I did in isolation. It wasn't something I generally wanted to bring attention to and it didn't really score me any cool points. I certainly wasn't flexing on social media about it."

Hell, he can do that now!

Opener "Pharoah Jones" was inspired by Yesterday's New Quintet and Madlib's ability to capture that classic 70s sound whilst playing all the instruments. Sam created this one stoned afternoon by laying down a 2 bar loop and a shaker loop on his Yamaha SU700 sampler. He hung a microphone from the ceiling and played his Yamaha Stage Custom drum kit over the top before adding ender Rhodes and playing his dad's Selmer tenor sax through an Electro Harmonix Memory Man echo pedal. Yes! Up next, "Ghost Gospel" utilises a dope loop from a gospel record and adds some soul-funk drums overtop, whilst working that filter knob. Says Sam: "The loop reminded me of something Ghostface would rap over. The sample was in 3/4 waltz time but I flipped it for a 4/4 groove, a technique I picked up from RZA. "Ill Feeling" uses sped-up pieces from a dusty old funk record and putting them over a classic NOLA drum loop; gain chopping up a slow, bluesy 3/4 time signature and bending it to a 4/4 groove. Classy shit. "Capital Punishment" features drums tapped in live, inspired by MF Doom's Special Herbs series. "Do Not Adjust" consists loops found on a compilation of 70s French music at Happy's Flea Market, a classic Roanoke digging spot.

The sublime, evocative title track, "Cool Green Trees" was created when Sam was still living at home. He dumped samples off his SU10 into the family desktop and arranged them in a demo version of Pro Tools: "This track was sort of my ode to the DJ Shadow style of sample based production. Super spacey, slow, and moody. The heavily filtered drums were inspired by Alec Empire's 'Low on Ice' album. I later added some scratches and sounds from a Spider Man storybook record." "Chill Scratch" snags the final bit of a bossanova record and pairs it with a drum loop before adding experimental scratching run through an Electro Harmonix Memory Man echo pedal. "Poisonous Fumes" was made using a sampler, mixer and a turntable; a kind of mixtape beat collage with added scratches and sounds from various records. Using dialogue from superhero records was a nod to Madlib. "Welcome Aboard The Starship" is dark, downtempo trip-hop with a spooky bent. Sam paired a slow, hard drum loop with a guitar sample grabbed off a psychedelic rock record. To finish, he added various backwards sounds and weird atmospheric effects and a little scratching. Swoon.

Side B opens with "Keep On Runnin", made on a borrowed Roland SP202 sampler. Having always loved the sound of the Lo-Fi filter on those machines, reminiscent of the Emu SP1200, Sam always imagined Del or another of the Hieroglyphics crew rapping over this beat. You can certainly hear why. "Sounds Impossible" sees Sam experimenting with layering multiple kick samples at different volumes to create patterns similar to those heard by Showbiz and Lord Finesse during their God-level 1995 period. "Painted Faces" was made by chopping up a REDACTED record which he had gotten from Happy's Flea Market and paired it with a REDACTED drum loop. By the time Sam recorded "The Knew Style", he had acquired a shitty old 1960s portable turntable off eBay. It didn't function properly when he bought it but his brother opened it up, cleaned it out and got it working: "I remember he told me that there was a bunch of sand inside of it when he opened it up, as if its previous owner had taken it to the beach. I would take that turntable on my Happy's Flea Market digs so I could preview records...that's how I found this loop."

"Chicken Wing Blues Sauce" loops up a classic blues joint and pairs it with some REDACTED drums. A bit of filtering and arranging et voilà! "Kool Breeze", from 1999, is one of Sam's oldest surviving beats, as is "Sexx Bullets". The Roots sampled the same record, leaving Sam frustrated yet vindicated. "Soul Child" was an early SU10 creation, looping a dusty old Soul Children 45 and pairing it with 70s rock drum loops to great effect. "Take Off Runnin" was another loop found digging with a portable turntable. Paired with some boom bap drums it makes for a hypnotic head-nod groove. "Centurian" was intended to be a little beat interlude a la Pete Rock. The sample is from a sun-dappled soft-psych record and it's paired with a Robin Trower drum loop that just happens to fit perfectly. Sometimes you slap things together kind of haphazardly and magic happens. "Bozack" was the first beat Sam made using Pro Tools, his first foray into using chopped sounds instead of loops, an exciting new world. "Church" is beat interlude using a Phil Upchurch loop with the "Long Red" drums - a favourite break of Dilla et al. Sam was really on a tear in late 2004, probably because he was unemployed and phoneless and able to just make beats all day. He made "Splash One" on a borrowed Yamaha SU700 and again was experimenting with tapping the drums in live with his fingers, instead of using a loop or sequenced pattern. Channeling 9th Wonder, Sam used a water splash sound effect from a Batman record as a percussive element, hence the title (also a 13th Floor Elevators reference). The main loop is a backwards portion of one of his favourite Roy Ayers songs.

"Hank" is another fun little beat interlude thing, created on a borrowed Roland SP202 sampler with the fantastic Lo-Fi effect that resembled the Emu SP1200 at a fraction of the price. "73 goatee", from 99, is another of his oldest surviving beats, created in his bedroom with his Yamaha SU10 and his brother's Vestax MR-300 4-track recorder: "This one will always feel special. I can remember having a feeling all the way back then on the night that I created it that this was a solid beat with a catchy loop. There was something in the Fender Rhodes melody that resonated with me emotionally, and I had never heard a producer sample that portion before. I felt like I had found my own unique sound, my own unique loop. It came from an Ahmad Jamal '73. I actually even recorded myself rapping and scratching over this beat way back then, I still have that version in all its imperfect sloppy glory."

Sam explains just how much these tracks mean to him: "They all have immense historical and sentimental value and I'm proud of them. These beats come from an innocent, simple time when I was just figuring out how to craft these sounds. They're something very personal to me. They are the initial part of a journey that I really was taking *alone*. There was no YouTube. I couldn't Google shit. I didn't even know any other beatmakers, producers or DJs in my town that could teach me anything. It was always just me, alone, in a room with some equipment - chasing the funky symphonies that filled my head and my dreams. What I was doing wasn't cool. Most of my peers thought I was a weirdo and couldn't care less. Creating these sounds was an anti-social endeavour. In a sense, I felt like it was me against the world, and all I had to instruct and assist me were the recordings produced by my heroes - RZA, DJ Premier, Erick Sermon, Beatminerz, Showbiz, Diamond D, Beatnuts, Prince Paul, The Bomb Squad, Pete Rock, Q-Tip, E-Swift, Mista Lawnge, DJ Shadow, Cut Chemist, Peanut Butter Wolf, El-P and so many more...I dedicate this collection to them, and to my older brother Joe who has always been a musical and technical guiding light for me.

This was a time before every kid was a self-described producer and beatmaker, before everyone had a DAW, before Kanye and "chipmunk soul", before Red Bull beat battles, before there was any social media beyond chat rooms and AOL Instant Messenger, before Soundcloud, before SP-404 mania, before lo-fi beats to study to, before Splice, before targeted ads for MIDI chord packs, etc. In 99 when I told people that I had a sampler and made beats I was mostly met with bewildered confusion and indifference. Kids and adults alike would wonder why I got this weird machine for Christmas instead of something worthwhile like a Playstation or a mountain bike or even a guitar for that matter because at least that could be used to make "real music". Back then, sampling was still not widely respected as an art form - it was seen as lazy, talentless and unoriginal at best and outright criminal theft at worst. I had gotten respect for playing drums and guitar and things of that nature but this was a step in the wrong direction in the eyes of many."

The cover photo is a picture of Sam standing on his back porch in the latter part of 1998, just before he got his first sampler. He was 13 years old, in 8th grade. His dad took the picture with his 35mm film camera: "I actually wanted to be pointing my dad's .22 pistol at the camera lens but he wouldn't let me. He gave me an old walking cane to use instead. The Tommy Hilfiger puffer jacket came from the lost and found at William Fleming High School where my mom worked as a secretary. I was thrilled when she brought it home because we never spent money on expensive name brand clothing like that - we were for the most part strictly a sale rack, bargain bin, thrift store, yard sale, flea market kind of family when it came to clothes. My watch is some cheap off-brand fake gold department store watch." Mastering for this vinyl edition was overseen by Be With regular Simon Francis and it was cut by the esteemed Cicely Balston at Abbey Road Studios to be pressed in the Netherlands by Record Industry.

Following the hyperactive “Blood Karaoke” (2022, Reading Group), “Performing Belief” builds rhythmic thickets from gathered sounds interwoven with synths, drum machines and other samples. Having built these rhythmic nests, Krivchenia then called on two contemporary mages of the low end: electric bassist and fellow Angeleno Sam Wilkes (Wilkes/Gendel) and double bassist/multi-instrumentalist from Krivchenia’s native Chicago, Joshua Abrams (Natural Information Society). Wilkes and Abrams bring the presence of a grounding human witness to the rhythmic undergrowth, providing a centering and even at times melodic voice to the gathering. This alchemy carries a profoundly fresh sense of time, blurring the edges of the quantized grid and the generic boundaries of electronic music.

The core of the album is a lush, opulent matrix of percussion ranging from the familiar—hand claps and drum machines—to the mysteriously verdant, sampled largely from Krivchenia’s own performed field recorded collection. For years, he would record any and all of his musical encounters with natural objects: performing on a particularly resonant log on a hike, throwing rocks into a pristine pond, tap dancing in the mud. This archive of “natural” sounds became the fertile soil out of which the tracks on “Performing Belief” grew. What is gained in the process is not just a novel set of sounds, but a new rhythmic language. The particular give, the anticipatory rustle, the extra breath of a hollow log when functioning as a kickdrum provides a greenness that overtakes the rhythmic grid, giving this music a peculiar kind of stickiness. This rhythmic language, set in Krivchenia’s long-fermenting electronic musical palate, feels like a revelation, even while it calls back not only to his wonderfully elastic timekeeping behind the kit with his beloved band Big Thief, but also to his prior work in computer music as well as his deep study and love of the vast human archive of drumming. “Performing Belief” is in good company in the rank and file of the legendary Planet Mu label. From the foundational early releases of the likes of Jega and Venetian Snares, to the contemporary envelope-warping work of Jlin and hundreds of brilliant releases in between, Planet Mu has been a beacon of forward-thinking rhythmic music for decades, informing Krivchenia’s own sense of the weird metaphysics of musical time since he was a kid. Krivchenia’s contribution to this history calls to mind the principle of organic danceability that subtends Mu’s whole catalogue, while bending our sense of rhythm in new and gracious dimensions. Krivchenia brings out the loamy complexity of natural rhythms, a clearing as generous as it is inviting. Let the drummer give you some.

(10x12" box set, limited to 1000 copies, with premium finishing, uniquely numbered, incl. 10 records in individually printed sleeves, a booklet detailing the club's history & exclusive stickers) Boccaccio has secured its place among legendary venueslike Paradise Garage in New York and The Hacçinda in Manchester. Its bold fusion of emerging electronic genres such as New Beat, Acid, House, and Techno was way ahead of its time, drawing music lovers and clubbers from across Belgium and beyond.



Belgian label Music Man Records presents Boccaccio Life 1987-1993, a new compilation offering a fresh perspective on the legacy of the iconic Belgian club Boccaccio - often associated with the short-lived New Beat movement. The 40-track compilation highlights the raw and futuristic early house and techno sounds that were heard in the pioneering club.

Located in rural Destelbergen (Belgium), just a stone's throw from Ghent, Boccaccio has secured its place among legendary venues like Paradise Garage in New York and The Hacçinda in Manchester. Its bold fusion of emerging electronic genres such as New Beat, Acid, House, and Techno was way ahead of its time, drawing music lovers and clubbers from across Belgium and beyond. Sundays at Boccaccio were unlike anywhere else-offering sounds you couldn't hear anywhere else.

Boccaccio Life 1987-1993 is carefully curated by resident DJ Olivier Pieters and club regular Stefaan Vandenberghe, standing as the ultimate testament to a club that was more than just a venue. For those who experienced it, it was a community - a way of life. Hence the club's full name: Boccaccio Life.

This compilation stands as a testament to an innovative time in electronic music, capturing the raw, futuristic sounds of early house and techno. It sheds light on another side of Boccaccio, one that goes far beyond the short-lived New Beat scene. A carefully curated selection of 40 tracks, resonating with those who were there by offering familiar classics, while also reaching a new generation-those who never experienced it firsthand.

With tracks from Blake Baxter, Virgo, Frankie Knuckles, Tyree, and A Guy Called Gerald, the unmistakable influence of black American pioneers is clear-the originators of the firstanalog house and techno sounds. On the other hand, UK sound innovators such as The Orb and LFO bring both sharp textures and rough breakbeats to the table.

Club staple tracks include dreamy excursions from Roger Sanchez under his Egotrip moniker, the relentless basement house of Circus Bells by Robert Armani on Dance Mania, an uplifting take on a hip-house cut from The D.O.C. (Portrait of A Masterpiece in the CJ Ed-Did-It Mix), a timeless remix of UK Formation's Age of Chance from 1994, and an alternate take on The Tape by Boccaccio club regular and Belgian producer Frank De Wulf, taken from his B-Sides project.

While not always the obvious hits, these tracks have gracefully withstood the test of time, and were exclusive to Sundays at Boccaccio. Now, they are finally available to experience together in one collection, offering a timeless snapshot of a unique era.

Born in Beirut, Lebanon, Rami Gabriel has been a motive force in rock n' roll, jazz, Arabic, and experimental music communities across North America for over twenty years. In that time, he has released numerous projects across genres and under many names. On his debut LP for Sooper Records, Rami trips all the breakers. In his own name and voice for the first time, That's what I been sayin' is not so much a debut as a conflagration in Rami Gabriel's worldly underground. Drawing on Punk, Krautrock, Dub, No Wave, and lo- fi, the territory occupied by That's what I been sayin' is astringent, minimal, and buzzing with the sound of machines dancing in the wind. "I'm used to putting out records based on genre," says Rami of his multiple endeavors. "I was listening to one of the `70s Brian Eno records where he took his experimental work and his songs and put it all together, and I was thinking, `Why don't I try to put all the different ways I've been working for the last couple years onto one record?'" That's what I been sayin' ignites this vision with an album that ranges from the motorik-driven krautrock of "Like a monk" to the unexpected trance-like pairing of "Buzuq synth." That's what I been sayin' is a furnace of Rami's insuppressible impulses, where he undertakes to ask and answer: what is left of punk but making do with what is at hand? At times direct and scorching, at others meditative and wandering, That's what I been sayin' compresses Rami's understanding as a composer, musician, and singer into a restless, 11-track love letter to the underground. For Fans of The Fall, Haruomi Hosono, Brian Eno, and Scientist.

repress !

Following acclaimed singles from Powell, Blood Music, Shit & Shine and Prostitutes, the next release from Diagonal is a landmark. It marks both the London label's first full-length album release, and the return of abrasive and furiously funky hip-hop deconstructionists Death Comet Crew, one of the most quietly influential underground acts to emerge from the creative melting pot of 1980s New York.

Ghost Among The Crew documents the group's return to studio operations for the first time since the 80s, as well as their first ever full-length studio album. It's a remarkable trip: a consolidation of their early feral disassemblies of hip-hop and electro, but also broader in scope, chewing up and spitting out fragments of soul, jazz fusion, punk and industrial music.
Death Comet Crew were founded in New York City in 1983 by Stuart Argabright, a founder member of post-punk/industrial mavericks Ike Yard and the mind behind Dominatrix and later Black Rain. Their sound, then as now, was a singular proposition: urban in mood, exploratory, often compellingly danceable, yet confrontational. It emerged from the interweaving talents of the group's varied members: guitarist Michael Diekmann (of Ike Yard), bassist Shinichi Shimokawa (later of Black Rain) and Nick Taylor aka DJ High Priest, frequently joined by the late, great hip hop artist and graffiti writer Rammellzee. Having recorded two studio EPs - 1985's At The Marble Bar (featuring Rammellzee) and its follow-up Mystic Eyes - the group disbanded barely a year after forming. They left behind a reputation for their incendiary live performances, several recordings from which were gathered on crucial 2004 compilation This Is Riphop.
The musical climate that first birthed Death Comet Crew was one of fertile cross-pollination of styles. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, the seeds of modern day urban musics - hip hop, punk and post-punk, no wave - were taking root in the streets of recession-struck New York City. Argabright recalls dancing at the downtown Mudd Club around 1980 to a bold mixture of styles, with DJs cutting from synth-pop and post-punk to funk, soul and early hip-hop: Bowie and James Brown next to Run DMC, Ultravox and Gary Numan. Indeed, the names of his New York contemporaries operating around the same time - the likes of Liquid Liquid, Run DMC, Afrika Bambaataa, Arthur Russell, ESG, Swans, Sonic Youth, Bill Laswell and more - have since been inscribed in modern music history.
With previous projects Dominatrix and Ike Yard having recently become inactive, in 1984 Argabright formed Death Comet Crew as a means of exploring new sonic avenues. He'd been experimenting with tape, recording and procesing the sounds of his surrounding environment and dialogue from films and TV. Joined by Shimokawa, Diekmann and Taylor, and using drum machines, turntables, spidery guitar and bass, the group assembled a scrambled collage of rhythms and sampled voices. Their live performances were, in Argabright's words, "aurally violent, sharp-edged, downright lacerating", hacking gleefully away at hip hop and electro's rhythmic frameworks. Rammellzee joined the group to vocal 1985 debut EP At The Marble Bar; his MC turn on highlight 'Exterior Street' is all the more remarkable for having been entirely freestyled in the studio. When Death Comet Crew reformed in 2003 for a string of live shows, he continued as an active member of the group, touring and working with them during the recording of Ghost Among The Crew, until he sadly passed away in 2010.
After reforming, Death Comet Crew began writing and recording new material. Now, following on from their just-released Galacticoast 12" through Citinite, Ghost Among The Crew - its title a homage to Rammellzee - hones the group's abrasive early experimentations while tripping into bold and astrally minded new territory. Alongside the core quartet of Argabright, Diekmann, Shimokawa and Taylor are new voices, including Rapscallion (a friend of Rammellzee's), Jessica 6/Hercules & Love Affair singer Nomi Ruiz, and Carolyn 'Honeychild' Coleman. Its eight tracks are steeped in the impulsive spirit of electric Miles and the deep space romances of Sun Ra, and possessed of an enigmatic yet undeniable pop edge. But equally they're pricked with urban paranoia and dread, traits that have long been hallmarks of Argabright's musical projects.
'Me Czar Of The Magyars' opens the album in a twist of tension like the turning of a ratchet. Its taut electroid shudder is paired with machine gunned cymbal hits and a voice telling of "wormwood and opium dens" - the sound of being teleported from everyday city streets into the astral plane, where every sensory input is heightened and the promise of danger or pleasure lurks unseen around every corner. Later, Coleman's lyrics pay tribute to Rammellzee on the sci-fi funk of 'Deep Space Woman'. 'Let The Clubs Ring' melts lounge bar organs and frazzled guitar into freakishly unstable shapes, while 'Drag Racing' matches its title, rocketing along frantically atop clattering drums. 'Moons On Titan's Seas' is halfway interlude pause for rest, like an exotic cocktail in a bar orbiting some as-yet-undiscovered new world. These varied strands are somehow all summarised in album closer 'Ignition Spark', which sets Ruiz's vocals alongside Taylor's and Argabright's. The zone the trio inhabit in this final track exists in perpetual push-pull between contemplation, memory, intrigue and violence, a decisive opening of a new chapter in Death Comet Crew's history.

As with all Diagonal releases, the initial vinyl pressing will be packaged in unique, specially designed artwork.

DEVO’s Hardcore documents the group’s beginning as pre-punk outcasts in the fertile Akron, Ohio, underground rock scene. Spawned at the nearby college of Kent State, site of the infamous May 4 Massacre, DEVO formed as a conceptual art project armed with the radical philosophy of de-evolution. Brothers Mothersbaugh (Mark, Bob and Jim) and Brothers Casale (Jerry and Bob) along with drummer Alan Myers soon whipped up an otherworldly brand of “devolved blues” that could hold its own alongside the beatnik groove of 15-60-75 (a.k.a. The Numbers Band) or the primal rock poetry of The Bizarros. Recorded on various four-track machines and in tiny studios, basements and garages between 1974-1977, Hardcore reveals their strikingly clear vision: rock ’n’ roll stripped bare of its collective cool and jerked back into propaganda fit for post-modern man. It’s no surprise that these transmissions would soon catch the eye and ear of Brian Eno, who later produced their landmark 1978 debut album. Noisy synth, strangled guitar chops and a primitive rhythmic thud power the early DEVO sound. Threaded beneath it all are lyrical themes of post-McCarthy paranoia, middle-class ephemera and DEVO’s long-running topic of choice: sex, or lack thereof. Few moments in pop music history can match the grinding, pent-up energy of “Mongoloid” and the spastic bounce and sputter of “Jocko Homo” (two anthems presented in their earlier and superior versions here). Cult favorites like “Mechanical Man” and “Auto-Modown” make Volume 1 essential listening. Superior Viaduct and Booji Boy Records are proud to present DEVO’s Hardcore to a new generation of spuds, lovingly packaged with Moshe Brakha’s stunning cover photography. As David Bowie said in 1977, DEVO is indeed “the band of the future.”

On his latest album as The Drums, New York-based indie pop artist Jonny
Pierce plunges into the work of healing from childhood trauma and the
long shadow it casts over adulthood
The sparkling, eponymous Jonny unfurls a love letter to a galaxy of younger
selves, all hungry to be nourished, all rejoicing now that they finally get to belong.
Playful, heartbreaking, raucous, and serene all in turn, Jonny embraces the mess
of life in all its facets. It renders the magic that happens when you fall in love with
yourself down to the marrow.
Soaring to alt- pop prestige on arrival, The Drums have released studio albums
that deftly walk the line of aching melancholy and irresistible pop sensibilities,
presented through a kaleidoscope of pastel guitars, reverb, modular synthesizers
and drum machines. It's a sound that's wholly unique, and unmistakably The
Drums.
The Drums' music remains timeless, as evidenced by the recent explosion of their
RIAA Gold- certified song Money, which first appeared on their breakout
sophomore album Portamento, reaching #1 on the Alternative Global Shazam
Chart and #2 on the TikTok Global Hashtag Chart

On his latest album as The Drums, New York-based indie pop artist Jonny Pierce plunges into the work of healing from childhood trauma and the long shadow it casts over adulthood. The sparkling, eponymous Jonny unfurls a love letter to a galaxy of younger selves, all hungry to be nourished, all rejoicing now that they finally get to belong. Playful, heartbreaking, raucous, and serene all in turn, Jonny embraces the mess of life in all its facets. It renders the magic that happens when you fall in love with yourself down to the marrow. Soaring to alt-pop prestige on arrival, The Drums have released studio albums that deftly walk the line of aching melancholy and irresistible pop sensibilities, presented through a kaleidoscope of pastel guitars, reverb, modular synthesizers and drum machines. It"s a sound that"s wholly unique, and unmistakably The Drums. The Drums" music remains timeless, as evidenced by the recent explosion of their RIAA Gold-certified song Money, which first appeared on their breakout sophomore album Portamento, reaching #1 on the Alternative Global Shazam Chart and #2 on the TikTok Global Hashtag Chart.

The collaboration between Klara Lewis and Nik Colk Void somehow seemed inevitable. Both artists having seen their releases published by Editions Mego, individually carving out idiosyncratic voices in the worlds of extreme, abstract electronic music. With Full-On, Lewis and Void explore and assimilate the very edge of their individual practice where a unique collaborative interface allows two voices to combine and morph into a third voice.


Lewis and Void play ping pong with the conversation of sounds, generating ideas and bouncing them off each other, simultaneously encouraging the other to go further with their ideas opening up an opportunity to engage with previously unexplored terrain. Guitars, synths, euro rack modular systems, voice, sampling and outboard processing are folded in a playful unification with a propensity to tease, explore and extract new ideas and shapes, sometimes brutal, sometimes playful.

Trust was also a compositional tool allowing instinct to freely move on any aspect of the sound and space. This sound/feeling/instinct/association let this wild and wonderful material grow organically into something new.

The result of this exploratory interplay are 17 intense miniatures reveling in the process of unadulterated experimentation and whimsical interplay, not just between the humans, but the machines themselves. United in an endless series of sonic U-turns, this daring duo intertwine pop and noise whilst also bringing together visions of tender techno and forthright ambient.

The various zones which manifest from all this reveals vocals shifting in mysterious ways, dust drenched beats churning limpidly and devilish string loops navigating a disorientating domain. The experience of listening to Full-On is to be confronted with a range of ideas resulting in a platter of emotions. A place where beauty and the beast collide with the impulsive and outright weird. What a wonderful world.

Imagine if Eric Carle had been signed to Ghost Box, or if the Look Around You team had ended up taking over the Radiophonic Workshop. If you can picture that kind of sound, we’re ready to welcome you to the Cosmic Neighbourhood.

Cosmic Neighbourhood’s Gatherings is an album made for wild imaginations and deep daydreams. Its fourteen tracks provide the kind of trip you can take if you close your eyes tight enough and let your mind wander. It’s the music of small things, groovy sounds from way underground that’s inspired as much by Martin Rev and Moondog as it is by walking trees, pine cones catching the bus, nocturnal farmyard symphonies and the movements of butterflies reimagined through restless drum machines. Sounds good? Come join the gathering. There’s room for everyone.

Cosmic Neighbourhood is the musical alias of York-based illustrator and musician Adam Higton. Adam’s work encompasses comic strips, collage and sound art and documents the daily goings-on of the forest folk within the realm of the Cosmic Neighbourhood. His two albums on Kit (|Collages I and II) see each song acting as a response to a series of paper-and-scissors compositions. Sonically, these records straddle new and old, taking modular electronics, flutes, bells and softly pattering drum machines, before colouring them all with the amber glow of some forgotten, psychedelic kids' TV programme. Higton's benign toots and echoing jingles bring to mind Daphne Oram's early delay experiments or the meandering playfulness of Tom Cameron. Radiophonic and time-worn, it still somehow sounds like the future.

Gatherings follows previous Cosmic Neighbourhood albums Library Vol 1 and Collages I and II. Previous Rivertones releases include spoken word and found sound collages by Robert Macfarlane & Chris Watson, poetry and elemental music by Will Burns & Hannah Peel and the soundtrack to Wolfgang Buttress’ Hive structure at Kew Gardens by Be.

repressed !

A lot can happen in 15 years. Few things manage to thrive for a decade and a half, especially in music. But a scrappy, left of center, Bay Area house music label, Dirtybird, has managed to do just that. Claude VonStroke, Dirtybird’s founder, is marking this 15-year milestone the only way he knows how… working. This year, VonStroke will throw two dozen-plus parties, three festivals (including the famous Dirtybird Campout), host his traveling Dirtybird BBQ series in major cities across the US, publish a coffee table book, release a seasonal clothing line, stage art shows, produce a fly on the wall docu series...and kick it all off by releasing a new album, out February 21st.

What began as a free party, turned basement record label, has morphed into a truly thriving community whose familial, fun and welcoming vibe has won over hearts and minds across the world. And while Dirtybird has grown and evolved, VonStroke’s core focus on music remains unwavering. The new album ‘Freaks & Beaks’ is a celebration of quirky innovation and a relentless pursuit of something new and fresh, while hearkening back to the freewheeling spirit that inspired the launch of his label. This is a project that draws upon the inspirations of family, old friends, new fans and proper dancefloors.

Claude will let his flock wet their beaks while they wait in anticipation of the new album with two new singles demonstrating the breadth of the dance music landscape explored on the record. Youngblood touches on the deeper sides of Claude VonStroke, a throwback to the label’s early days, featuring local LA music house talent Wyatt Marshall, while All My People in the House is a dancefloor heater that is sure to unite new and old Dirtybird fans together.

Today, Claude also delivers fans part one of an intimate video series, shot by his sister Emily (an accomplished filmmaker), documenting the creation of ‘Freaks and Beaks’, celebrating this historic milestone and taking a deeper dive into the day to day life of Claude VonStroke on the road.

‘Freaks and Beaks’ is the fourth artist album and sixth full-length project from Claude VonStroke. He approached the album with a new process, including committing to daily creative time, experimenting with a lot of new hardware and having fun creating a huge amount of sketches. He made music on many levels of gear all the way from complex modular synths to simple drum apps on his iPad. Keeping it all DIY, he sampled his own voice and his two children on several tracks as well. He allowed himself to breathe while creating over 130 ideas, which were whittled down to the finished 11 album tracks.

Freaks & Beaks nods at the inspirations that underpin VonStroke’s world, inside jokes between him and Justin Martin (FlubbleBuddy), unused experimental live sessions (Session A), playful noodling on synths (Alpine Arpline), obscure French producers (Frankie Goes To Bollywood), championing new talent (Youngblood), irreverent self-aware humor (Birthday Messages) and genre inspirations that range from ghetto tech and drum n bass to hip-hop and breaks. This is VonStroke’s love letter to the vibrancy and genre diversity that have made Dirtybird such a singular label.

French techno titan Madben unveils his much anticipated ‘Troisième Sens’ LP on Maceo Plex’s Ellum Audio.

Madben started absorbing the techno of Jeff Mills, Dave Clarke and Speedy J in the 90s, growing up in Lille in northern France. He retains a passion for DIY culture and warehouse parties thanks to youthful raving at Brussels' Fuse, Gent's Kozzmozz or in abandoned factories in Courtrai. All this has shone through in his music, including a debut album on Astropolis in 2018 that featured a collaboration with Laurent Garnier and a recent EP for Garnier and Scan X’s label.

Over the last decade, he has become a European club and festival favourite playing places like Berghain and Awakenings. His studio boasts a fine array of machines utilised to full effect on this latest opus. ‘Troisième Sens’ perfectly reflects what the artist has always loved, listened to and played, keeping one eye on the dance floor but never at the expense of musical narrative. It’s a genuinely progressive, multi-genre body of work that allows listeners to fully immerse themselves in the seemingly limitless depths of the Frenchman’s sonic capabilities.

He says, “Over the years, I learned to have more fun with the gear in my studio, and this has been the result. The album took three years to finish; I started in an underground basement studio in Paris before moving to Nantes. Therefore, it may surprise listeners with such a diverse selection of moods. It's dark in places but happy in others.”

'Departure' kicks off with uplifting synth work and broken techno beats that have a celebratory feel. 'Addicted' is a lithe cut with steamy vocals and a more fulsome combo of drums and bass, while 'Circuit Breaker' cuts loose in the cosmos. Acid wobbles, smeared synths and metallic percussion all make for a bouncy cut before 'Fade In Fade Out' continues the cosmic trip with vastly oversized synth patterns that will light up a dark space with overwhelming euphoria.

The brilliant 'It's 1 am In A Rave' is a dark, heads-down banger with 'Lost Memories' then layering up melancholic synths and Plastikman-style drum loops into something full of deep thought. There is no let up with the superb acid techno gymnastics of 'No fear', and 'The March' is a turbulent mix of sheet metal synths that whip about over steel-plated drums. 'You Dance Like A Robot' is end-of-the-world electro with a menacing robot vocal, and the electro tip continues with expert drum programming and menacing leads on 'Deep In The Jungle'. 'Meta' is a flailing rhythmic workout that sounds like the machines are in meltdown, and 'I Made A Dream During This Nightmare' is a serene techno soundscape for ruminating about the future of the human race.

Intelligent yet immediate, impactful but emotional, ‘Troisième Sens’ is another standout techno record from Madben.

Red Vinyl

ASSASSINS did what many bands do: they grabbed a moment out of the air and slammed it onto tape machines and hard drives with relentlessness, cunning, and an attitude.
It was in Chicago, mid 2000’s, and though there was energy in the music scene, it wasn’t coalescing into anything you could use as a heading in the musical encyclopedia. Drag City, Thrill Jockey, Bloodshot, Tortoise, Andrew Bird, 90 Day Men – amazing labels and bands, but discrete and siloed and separated by boundaries that weren’t very real.
In the midst of that complicated morass, ASSASSINS generated a collection of songs that became the album YOU WILL CHANGED US. And it did.
There was confidence built into the fabric of the project: 5 members, 2 singers, massive synced video walls and samples streaming from laptops swirling in three dimensions around the stage. They could go from subtle atmospheric moments to a gargantuan wall of sound instantly. It was hard to do- months in cold practice rooms troubleshooting sections of songs or reworking synthesizer patches put the band through a self-imposed boot camp. And it brought them together as a sort of hive-mind focused on one thing: that these songs could connect. They could cut through the noise and share a state of mind with other human beings.
And it worked. Those early shows were mind bending. It was fun, loud, drunken, and rewarding- that time together, before the record deal, before the tragic let down of being traded and gobbled up by the major label system. The years after that got more difficult, more complicated, more human.
Leading us here: the musical journey of the Assassins has ended. With the up-coming release of their second and final album THE YEAR THAT NEVER CAME, we finally get to hear, and feel, the final statements of their inspiring chemistry.
In July of 2021, founding member, songwriter and singer Joe Cassidy unexpectedly passed away. THE YEAR THAT NEVER CAME is the culmination and end point of a collaboration that started in the early 2000’s with a chance meeting and excited conversation with Aaron Miller at a gig in Chicago. Quickly joined by David Golitko on keyboards, Merritt Lear on vocals and guitar, and Alex Kemp on bass.
It was Miller who saw Joe Cassidy’s song writing in a new context. Cassidy had been known for his beautiful, post- pop inflected BUTTERFLY CHILD, a thoughtful, regal project where Joe’s emotions could soar. Miller saw a different context for that voice- not dreamy, but immediate, not just hopeful, but demanding. He took Joe’s open hand and suggested that it could be a fist, raised in the air, with a crowd of other people doing the same.
At the time of his death legendary composer and songwriter Jimmy Webb (who wrote such hits as ‘Wichita Lineman and MacArthur Park) said Joe ‘was a creative and generous producer but, more importantly, he was a creative and generous friend.’
With the release of THE YEAR THAT NEVER CAME, this band, this relentless creative force, has to finally relent. No one in the band could see a future ASSASSINS that doesn’t include Cassidy. So in one last act of will, for the love of their friend, they did the rigorous work of finishing the songs that they had started together for the second album.
Assassin’s obsession with the notion of time, from YOU WILL CHANGED US to THE YEAR THAT NEVER CAME, flows from the most natural question we all have to ask ourselves: what do I do now? Because: how we react today to life’s unpredictability - that is the tomorrow we build for ourselves.

Vive La Musique brings us yet another magical release, compiling four stunning tracks from South African bass player - Sipho Gumede. Taken from two rare albums originally released in the 80s, the music blends South African roots with Boogie influences and is the follow-up to the hugely successful "Jika Jika" reissue.
The release was born through label founder Aroop Roy's relentless search for a copy of the 1983 Peace album, which led to him tracking down the original producer - Greg Cutler - a key figure in South African music from that period and regular collaborator with Sipho. Aroop was blown away by "Uthinina" and "Bayabizana" - two unique tracks, featuring haunting Zulu vocals, African jazz flavours, and epic changes over hypnotic grooves.
"Something to Say" and "City of Gold" were recorded a few years later in the world-renowned Battery Mobile Studio. Sipho had been working there with Caiphus Semenya and Letta Mbulu and their influences can be heard, with drum machines and American Boogie instrumentation laying the foundation for powerful vocal lines sung in English, with soul and gospel sensibility.
The 12" comes with extensive liner notes from Greg Cutler, talking about his time in South Africa. He recalls his experience as a White producer, working with Black musicians under the challenges of apartheid and describes his musical journey with Sipho Gumede, with intriguing details on how the music and production evolved.


Feedback

"The music of Sipho is so good - wow! Uthininia def worth the 3 year search, but even more wonderful to then stumble over a tune like "Something To Say"!"
Hunee

"Chunky, soulful and deep. Thanks for unearthing these beauties!"
Mr Scruff

"Brilliant tracks! Thank you so much"
Gilles Peterson

"This is fucking amazing!!!!"
Eli Soul Clap

"Sipho's Music is great!"
Antal

"Amazing music that is perfect for today's music environment, a lovely blend of South African and boogie flavours."
Patrick Forge

Glasgow’s Seated Records return with more archival Scottish New Wave material; this time, in the form of Pop Wallpaper’s disco-not-disco interpretation of the Shuggie Otis classic, “Strawberry Letter 23”. And interpretation is the right word, guitarist Evan Henderson confesses that the lyrics sang by Audrey Redpath on the record were, “err inaccurate due to pre-internet home recording translation”.

The Edinburgh band first released “Strawberry Letter 23” in 1986 as a double A side 12” alongside original song, “Nothing Can Call Me Back". The 1986 record’s sleeve states that the original - “Strawberry Letter 23" has been “re-modelled for special pleasures, namely on the dance floor”. Here the re-model has been re-modelled once more. The track is recontextualised for 2022 playing on a four track 12” that includes an unreleased instrumental demo version of the track, as well as mixes from label founder Pigeon Steve and close friend of the label, Useful Tom.

Wallpaper’s first EP “Over Your Shoulder” was released in 1984. The release received a considerable amount of radio support, not least from Radio 1’s John Peel and Janice Long, which culminated with a live session for Long’s show at the BBC’s studios in London. Released a couple of years later, Strawberry Letter received similar levels of radio play. Despite (much to the band’s confusion) being tracked by Motown UK at one point, Pop Wallpaper did not go on to receive commercial success and eventually went their separate ways.

“Strawberry Letter 23” sits in the singular historical, cultural context of mid-80s Britain. Following the explosion of punk at the end of the 1970s, in the 1980s many British bands began experimenting with new styles and instruments - always keeping an eye firmly on their punk roots. The loose percussion and synthesiser melodies have an almost new-age, balearic mood, while the falsetto vocals of singer Audrey Redpath are an unmistakable embodiment the Post-punk style of the time. The prominent bass-line suggests a reggae or disco inspiration, and bass player Myles Raymond admits that he obsessed over a Sly & Robbie Taxi records compilation around the time the band put the tune together.

This reissue includes an unreleased, unheard instrumental demo-version of the cover, “SL23”. The band recorded the demo during an nighter at Wilf’s Planet studios in Edinburgh, just after Wet Wet Wet had just finished up their own demo for “Wishing I Was Lucky” (Pop Wallpaper all insist they thought it would never be a hit). In this version, we hear the band messing around with drum machines and synths which, in a similar style to Kevin Low and Fiona Carlin on Seated 001, creates a stripped back dance floor work-out that bares almost no resemblance to any version of “Strawberry Letter 23”. In an attempt to emulate the Trevor Horne production style of the time, the band’s drummer Les Cook recalls pushing for more and more reverb on the drums during the session to a reluctant producer Chic Medley, who “eventually obliged, but needed a lot of persuading”. Much to Cook’s disappointment “the reverb was toned down when we got to the final release”.

On the B side, label boss Pigeon Steve delivers a dubbed-out and acid drenched, cosmic rendition of the track with “SL24”, before Useful Tom (son of Pop Wallpaper bass player Myles Raymond) brings the EP to an end with spacey de-construction of fractured vocals and gliding synths on the B2 with “SL25”.

1000 black vinyl LPs. London-based ‘indie-supergroup’ SUEP announce their long-awaited debut mini-album Shop, a collection of 6 oddball, car-boot-sale pop songs with a sprinkling of theatrical storytelling. Led by Georgie Stott (of Porridge Radio, Garden Centre) and Josh Harvey, SUEP was born out of a near-decade of playing in sheds and barns with like minded personnel, holding a mutual love for Paul McCartney, Jona Lewie, the B-52s, Devo and other performative freaks enjoying themselves. Following a move to London from Brighton, the pair added George Nicholls (The GN Band, Joanna Gruesome, The Tubs), Will William Deacon (PC World, Garden Centre), and Ollie Chapman (Boil King) to the line-up. The 5 piece take turns writing songs and taking the lead vocal duties in a wonderfully playful but coherent collaboration, with their debut being a kaleidoscopic off kilter pop ride, taking the listener through haunted castles, deprived encounters, days lost to the imagination in bed, and through the integral friendships that give SUEP the energy to keep dancing to their own beat. The album was arranged and recorded in the Red Lion Boys Club, an ex-youth centre in which Georgie and Josh both lived. Using equipment collected by Josh in his travels as a bootsale and market trader, the sports hall was transformed into a makeshift studio for a few days, with sessions conducted by producer Matthew Green (Sniffany & The Nits, The Tubs, etc.) Mark Riley (BBC 6 Music) described SUEP’s debut single and album opener, ‘Domesticated Dream’ (2021) as “perfect pop music.” The joyfully kitsch track brims with a 70s Yamaha disco beat, deep bass, nostalgic drum machines, and hooky melodies. Possibly the most psychedelic and infectious track born out of lockdown, it tackles homelife, drinking too much, and making big plans that never come to fruition, but with a big technicoloured positivity for the future of the human-race, with the chorus’ refrain, “the psychedelic 4000s,” predicting the return of the psychedelic Age of Aquarius in a couple of millennia time. The following single ‘Misery’ (2021) is pure cosmic swing-pop wizardry in part inspired by spy music and The Supremes. Ollie, The track’s baritone vocalist, describes it as “A love song disguised as a song about loss. It's about cherishing the things that matter but it’s also about having the courage to say goodbye,” with each line of the song a small story about a different character. Whilst latest Shop taster ‘In Good Health’ is darkly euphoric like a pleasantly strange meeting of Siouxsie Sioux and Jona Lewie. It’s a playfully discombobulating mix of 80s jangly guitar, chirpy keyboard and moody post-punk tackling mental health, drug addiction, and the power of friendship, written after the song’s vocalist Georgie came out of hospital following a mental health crisis. “I wanted to write a song that encapsulated how important my relationships with my friends and boyfriend were at that time” she explains “…and one that also felt dark like I did at the time. I couldn’t go outside due to anxiety surrounding my health so I stayed inside for weeks. People would visit and watch films with me or let me tattoo them or make music with me. My community helped me recover.” Elsewhere on Shop is ‘Just The Job’ fronted by Harvey and described by him as “About the relief of accepting a menial existence, and allowing life to be boring - but (within that) how the small things are the important ones, how pulling a sicky or extra long lunch break are important things to do for yourself. It’s an anthem for working people who’ve had enough - and a crowd favourite at SUEP gigs. The darker undertones and post-punk angles of the Georgie-fronted ‘Onions’ is inspired by the crapness of cliques, with the band calling the song “A cry of welcome to all;” and finally the hooky ‘Friend of Mine,’ described as “A love letter to all the people that come and go throughout your life no matter how long you know them”. SUEP have received coverage in Independent & Clash, (among many others), with big support from Mark Riley and Steve Lamacq (BBC 6 Music) for early singles.

There is an endless abundance of variations that the clarinet can use in changing the colour of a single note. As a privileged listener - and - experiencer, Ben Bertrand through his favourite instrument shared the musical blueprints with me, which resulted in this album. His music has become a vivid part of my almost daily thoughts - allowing what I hear to clash and sing with the patterns and rhythms already established in my mind. A voluntary trip, an absorbing experience in our Brussels vibrant cultural life. With his instrument and countless machines, Ben creates a web of sounds that are hard to pin down but easy to absorb as a whole. Ben Bertrand happened to me. His music, full of beauty, is good to listen to and pleasant to follow. A sense and perception of continued growth too illuminated and overwhelming to resist. While I sense when a new composition is coming, Ben was able in our daily conversations, to progressively untangle a musical mystery and layout the puzzle of a new creation. Listening to his music is like sitting at the sea, watching a slow motion of our crazy life sailing by. You, as a listener, with this record stepped in an early stage of his career, with hardly any involvement of other people, composition wise. Besides composing alone, there have been countless hours when Ben Bertrand worked and interacted with Christophe Albertijn for the recordings. There is also the essence of our regular exchanges and the visions we knit. These are in my opinion just the starting points of plural interactions and musical endeavours to be. It is a matter of his artistic trust and let go, while Ben creates his own language, package and macrocosm. The excellence of Ben Bertrand's music lays in its involving and easily accessible nature, regardless of your personal or musical past experience. Ben Bertrand is all before you for you to dig, and nobody is asking you to file him away under any category. - Tommy Denys

Belgian artist Melawati steps up to Ellum Audio with an arresting debut album, Artimia. Produced with an array of modified machines and modular synths, it is a testament to finding beauty in chaos.

Martijn Ravesloot aka Melawati makes music out of mistakes. He comes from an indie background but has always admired Aphex Twin while playing in bands such as The Subs and working in theatre. He has a love of experimenting with soundwaves that gives rise to his complex, experimental and improvised sounds. He first met Maceo Plex while jamming and that session turned into the track 'Daliah' which dropped on Ellum Audio and was remixed by Tale of Us.

After that, Melawati wrote this most absorbing and beautiful album during the pandemic in a dark studio attic in the heart of Brussels. He set about recording live experiments on analog synths and then deconstructed and reconstructed them into the tracks presented here. The angelic tones of guest vocalist Lisa Jane feature on two tracks though the pair have never met, and Melawati is now set to take his impressive live show to Tomorrowland. His life has changed since writing the album, he now has two children and lives on a farm, but the power of this music where organic and alien worlds intersect remains utterly compelling.

Opener 'I Just Want To Go Walking' pairs a heavenly vocal with celestial chords and a bustling broken beat that strikes a powerful emotional note right from the off. The excellent 'Riddles' showcases more majestic synth work and molten melodies that suspend you in mid-air while 'Slow Pulse' is an intense layering of drones and heavy drum tumbles that again offsets light and dark, tension and release. 'Red Herring' rests with beautifully pensive synth patterns that twinkle, warp and melt before your very ears and 'You And I' takes off on a rubbery groove overlaid with heart-aching keys and shimmering, wordless vocals. 'Somebody' is brain-soothing synth bliss with lush patterns and icy drums that gently unfold to get you in a trance and the gorgeous 'Radiate' then offers a widescreen and cosmic ambient interlude. The heartbroken synths of 'Let Your Love Wash Over Me' speak of the end of a cosmic love affair and 'Violent Thoughts' rebuilds on smooth arps and smeared pads over downtempo drums. The final trio of tracks offers rousing breakbeats on 'New White Noise', uplifting synth catharsis on 'Pain And Pressure' and a melancholic lullaby on 'Stellar'.

Artimia is a beautiful mix of harmony and dissonance, of real emotional power and improvised musical elegance.

Debut album by Dutch producer w1b0, who passed away in August, to be released in November on U-TRAX.

Wibo Lammerts' sudden death on August 15thshocked the worldwide electro community, and also left the record label, that had been working on the debut album with the artist known as w1b0 for the past two years, dumbfounded and in grief.

Wibo had jokingly always called his upcoming debut album 'his legacy', which now sadly has become a painful truth. With the support of Wibo's family, U-TRAX is now doing the only thing that doesn't feel totally wrong: proceed as planned, and release 'When Humans Ruled The Earth' on November 11.

W1b0 made quite a name for himself with heavy electro tracks that he released on labels like Bass Agenda, Hilltown Disco and Discos Antónicos. Standing at 202 meters, and combined with a cheerful character, most people remember him as the gentle giant of electro.
For this album, Wibo wanted to steer away from the dark and heavy electro he mostly made until then. The idea of having a platform to create delicate electronic music in different styles, and make it a showcase of his versatility, was very appealing to him. And that is where he and U-TRAX found each other.

The full-length album (over 75 minutes on cd and digital) comes after 'The Pilex Program EP', released in October, that featured a remix by Detroit's Ectomorph of 'Pilex Driver' and saw 'Program Yourself To Feel' remixed by a well-known Dutch producer that recently created the new 'techno alias' Human Form.
As usual with U-TRAX, the album comes in three different editions, with the 11-track double vinyl version containing the Ectomorph and Human Form remixes. The CD and digital version boast original versions only, plus four additional tracks: 'Alternate Reality Interface', 'Mixed Matter Fluctator', 'Synthetic', and 'In There'. The cassette version more or less has the same track list as the CD/digi version, but has both aforementioned remixes and a bonus track in the incredibly hypnotizing 'I Wanted You', a track that unfortunately couldn't be on the CD and vinyl versions.

Buyers of the physical releases get treated on superior quality products, another trademark of U-TRAX. The vinyl edition boasts over one hour of music, on two 180 grams, green vinyl discs, in a black & white & neon green gatefold sleeve. The eye-catching artwork is created by Utrecht artist Leffe Goldstein, known amongst others for his psychedelic beer can designs for Utrecht brewery Maximus. Wibo, being the beer lover he was, had zero doubts about having Leffe Goldstein do the cover for his album. The CD has a total playing time of 75 minutes and comes in a beautiful 6-panel digipack, while the cassette will have full-color on-body print and comes in a plastic-free Maltese cross fold-up sleeve.

Buyers of the physical releases get treated on superior quality products, another trademark of U-TRAX. The vinyl edition boasts over one hour of music, on two 180 grams, green vinyl discs, in a black & white & neon green gatefold sleeve. The eye-catching artwork is created by Utrecht artist Leffe Goldstein, known amongst others for his psychedelic beer can designs for Utrecht brewery Maximus. Wibo, being the beer lover he was, had zero doubts about having Leffe Goldstein do the cover for his album. The CD has a total playing time of 75 minutes and comes in a beautiful 6-panel digipack, while the cassette will have full-color on-body print and comes in a plastic-free Maltese cross fold-up sleeve.

Opener 'Acid Whip' is one of the oldest compositions on this album, in which a dark 303 bassline hums over layers of spacey strings. Wibo named it after the legendary Whip It party in Amsterdam's De Melkweg. 'Alternate Reality Interface' then presents bouncy rhythms toying around with all sorts of analog (bass) synthesizers, before we go really deep with the epic ambient techno track 'Wandering Souls'.
Then things get a little lighter spirited: 'Mixed Matter Fluctator' is an electro track that builds on sounds created by Matt Buggins. It has very strong Detroit influences, the city Wibo loved so much and that he made a pilgrimage to with a group of friends that called themselves 'The Techno Tourists'. The tempo goes up a notch in 'Program Yourself To Feel', that halfway opens up in wide science fiction strings that evoke memories of Star Wars, the movie series that Wibo was a great fan of, and that was the source of many of his tracks' names. The Human Form remix opens the vinyl edition of this album and is a downright belter of a track.

Next is a somewhat experimental intermezzo named 'Synthetic'. Erratic beats and pounding bassdrums get accompanied by very subtle eerie-sounding strings, before melancholic synthesizers and piano chords take over. This is an excellent prelude to the epic 'Hologram Computing', a track that is one of our favorites. It slowly and softly builds and builds, before a pounding bassdrum breaks loose and a hypnotic arpeggio takes you to higher planes.
Not ready to letting the listener relax, w1bo then serves 'Beilstein Reference', which again presents his trademark cocktail of down-to-earth electro rhythms and catchy melodies, covered in all sort of little sounds and noises, giving the song a lot of energy. What follows is 'Hit me', a track loosely based on a song by Dutch indie rock band Mr. Joe Abe. Wibo met the band's singer on a camping site while being on holidays and the two decided Wibo should do a remix of one of their songs. Nothing was left of the original except the vocals, and the result is a remarkable cheerful, poppy electro song.

'Anticipated Input' is one of the more recent tracks Wibo made for this album, combining electro, acid and, yes: epic strings. But not all is peace and quiet on this album, as 'Pilex Driver' shows. This is w1b0 going experimental in a danceable fashion: Industrial sounds make the track sound like we're passing a construction site that is playing loud electro music. On the vinyl version of this album, Ectomorph totally decomposed the original and made it into a mysterious, almost subdued, and totally brilliant electro track that sees a main role for the retro Roland CR drum machines sounds.

TFHats, Wibo's fellow member of the Transhumanism collective, added lyrics to 'Cartesian Coordinates'. His vocals add a pleasant New Wave flavor to this song, that has breaks that remarkably reminds one of Nirvana's 'Smells Like Teen Spirit'. What follows is the most personal track on this album. 'Fornan' is a song that Wibo made for his wife Nanette, and was added as the last piece of the puzzle that creating an album is. The warm Detroit techno atmosphere in this electro song couldn't be a more beautiful tribute to his love, and mother of their two young boys.
The album then takes a surprising detour through a 1980s landscape with 'In There', that features the Joy Division-esque vocals of another one of Wibo's friends, indicated only as Vincent. The super slow and gloomy track is a treat for anyone that loved the darker side of New Wave. The album has a worthy closer in the sensitive, yet playful 'Schlegel Diagram'.








h 08: Hit Me (w1b0's Slugfest Assault Dub) feat. Mr Joe Abe

Berlin-based producer Rampue has not released an album in 14 (in words: fourteen) years. Between 2008 and 2020 he toured the world and worked mainly on his live sets in the meantime. So now only a worldwide pandemic had the power to prevent the traveling musician from continuing this hustle and bustle and eventually share a new record with the public. Corona was what brought this standstill and the otherwise well- traveled individual experiences cabin-fever during lockdown. Hence, the new Rampue album "Tragweite" came into existence in February 2021, which portrays the artist's desire for experimentation.
Inspired by a modular synthesizer (Buchla), Rampue has seemingly put himself into a kind of trance, in which he lets the machines work and combines randomly created sounds with airy structures such as low drums or simple grooves. Rampue accomplished to break free by using random sounds as a new impulse and a way out of a creative crisis, which stemmed both from the enforced home isolation and from the self-perceived paralysis. The result is literally unique, as many of the sound products cannot be reconstructed and are preserved in album form for the general public.
Listening to "Tragweite" one gets the impression that the dialectical relationship between chaos and order, further supported by its production, is the defining theme of the album. After an initially perceived chaos, a delicate order, which is determined by structuring drum patterns and basslines, takes over throughout the course of the album.
Later, it frays and loses itself again in sounds and tones created mechanically However, it never seems arbitrary, but willful and skillfully staged. For instance, "Furo?" begins with apparent arrhythmia. The combination of bass and subtle percussion, however, gives this arrhythmia a shape, guiding the track which gradually becomes more and more driving without losing its original playfulness.
Although one might be inclined to think of genres such as Downtempo or Ambient at the beginning in the further course of the album results in such a diverse sound and rhythmic landscape that one willingly questions one's own perception of music while listening and finally throws every type of categorization overboard joyfully. The listening experience is too intoxicating and enlightening to stick to simple genre boundaries. The musical spectrum ranges from straight arrangements that live entirely without a drum foundation ("Fu?r Dich") to almost meditative sound collages ("Regengesicht") to the four-to-the-floor banger "Kembang" which adds a grimmer note with a certain industrial appeal to the overall rather melancholic-progressive curation. "Direct Faden" on the other hand, surprises with its simple guitar-based foundation on which the omnipresent synth snippets and pads are allowed to let off steam towards the end of the record. The track that most closely combines the progressive production style with a danceable club atmosphere is probably "Phobia". Wafting, partly breaking away synthesizer sounds rise higher and higher, while the driving mixture of bass and drums consistently march forward.
Rampue breaks with his old, musical habits as "Tragweite" creates the impression of improvisation and jam character without getting lost. Rampue takes his listeners on a journey that is stirring and moving, sometimes demanding or even a bit disturbing, yet always one thing: incredibly exciting.

With I was born by the sea, Richie Culver brings to a close a period of intense introspection and emotional reckoning with a debut album that serves as both an optimistic statement of intent and a final glance back at the painful places it explores. Following recent work with Blackhaine and Pavel Milyakov, I was born by the sea picks up where Culver’s EP for Italian label Superpang, Post Traumatic Fantasy, leaves off, painting an unabashed portrait of contemporary malaise, detailing a life lived behind closed doors, pinned under the crushing weight of austerity, sapped of the strength to do anything other than gaze out to sea and all the grey possibilities it represents. Where Post Traumatic Fantasy saw Culver returning to his hometown of Hull after a period spent entangled in London’s relentless sprawl, his first full length project reaches further back to his formative years working in a caravan factory and going to raves in and among Hull’s outskirts. Unspooling like a fever dream, I was born by the sea is the anxious clutter of a racing mind spoken clearly, a stark reflection on how it feels to have too many ideas and too much time to act on them.

Though unquestionably a snapshot of a time of significant difficulty, Culver reflects on this period with tender empathy and pitch-black humour, stitching together unflinching observations from England’s neglected corners, ‘there’s more mobility scooter repair shops and bookies than there are bookshops,’ and devastating vignettes of everyday struggle, ‘tears on the tin foil’, with surreal depictions of industrial grit, ‘skimming stones in a small pond by the slaughterhouse’. His DIY approach to production stretches the rough sinew that connects these fragments of memory, a process he describes as using a paired back collection of synths and drum machines to the best of his ability, ‘but to the least of their capabilities,’ wringing out visceral sound with self-taught urgency. During the album’s most impressionistic passages it’s as though Culver has transposed past internal turmoil into powerfully resonant noise, the Sisyphean sonics of ‘Create A Lifestyle Around Your Problems’, which evokes in its concrète clatter and MRI machine barrage the sound of making the same mistake again and again, or the stuttered jumble of ‘Its Hard To Get To Know You,’ its garbled vocal modulation and frayed edges of distortion channeling the paranoia of somebody listening to muffled voices through thin plaster, climbing the walls of their bedroom with the curtains closed, a nervous breakdown in stereo.

In counterpoint to this glides the ever-present spirit of the dance floor, which haunts the record from the moment it is invoked in its first few seconds. Opening onto a sea wall of bright synthesis, the stuttering vocals and bass tone chops of ‘Nervous Energy’ dump us directly into post rave ecstasy, the echoing cry of a voice amplified by loudspeaker carrying the loose energy and surge of crowds moving in darkness. The incessant, dead phone line beep of ‘Pigeon Flesh’ builds to a pulse that suddenly swells into an anxious technoid surge, shapeshifting at lysergic speed into head shrinking audio hallucinations, a descent into the void of the present via machine music hypnosis. Even ‘Its Hard To Get To Know You’ summons the ego death drive of hardcore techno within its scorched textures, flickering indiscernibly between attritional noise and frazzled hardware stomp. Paying homage to both the parties of his youth and a countless succession of Sundays spent offering himself up within Berghain’s hallowed architecture, Culver’s experiments in addressing his formative relationship with rave provide an energetic glimpse at where he might take his sound next.

Between spikes of propulsive energy and grim mood pieces Culver returns to suspended passages of aching, glacial drift, the cold swell of the North Sea, accompanied by some of his heaviest testimonials. The gauzy ebb of ‘Daytime TV,’ its tumbling loops reminiscent of boats bobbing off a distant shore, sees the artist at his most checked out, slumped in front of his television, seven days a week. ‘I used to dream of doing something,’ he admits, ‘anything to get out of this town.’ ‘Love Like An Abscess’ pairs swirling currents of ambient shimmer with violent images of baseball bats lying next to beds and blood-stained mattresses, next to which Culver pleads in a desperate mumble, ‘let our love grow, like a broken abscess.’ Yet it’s with the album’s final word and title track that Culver reveals a glimmer of cautious optimism, a parting gesture of exposition and closure. ‘I knew I had to get away,’ he asserts, ‘so I did and I never looked back.’ What follows builds from a low throb, the flutter of a tiny heartbeat, to a resonant glow, embellished with unfurling synthetic burbles, oil rigs sparkling in the distance, golden light spilling across the sea. In reckoning with the place he had to escape, Richie Culver is now free to look towards the promise of something new, something hopeful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing is explained in the mysteries around us, but some art touches their soul: last year, Justin Tripp, one half of the US-American impro electronic duo Georgia and London-based electronic artist Zaheer Gulamhusein man behind projects like Waswaas and XVARR -joined forces as STRING. Together they went on a virtual vacation and never came back. As the virtual is fully real due to its virtuality, they created a truly authentic aural hardware journey, hauntingly adventurous, calm, and surprising.
Without defining the scope, STRING tumbled through a dark musical zone that stretched to the horizon, letting the sound shape itself while falling discreet into an appealing abstract space. Hovering clockwise shortly above the ground, they formed impossible geometric musical figures - weightless, fluid clouds, made up of relations between asymmetrical elements. Like in nature, their collaborative work avoids identical characteristics. In an expression of respectful admiration, they softly celebrate the irregularities between their specific genetic musical fingerprints, creating eight light binding clouds of dawn. A meditative musical voyage that transports cosmic particles of idealistic Berlin school ambient right into the heart of their electronic machines. All tunes swing calm but constitutive, dancing around synthesized surfaces that form obsessed flaming orbs of fear and hope, of matter and antimatter.
A shared love for hardware and the ethos of improvisation guided STRING into an experimentation, in which each party aligns closely to the core ideas of co-operative, in-the-moment electronic music, tied across the eight tracks in a sequence.
Finding a home with the highly esteemed Hamburg based label V I S, STRING’s debut “Last Index Of…“ will enter the earth in double vinyl and cassette format, plus tripping on at the digital platforms.
(Text written by Michael Leuffen) the sound shape itself while falling discreet into an appealing abstract space. Hovering clockwise shortly above the ground, they formed impossible geometric musical figures - weightless, fluid clouds, made up of relations between asymmetrical elements. Like in nature, their collaborative work avoids identical characteristics. In an expression of respectful admiration, they softly celebrate the irregularities between their specific genetic musical
fingerprints, creating eight light binding clouds of dawn. A meditative musical voyage that transports cosmic particles of idealistic Berlin school ambient right into the heart of their electronic machines. All tunes swing calm but constitutive, dancing around synthesized surfaces that form obsessed flaming orbs of fear and hope, of
matter and antimatter.
A shared love for hardware and the ethos of improvisation guided STRING into an experimentation, in which each party aligns closely to the core ideas of co-operative, in-the-moment electronic music, tied across the eight tracks in a sequence.
Finding a home with the highly esteemed Hamburg based label V I S, STRING’s debut “Last Index Of…“ will enter the earth in double vinyl and cassette format, plus tripping on at the digital platforms.
(Text written by Michael Leuffen)

Deux Filles was not, in fact, two girls despite what the group name and its elaborate hoax of a backstory suggest. No, they were not Gemini Forque and Claudine Coule, French women who met as teenagers under tragic circumstances and became fast friends, recording two albums together before disappearing into the ether. In reality, Deux Filles was Simon Fisher Turner and Colin Lloyd Tucker, a UK duo who first worked together in an early incarnation of The The.

Straddling the line between experimental and pop, Turner was an actor and teen singing star who later composed soundtracks for the iconic queer filmmaker Derek Jarman while Tucker’s career began as an engineer for the famed UK library music studio, De Wolfe, before forming experimental wave group The Gadgets. In Deux Filles, the duo found an outlet for their least commercial tendencies, combining lo-fi proto-dream-pop instrumentals with samples, tape experiments, ambient textures, and drum machines. Even in the vibrant, seemingly endless well of UK DIY, Deux Filles stand out.

Silence & Wisdom – the duo’s 1982 debut – is a series of musical vignettes, like the score of an unrealized arthouse film. Blending processed guitars, sheets of synthesizers, echoey pianos, and washed-out vocal snippets to surprisingly varied effect, the album is recommended for fans of Durutti Column and Virginia Astley’s From Gardens Where We Feel Secure.

Idiology was originally released in 2001 and is now finally back on vinyl. This re-issue is pressed on white color vinyl and presented in a die cut jacket with artworked inner sleeve and free download card. From their beginnings in 1992, Cologne native Jan St. Werner and Dusseldorfer Andi Toma have consistently challenged electronic music"s paradigm in often surprising and always intriguing ways. Idiology is the duo"s seventh album and is no exception to this rule, as Mouse on Mars surround themselves with strings, woodwinds, brass and the band"s own heavily modified fleet of machines in the St. Martin"s Tonstudio. Fans should once again brace themselves for the inevitable shock of the new as Germany"s most irreverent audio renegades have created the perfect soundtrack for a highly sinister dance party. Kicking off with "Actionist Respoke", the album"s first single, Mouse on Mars officially declare their independence from glitchtronica"s shoegazing legions. Longtime collaborator Dodo Nkishi lends a uniquely warped vocal sensibility to the track which already features Mouse on Mars"s darkest grooves to date. The rest of the album continues to thicken the group"s sonic stew. Tracks such as "Presence" and "Catching Butterflies With Hands" have their populist intentions undermined by Werner and Toma"s meddling hands, while the duo reprise their flirtation with the orchestral as heard on the opening tracks from 2000"s Niun Niggung. At the other end of the spectrum, "Introduce" is a truly evil slice of twisted lympho-zoid hip-hop. Idiology takes no prisoners in its dual-pronged assault on the conventions of modern music. Only with the loungy closing number, "Fantastic Analysis" (a term Werner and Toma invented to describe their working process), do Mouse on Mars let the arrangements breathe a long sigh of relief, the calm after the storm. To enable these stylistic achievements Mouse on Mars enlist the help of partners in crime such as: Nkishi, the multi-talented Harald "Sack" Ziegler, house icon Matthew Herbert on piano, violinist Matty Arouse, in addition to fellow programming wizards Adam "Vert" Butler and F.X. Randomiz. The latter two toured with Mouse on Mars in 2000 as they successfully triumphed over audiences around the globe.

A return to form after the departure that was 1980's muddled Panorama, the Cars' Shake It Up bursts forth with a rich assembly of synthesizers, drum machines, electronic blips, and catchy melodies that make it an early 80s pop staple. Known the world over, the famous title track proves the band's arrangement skills were in perfect shape and set the stage for a record overflowing with memorable hooks and complementary rock riffs.

Shake It Up also plays witness to primary songwriter/vocalist Ric Ocasek's increased cynicism and biting wit. While the Cars never took a rosy-eyed view of romance, the songs here impart a newfound sense of sympathy, regret, limbo, and reservation. The beauty of the Cars – and all ten tunes here – is that the music suggests something else entirely. Such subliminal emotions and dynamic contrasts act as a magnet, and the band plays as if it's in on the secret.

Apart from the party vibe of the title cut, the Cars aim for deeper targets and smarter undertones. Shake It Up is defined by an urban edginess and modern feel that comes alive on tunes such as "Cruiser" and circular "I'm Not the One," a pop gem laded with stacked vocals and keyboard lines that double as a horn section. The band's arrangements have never been better – or more involved. Absent the cheesiness that would mar the group's late-period work, the songs ride on the strength of keyboard-heavy lines and layered harmonies. You will not be disappointed.

Recorded at the band's Synchro Sound studios by famed Queen producer Roy Thomas Baker, the album takes advantage of electronic textures and varying timbres in immersing the listener in accessible albeit abstract washes of sound. MoFi's engineers made sure to capture every note and nuance; this marks the first time that Shake It Up has been remastered in any way, let alone from the original tapes.

In late 1961 Spector formed Philles Records with Lester Sill, buying his mentor out the
following year. The slogan was ‘Tomorrow’s sound today’, and Phil Spector proceeded to live
up to that boast. Three-track tape machines were then state of the art, and he perfected the
method of ‘bouncing’ the tracks to get the biggest possible sound. As time went by, his ‘twominute symphonies for the kids’ would be increasingly gilded by his ‘everything but the kitchen
sink’ production including Strings, Percussion and banks of Vocals. Spector gained his
second U.S. chart-topper and his first as a Producer in 1962 with the Gene Pitney penned,
He’s A Rebel. Spector became increasingly obsessed by the production process. ‘My records
are built like a Wagnerian opera. They start simply and end with dynamic force, meaning and
purpose. I dreamed it up.’ He retired from the music business, returning only sporadically to
work with first The Beatles (their Let It Be album, plus solo LPs by George Harrison and John
Lennon), plus a handful of other artists including Dion, Cher and the Ramones.

Höga Nord Rekords kindly welcomes Teecwa back to the label, following up his last full length-album “Beyond the Altai” with “Elysian on Moon Lake”. He is still exploring the intersections between house, electro, techno and dub and once again he manages to harness the analogue electronics in his machines to produce modern psychedelia.

“Elysian On Moon Lake” is rawer, less airy and not as sparkling as his last album. This is a tighter, and slightly darker experience than Teecwa’s previous work, maybe caused by being in quarantine for extensive time during production, letting some of the dreaminess aside for the harsher reality in a pandemic world. Still, you get a mind-altering experience in a lot of tracks since the album starts off in a lighter tone than how it later develops. Switching from the A- to the B-side works as a rite of passage going from dusk to night; the sun rays through the blinders are replaced by neon light dancing on the walls and ceiling.

Regarding the dramaturgy of “Elysian On Moon Lake”, this album has movielike qualities; a well-directed piece from the opening impact and setup through the confrontational part where intensity builds up to the climax in “Hythmdoser” to the cooling down effect of the peaceful closer “Celestial Trails”. The trip eventually ends up in a safe and happy place after the cathartic finale.

This is not a just collection of songs, this is an album made to experience in full length without interruptions.

Chris Korda is an internationally renowned multimedia artist, whose work spans thirty years and includes electronic music, digital and video art, performance and conceptual art, and culture jamming. Chris pioneered the use of complex polymeter in electronic dance music, and invented a unique MIDI sequencer in order to explore polymeter composition techniques. Chris composes and performs music in a variety of genres, and has released many albums on labels such as Perlon, Mental Groove, and Gigolo Records. Chris also worked as a computer programmer for thirty-five years.

Her new album "Passion For Numbers" is one of the very few album in the world entirely composed in complex polymeter, meaning that each pieces of music uses several prime meters simultaneously. A unique way to compose music with a new generation of musical algorithmic, inside which Korda injects the DNA of neo classical, ambient and jazz music.

This refreshing album will please you whether you are into complex musical composition, experimental music or just seeking for a beautiful, emotional and accessible musical moment. This is a "In your hearts not the charts" album, as Irdial Discs once said.

Pleases read an extract of Chris Korda's letter about Passion For Numbers, included as insert in its entirety in this vinyl release:

This is an album of piano music, but I wrote it without a piano. Not having a piano turned out to be constructive, because I had to rely on my brain instead of my fingers, and particularly on my imagination and inner hearing. The album belongs to a category called phase music, and it’s also algorithmic, or more precisely rules-based generative music.

I don’t write music in the usual sense of the word “write.” I build kinetic sculptures, and the sculptures generate my music. My sculptures are virtual, meaning they’re invisible machines that exist only as data within my home-grown software.
My process is related to the work of a relatively obscure early 20th century artist named Thomas Wilfred. Like me, Wilfred was an engineer-artist, and built machines that generated art from phase shift.

My music is in complex polymeter, meaning it’s not just in odd time, but in multiple odd time signatures, and not one odd time signature after another sequentially, but all of them running concurrently. Most music isn’t constructed this way, which is why I needed to develop custom software in order to compose my music. My software is called The Polymeter MIDI Sequencer, and you can easily find it on the Internet. I also use music set theory, change-ringing and gray code, explanations of which can be found in Wikipedia.

Chris Korda

Nothing is explained in the mysteries around us, but some art touches their soul: last year, Justin Tripp, one half of the US-American impro electronic duo Georgia and London-based electronic artist Zaheer Gulamhusein man behind projects like Waswaas and XVARR -joined forces as STRING. Together they went on a virtual vacation and never came back. As the virtual is fully real due to its virtuality, they created a truly authentic aural hardware journey, hauntingly adventurous, calm, and surprising.

Without defining the scope, STRING tumbled through a dark musical zone that stretched to the horizon, letting the sound shape itself while falling discreet into an appealing abstract space. Hovering clockwise shortly above the ground, they formed impossible geometric musical figures - weightless, fluid clouds, made up of relations between asymmetrical elements. Like in nature, their collaborative work avoids identical characteristics. In an expression of respectful admiration, they softly celebrate the irregularities between their specific genetic musical fingerprints, creating eight light binding clouds of dawn. A meditative musical voyage that transports cosmic particles of idealistic Berlin school ambient right into the heart of their electronic machines. All tunes swing calm but constitutive, dancing around synthesized surfaces that form obsessed flaming orbs of fear and hope, of matter and antimatter.

A shared love for hardware and the ethos of improvisation guided STRING into an experimentation, in which each party aligns closely to the core ideas of co-operative, in-the-moment electronic music, tied across the eight tracks in a sequence.

Finding a home with the highly esteemed Hamburg based label V I S, STRING’s debut “Last Index Of...“ will enter the earth in double vinyl and cassette format, plus tripping on at the digital platforms.