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mindSET is the ninth album from enigmatic producer SW., directly following this summer’s excursion into his trademark techno, IDM and bleep soundscapes, on the myDEFINITIONS Vol II album. But with his mindSET album SW. takes a left turn, as pioneers often do, and we find ourselves on the lesser traveled side roads of electronic music history. Or in SW.’s own words: “the more abstract leftfield elements.”
It’s in these less-defined areas that SW. finds his sweet spot, building dancefloor soundtracks that defied definition. And with mindSET the sounds and the machines might have changed, the methodology remains the same.
“It draws from what was more generally seen in leftfield as a term for the slightly off-kilter house and broken beats that didn’t fit neatly into classic genres, whether that was Chicago house, French garage, drum and bass, or broken beat. It’s more about those in-between sounds that never really took off, only appearing briefly in the early to mid-90s and then quickly disappearing. There was a certain magic in that moment, which I wanted to capture. Also, the entire album was produced using classic analog equipment, with old machines that were used during that era. That’s the approach I’ve taken.”
The eight tracks on mindSET are shaped out of de-tuned techno pop synths and heavy, syncopated drums, grooving along chopped-up polymeters to create an eerie mood, as if orbiting an undiscovered planet for the first time. The harmonic movements are often bent out of shape, sometimes veering towards Gherkin Jerks or Cristian Vogel territory. But in the end, the sounds are less important than the atmosphere, and the tracks represent an attitude or an approach - to creating the music as well as experiencing it. mindSET is a nod to those dancers sharing an oddball moment, and for those of us on the same wavelength, it's a vibe we can all get inside.

UK producer Lex Wolf joins the RNT roster with a searingly hot EP of summer bangers! Known for his recent superlative output on the Make-A-Dance crew’s MAD Edits series, Lex brings his signature sample-heavy touch to this quartet of club and festival-ready tunes. Sounding a bit like Bob Sinclar over tough electro production, ‘Get Into The Sound’ starts the record off with a party then moves to the genre bending ‘Russle Love,’ with its melancholic vocals floating over a pulsating rubbery bassline. On the flip, ‘Warmer’ takes us into darker latenite territory with heavy low-end, stabby 80s synths and abstract vocal samples, and the record finishes off with the whimsical and effusive Sendsome, a plucky-guitar and horn driven earworm of an Afro edit. Classic RNT white label design with a special hot pink sleeve…because this baby is HOT!

Clan Caimán, led by composer Emilio Haro, is a group from Argentina, but their timeless, organic music transcends nationality. “Pica-Pau” (woodpecker), their third album, is their most abstract and minimal to date, but this is not a cold abstraction nor an austere minimalism; the music here, with its focus on rhythm and texture, is warm and hypnotic, seeming to have existed forever despite the fact that it was recorded in 2023-24. As on their previous albums, all with EM Records, the music is driven by the kalimabafon, Haro’s self-made tuned percussion instrument. The kalimbafon’s patterns weave through waves of reverb-drenched lap steel and guitar, as bass undertow and sans-cymbal percussion allow the music to flow music inexorably forward, like a broad, timeless river. The compositions here have a feeling of being immersed in deep night, surrounded by life, away from the enclosed isolation of the urban environment. As with previous albums, the compositions are instrumental, the exception being the final song, a vocal version of the opening track, sung in a language invented by Haro.

With THEE CHURCH OV ACID HOUSE's third EP, the miracle is now complete, the trinity has come full circle, the triptych is complete, the church has fully handed over the Holy Spirit to its disciples. For this celebration, apostles such as Glow, Tyson and Elektra, as well as the church leaders of THEE CHURCH OV ACID HOUSE themselves, come together again to celebrate a Dionysian Bachanal.

It starts with Glow's ‘Acid House Planet’, an epic-ambient call to the gods at the foot of the Acid House Olympus.

And the next track on the EP, ‘Coming Home’, a no less epic house tune that calls the children of faith home to the church with the vocoder voice of the gods, shows that they listen to their disciples.

‘Mitzubishi’ by Tyson celebrates the holy sacrament of acid painting in chords that melt on the tongue like a lollipop over a ritual beat.

This is followed by Elektra, which has already provided highlights on the previous EPs. And this time too, her hypnotic acid anthem worms its way deep into the ear canals and brains of the trance-listening worshippers.

Shortly before the end, the church leaders return to deliver an abstract breakbeat hymn with ‘Waves Ov Power’, which, surrounded by numerous sample memories of house history, sings of the pure power of the acid ecstasy techno religion.

Finally, THEE CHURCH OV ACID HOUSE disciples are dismissed from the service with a powerful hymn of distorted bass drums, namely Random Noise Generator's ‘SM 58’ in the T.C.O.A.H. Schranz remix - a track that will give the inspired followers of the CHURCH OV ACID HOUSE enough strength to spread the happy acid message throughout the land.
Amen.

New Countown speedcore Noise label. Very influenced by Hangars Liquides and Kabal Sound System... Long psyche speed hardcore tunes... So speed that it's close to be abstract !

It’s abundantly clear from the first bars of their 5th studio album Through Other Reflection, that this is, and could only ever be, The Soundcarriers. From the enchanting vocal duets of folk-bidden Chanteuses Leonore Wheatley and Dorian Conway; to the precise bass lines of Paul Isherwood and the limber, jazz-cool, Hal Blaine-esque drums of his his co-songwriter Adam Cann; from the fairy-like flutes, 60s-garage guitars and organ sounds pilfered from the archives of exotica - listening to the Soundcarriers resembles a rediscovery of all the most prized, esoteric corners of the 1960s, all bundled up, warped and refracted through the quartet’s astutely modern cultural lens. Channelling Tropicalia, Middle Eastern psychedelic Jazz/Funk, The French Library sounds of Nino Nardini, and a whole host of lavish obscurites beside, Through Other Reflection delivers another sonic adventure from one of the most unique and distinctive voices of British Psychedelia. After an 8 year wait for their album 4 - 2022’s Wilds - it thankfully didn’t take so long for the follow-up this time round. In many ways, this feels like a companion to Wilds; recording again at their Nottingham warehouse studio, Through Other Reflection retains that same organic glow, all the passions and imperfections of a tightly clipped unit jamming out these living, breathing pop-art nuggets as if straight onto the acetate.”We wanted to keep an air of spontaneity with this album and not get too bogged with the recording process”, explains Cann, “It was more a case of getting the songs as tightly written and arranged as possible first so we could get them down quickly in the studio. It always takes longer than you think” Less packed with strident pop hooks as its predecessor however, the music of Through… has been given extra licence to breathe, stretch out, and wander more uncharted terrains. While gleaming psych-pop of tracks like ‘The City Was’, or ‘Already Over’ confidently carry on from where they left off, from the album’s 2nd track ‘Always’, the trip becomes a little less predictable. Starting out as a smoky Procol Harum-meets-French-Psych organ ballad, the music drifts, as if of its own accord into an eerie, garage trance that lingers, cycles, and hypnotises, growing ever stranger, reaching ever-further away from its point of conception. And almost every track on Through Other Reflections holds that outer-body moment, where the band fix themselves on a limber, lysergic groove, lose all grip on time and reality, and melt themselves away into a liquid state of blind euphoria. There are sequences on this record that feel more like rituals than songs, built upon a single hypnotic rhythm which, like the centre of a vortex, pulling everything under its beatific command. Take the finale to ‘What We Found’ for instance, sounding like a ghostly march across the psychedelic moors, or ‘Feel The Way’, where a single athletic drum-loop rises and rises, growing ever more urgent and suspenseful underneath its frantic harpsichords and rasping flutes. Full of such rich stylisms as these, The Soundcarriers showcase themselves as abstract storytellers par excellence by virtue of their textures and arrangements alone. Resembling Romantic composer Maurice Ravel, but if he had just a four-piece rock band at his disposal, Through Other Reflects is rich with detail; there’s shakers, rattles, clarinets, booming drums; there’s synthesiser swarms, chiming xylophones, vintage organs and experimental Cluster & Eno-esque ambiences. Within all this nuance the music flows like some undisclosed narrative swathed in a magnetic secrecy. “It almost comes across like a story in some ways”, says Cann of the album, “the music is quite sectional with elements of exotica and cinematic type layers, it's a good balance of grooves, tunes and weirdness”. No more is this “epic cinematic feel” heard more proudly than on short instrumental ‘Sonya’s Lament” - its innate, hauntological atmospheres befitting a Peter Strickland soundtrack, or the classics of Lex Baxter, the so-called ‘Founder of Exotica’ himself. On the other hand, providing a greasier undercurrent to all these bucolic sounds is a leaning towards a more “direct” lyricism referencing more “external concerns. Laying down the first tracks for the album in the wintry gloom of pre-lockdown 2020, and drawing inspiration from time spent in Berlin, Through Other Reflections returns to some of the post-apocalyptic futurism explored in 2014’s Entropicalia - a loose concept album inspired by J.G Ballard’s The Drowned World. “The songs explore a disillusionment with the way things are going particularly after 40 years of neoliberalism”, says Cann, “They follow that folk-song tradition of wanting to escape to an imagined time, but here it’s more urban than pastoral. The first couple of ideas I came up with when doing some music in Berlin and had some time to wander aimlessly. And think the atmosphere seeped in, particularly on The City Was and Already Over. He continues, “One aspect of the title, ‘Through Other Reflections’ is about synthesis and layers of influence. How things can be filtered through other things and change the perspective. This is something you get in cities as well.” Though, as with everything The Soundcarriers make, “It can mean anything. It also just sounds kind of cool.”

It’s abundantly clear from the first bars of their 5th studio album Through Other Reflection, that this is, and could only ever be, The Soundcarriers. From the enchanting vocal duets of folk-bidden Chanteuses Leonore Wheatley and Dorian Conway; to the precise bass lines of Paul Isherwood and the limber, jazz-cool, Hal Blaine-esque drums of his his co-songwriter Adam Cann; from the fairy-like flutes, 60s-garage guitars and organ sounds pilfered from the archives of exotica - listening to the Soundcarriers resembles a rediscovery of all the most prized, esoteric corners of the 1960s, all bundled up, warped and refracted through the quartet’s astutely modern cultural lens. Channelling Tropicalia, Middle Eastern psychedelic Jazz/Funk, The French Library sounds of Nino Nardini, and a whole host of lavish obscurites beside, Through Other Reflection delivers another sonic adventure from one of the most unique and distinctive voices of British Psychedelia. After an 8 year wait for their album 4 - 2022’s Wilds - it thankfully didn’t take so long for the follow-up this time round. In many ways, this feels like a companion to Wilds; recording again at their Nottingham warehouse studio, Through Other Reflection retains that same organic glow, all the passions and imperfections of a tightly clipped unit jamming out these living, breathing pop-art nuggets as if straight onto the acetate.”We wanted to keep an air of spontaneity with this album and not get too bogged with the recording process”, explains Cann, “It was more a case of getting the songs as tightly written and arranged as possible first so we could get them down quickly in the studio. It always takes longer than you think” Less packed with strident pop hooks as its predecessor however, the music of Through… has been given extra licence to breathe, stretch out, and wander more uncharted terrains. While gleaming psych-pop of tracks like ‘The City Was’, or ‘Already Over’ confidently carry on from where they left off, from the album’s 2nd track ‘Always’, the trip becomes a little less predictable. Starting out as a smoky Procol Harum-meets-French-Psych organ ballad, the music drifts, as if of its own accord into an eerie, garage trance that lingers, cycles, and hypnotises, growing ever stranger, reaching ever-further away from its point of conception. And almost every track on Through Other Reflections holds that outer-body moment, where the band fix themselves on a limber, lysergic groove, lose all grip on time and reality, and melt themselves away into a liquid state of blind euphoria. There are sequences on this record that feel more like rituals than songs, built upon a single hypnotic rhythm which, like the centre of a vortex, pulling everything under its beatific command. Take the finale to ‘What We Found’ for instance, sounding like a ghostly march across the psychedelic moors, or ‘Feel The Way’, where a single athletic drum-loop rises and rises, growing ever more urgent and suspenseful underneath its frantic harpsichords and rasping flutes. Full of such rich stylisms as these, The Soundcarriers showcase themselves as abstract storytellers par excellence by virtue of their textures and arrangements alone. Resembling Romantic composer Maurice Ravel, but if he had just a four-piece rock band at his disposal, Through Other Reflects is rich with detail; there’s shakers, rattles, clarinets, booming drums; there’s synthesiser swarms, chiming xylophones, vintage organs and experimental Cluster & Eno-esque ambiences. Within all this nuance the music flows like some undisclosed narrative swathed in a magnetic secrecy. “It almost comes across like a story in some ways”, says Cann of the album, “the music is quite sectional with elements of exotica and cinematic type layers, it's a good balance of grooves, tunes and weirdness”. No more is this “epic cinematic feel” heard more proudly than on short instrumental ‘Sonya’s Lament” - its innate, hauntological atmospheres befitting a Peter Strickland soundtrack, or the classics of Lex Baxter, the so-called ‘Founder of Exotica’ himself. On the other hand, providing a greasier undercurrent to all these bucolic sounds is a leaning towards a more “direct” lyricism referencing more “external concerns. Laying down the first tracks for the album in the wintry gloom of pre-lockdown 2020, and drawing inspiration from time spent in Berlin, Through Other Reflections returns to some of the post-apocalyptic futurism explored in 2014’s Entropicalia - a loose concept album inspired by J.G Ballard’s The Drowned World. “The songs explore a disillusionment with the way things are going particularly after 40 years of neoliberalism”, says Cann, “They follow that folk-song tradition of wanting to escape to an imagined time, but here it’s more urban than pastoral. The first couple of ideas I came up with when doing some music in Berlin and had some time to wander aimlessly. And think the atmosphere seeped in, particularly on The City Was and Already Over. He continues, “One aspect of the title, ‘Through Other Reflections’ is about synthesis and layers of influence. How things can be filtered through other things and change the perspective. This is something you get in cities as well.” Though, as with everything The Soundcarriers make, “It can mean anything. It also just sounds kind of cool.”

Nach Paramores Coverversion von "Burning Down The House", Teezo Touchdowns "Making Flippy Flop" und Lordes "Take Me To The River" hat A24 Music nun das vollständige Tracklisting und das Veröffentlichungsdatum für “Everyone's Getting Involved: A Tribute to Talking Heads' Stop Making Sense” bekannt gegeben. Das Projekt wird am 17. Mai digital erscheinen, die physischen Formate folgen am 26. Juli und können ab sofort vorbestellt werden. Die 16 frischen, aufregenden und überraschenden Neuinterpretationen umfassen die gesamte Tracklist des Originalalbums und schaffen neue Inhalte für langjährige Talking Heads-Fans, während sie eine neue Generation mit der Magie dieser Songs bekannt machen. Die brillante Auswahl der Künstler kontextualisiert Stop Making Sense in der populären Musik und Kultur neu, wobei der Schwerpunkt auf der generations- und stilübergreifenden Bandbreite liegt.

Jacken Elswyth is a London-based folk musician, banjo player, and instrument builder. At Fargrounds is her third solo album, her first for the Wrong Speed label and the latest in a rich catalogue that repositions the spectral, vulnerable sound of the banjo away from its familiar role as signifier of the past and onto lands brave, new and unexplored. “The living wood is imbued with qualities that require engagement and understanding. Working with cherry, oak or walnut involves naming it an equal partner. The parallel, synchronous transformations of wood into instrument, of growing tree into resonating sound, musical tradition into musical flourishing, lie at the heart of Jacken Elswyth’s practices both as an instrument builder and as a creative musician. One might consider her primarily as a worker in wood, but whose craft and fields of expression are absorbed by those transitional and interim processes that manifest change. The traditional tunes included here have been cultivated and maintained by generations of players and collectors, pruned, grafted, and shaped over time. However, in this setting, their long-established forms seem to morph and shift. They audibly accrue unique qualities, blossoming and swelling into new modes of being, bright-stepping arrangements unfolding with a liveliness hinting at practices of ritual and community. Meanwhile, other pieces, creative cornerstones of this collection, appear fluid, partially formed. They suggest not the cultivation of new growth from established stock, but instead the actions of something on the verge of taking form. Working with raw elements of melodic and tonal abstraction, they illuminate the process of emergence and evolution. In this context, the title At Fargrounds is telling. It suggests a point set at some distance from any centre of human concerns, a liminal space in which the cultivated world encounters the world of other living things in their living state. Here, the innate strangeness of the maintained environment–vast lawns, sculpted hedges, vacant playing fields–encounters sprawling vistas of driftwood, dense thickets of brambles, stony hillsides. Across a full century-and-a-quarter, long-standing rural and pastoral musical traditions, at some distance from their origins, have been preserved, nurtured and re-shaped under the folk revival. Placed here, these artefacts now sit in alignment with unvarnished documents featuring the raw elements of sound-making. Their working-together is achieved through a universally-applied interest in musical growth and development. The juxtaposition and combination of these elements gives evidence of new, emerging approaches to community and social music: familiar, known, yet charged with an alien vitality”–CWK Joynes. “...she knows how to knit atmospheres, and does so to especially powerful effect during Scene 4b’s three minutes of stunning bowed banjo, yearning with longing and dread, while showing off her talent, curiosity and range”–Jude Rogers review of Six Static Scenes (Guardian Folk Album Of The Month July 2022) "Jacken is an emotive player with high technical ability. Further, she builds banjos and other instruments, and that intimate knowledge of the bones and fibres holding everything together means that her playing has very few cracks" - Foxy Digitalis

nit is the genius underdog of the current French chanson scene. After playing along with Sébastien Tellier or Juliette Armanet (a huge success in France), after remixing Phoenix, Myd, Dita Von Teese, Cola Boyy, Tony Allen or Jane Birkin, here he comes with his debut album. The balearic sound is always a big nit influence, feel good electronics & lush acoustic chords.

Spotted by French label Record Makers (Sébastien Tellier, Kavinsky, AIR, Cola Boyy) with his 2017 “Dessous de plage” first EP, nit has since grown from funky DIY library music to a lush and complex groovy sound. The magic of this debut album “Big Bang Puzzle” is a keen sense of composition and an innate affinity for 90’s European electronica.
It’s a playful album, the work of an artist at the peak of his craft, determined to twist styles and references (Daft Punk, Ennio Morricone, Robert Miles, Vangelis...) in order to give them a new form.

“Big Bang Puzzle” is a tangle of psychedelic and cartoon-esque pieces, an abstract modernist painting of sounds inspired by vintage pop music. The cover, created by Swiss artist Flora Mottini, offers a first glimpse of his brand new universe.

But it’s also by collaborating with French iconic design studio H5 that nit suddenly enters the French Touch genealogy. nit takes the shape of an n that grows legs and arms to become a cheeky cartoon character traveling through a real space-time continuum. Parisian H5 studio has been involved since the end of the ‘90s in the design of strong visual concepts for French Touch’s elite (Etienne de Crécy, AIR, Mirwais). French music at its best from which nit is a direct descendant. And one who expands and opens even further: pop, italo-disco, trip-hop impulses, Morriconian cavalcades, lo-fi aesthetics, Caribbean music. Producer and mixer Lucien Krampf (Oklou, Ascendant Vierge, Casual Gabberz, CRYSTALLMESS) was the person in charge of mixing this ambitious record.

nit is both a question and an answer, and a musical enigma that pushes us to explore the far reaches of our imagination…

Warehouse Find!

Time to welcome Soul 223 to the label with his debut Delusions EP entitled Fear Of Stopping. Something of a complete legend in our eyes and ears, Steve Pickton has been releasing top drawer tuneage for over two decades both as Stasis on influential labels such as B12 and Peacefrog and more recently as Soul 223 on equally well regarded imprints like Delsin, Soul Jazz and Neroli. Always one to shy away from any limelight or self promotion it's true to say that this underrated British producer remains something of an anomaly, staying true to his underground roots where faceless, shadowy and obscure reigns supreme over the latest over-exposed cover star. This ethos naturally carries through into his music where you will always find both expansive beauty and unrefined rawness in equal measures ensuring his tracks always sound fresh rather than over produced or contrived.

Fear Of Stopping opens the EP with a low-slung disco groove providing the backbone for intermittent pad washes and reversing stabs. The focus here is firmly on the drums and simple conga riff with thankfully very little else to deter you from this sublime slice of abstract dance music.

Next up we have a remix from another ridiculously talented producer who chooses quality over quantity, having only ever had one release under his own name, albeit for one of the most respected labels in the world; Rush Hour. Maxi Mill came to our attention having released one of the tracks of 2011 namely To The Next. On this, his first ever solo remix he brings a brilliant bump to the EP with a raw, warehousey and bass-heavy workout. Just the right amount of strings and pads keep the deep vibe intact but the filtering bass and jacking drums definitely take this one to the floor.

Flipping over we have Walberswick in it's Hoist Covert Mix incarnation. Almost thirteen minutes of spaced out, deep Detroit house music awaits you, ready to lure you in and cocoon you with it's warm and hypnotizing machine funk. Lovely to hear the old Stasis influence working it's way into this one sounding both decidedly old-school and completely futuristic and otherworldly as only the best tracks ever do.

Closing the EP we have Birdbrook Rain dropping the BPM's for a beautifully sparse track that brings with it an almost desolate and disconnected feeling, echoing synths providing a naive melody while a dusty pad shifts simply beneath. A little slice of magic concluding a fresh and interesting EP, we hope you agree.

Delphine Dora is a prolific composer, improviser and musician who has released on a plethora of labels including Recital, Morc, Sloow Tapes, Feeding Tube, Okraïna and more, and ‘Le Grand Passage’ is her Modern Love debut, a stunning set of songs for piano and voice, recorded in one take without overdubs or edits.

In an act of pure expression, Delphine Dora recorded the 8 songs of ‘The Great Passage’ in a single take, succumbing to a whirlwind of inspiration that transported her beyond the material world. Baroque paradigms bleed into fragile, introspective mantras, expressed through a made up language of existential yearning and channeled through piano and voice. It’s music that caresses the sublime, made without any premeditation.

Delphine was nearing the end of a three-day prepared piano residency when an technician stepped in to tune her grand piano for her final performance. He removed the objects from the strings and fixed the pitch, leaving Dora with a freshly tuned instrument. Mesmerised by its new sound, she proceeded to switch on her recorder and pour out her soul, channeling, in her own words, "something greater than myself".

The result is some of the most unusual but elevated material the prolific composer, improviser and multi-instrumentalist has ever recorded, rooted in a deep understanding of European musical history but willing to push at its boundaries, questioning the earthly logic of life and death, asceticism and impiety. Glistening imperfections lash 'The Great Passage' to the physical world, but Dora - seemingly possessed as she quivers in a fictional dialect - lets her fantasies intensify her spirit, lifting the music towards the heavens. It's not sacred music, per se, but it is unashamedly mystical.

On the luxurious, languid opening, Dora dissolves eerily familiar romantic piano motifs into an attentive ceremony, singing with charged emotion. Her words aren't really decipherable, but their resonance vibrates beyond language; it's striking to hear how confident she is in vulnerability. She lets the piano wrap into her voice, connecting us directly to a unique mode of emotional expression by urging us - the listener - to project our own meaning onto her abstracted words.

Dora refers to the act of improvisation itself as a way to indicate "the fragility of being”, and as her words blur in and out of focus, dipping from a hoarse croak to a choking wail, she places herself at the very edge of musical formality, questioning strictures put in place to suffocate self-expression. Her music has often been labeled "outsider", but here she sounds intimate and interconnected, more self-consciously candid than anything traditional might have allowed. She conjures affecting, plainspoken poetry, like a bedside diary written in a hypnagogic, delirious state: a stream-of-unconsciousness, channelling the beyond.

The album title connects to a book dedicated to French philosopher and activist Simone Weil, who famously pored over global religions to ascertain spiritual truths. To Weil, meditation was a passage to access mystical experience, or a bridge between humanity and divinity. In Dora's hands, this idea is a corridor between herself and the listener, a liminal place where she's able to address feelings without making anything explicit. The title, of course, also refers to life, its impermanence, finitude, and fragility, presenting the complex, multi-dimensionality of being through one of the most undiluted, unbridled set of songs imaginable.

High Llamas present Hey Panda - a modern pop music/deep listening experience that could only issue forth from their personal quadrant of the galaxy. Hey Panda projects soulfully through an enervating abstract of today"s popular music; the sound of the Llamas" stately melodies and expressive ditties laid open - blissfully shattered - with drums and vocals hitting different, burning sounds and contemporary production twists pulling the ear at every turn. For the past few decades, High Llamas have trafficked in contemporary pop sounds directed toward the avant end of the spectrum as much as not. But here the message was clear. Llamas" composer-in-residence Sean O"Hagan was determined to let go. Hey Panda does just that, with a set of tunes reflecting on multiple levels how definitions change over the course of a lifetime, radiating an optimism derived from the diverse conundrums of today. Eight years since their last release, the pop musical Here Come The Rattling Trees, High Llamas have reinvented themselves again, mixing their peerless harmonic voice with what Sean regards as the "extraordinarily good" production sounds of today on Hey Panda. Choosing not to look backward to former golden ages celebrated in earlier Llamas eras, Sean"s instead found himself opened up by the sounds of music brought into the house by his adult children and the sounds encountered at sessions for which he"s recently written arrangements. In addition to the more traditional contributions he made to The Coral"s Sea of Mirrors album, plus his score for the Safdie brothers" 2022 film production, Funny Pages, Sean"s drawn great inspiration through working with Fryars, Rae Morris, King Krule, Pearl and The Oyster, while also soaking up the work of Tierra Whack and Chicago"s Pivot Gang, and being cheered on from a distance by longtime admirer Tyler The Creator. Thus, Sean"s producer procedural has evolved again, with upgrades first detected in his 2019 solo effort, Radum Calls, Radum Calls. With a cover of Billie Eilish"s "Wish You Were Gay" arranged for Bill Callahan and Bonnie Prince Billy"s Blind Date Party, along with his COVID-era solo single, "The Wild Are Welcome", Sean has leveled up again and again, leading to the delirious revelations of Hey Panda. Hey Panda"s wide reach is aided by two co-writes from Bonnie "Prince" Billy, (who bonded with Sean over a shared love of gospel soul during writing sessions), guest vocals from Rae Morris and Sean"s daughter Livvy, production twists from Fryars and the stalwart, flexible presence of High Llamas. For all of its sense of departure, Hey Panda is a movement in the High Llamas oeuvre that"s been a long time in development. Aspects of soul music were addressed at the time of Can Cladders; similarly, aspects of electronic dance music were in the mix in the late 90s, around the time of Cold and Bouncy. But nothing up to now has refocused the music of High Llamas so completely. Sharing the impulse of late-period Miles Davis and Quincy Jones, with further inspiration from Steve Lacy, SZA, Sault, No Name and Ezra Collective, among many others, Sean O"Hagan and High Llamas are living joyfully in the new and the now, with Hey Panda.

Violist, violinist and singer-songwriter Marla Hansen returns to Karaoke Kalk with "Salt", her second full-length album to date. Building upon the sonic palette the Berlin-based musician established with her debut "Dust" in 2020, "Salt" takes the delicate mixture of acoustic instruments such as viola, violin, piano and guitar combined with subtle electronics to the next level. The new album is both a remarkable departure and at the same time sheds a new yet reassuring light on Hansen's work and creativity. "Salt" features numerous collaborations with like-minded musicians and friends, e. g. producer and composer Simon Goff, The Notwist's drummer Andi Haberl and the renowned artist DM Stith.

The "Dust" has settled. After having recorded her solo debut of that name, in 2020 the world came to a grinding halt, leaving Marla Hansen left to her own devices in her adopted home of Berlin. For Hansen, who previously had lent her talent to many creative minds such as The National, Sufjan Stevens, The Hidden Cameras, Jay-Z and Ravi Coltrane, the collaborative aspect of writing and producing music had always played a crucial part in finding her own path as a solo artist.

"I started to explore synthesizers and electronic production myself," she remembers of the time when meeting other musicians in person was out of the question. "I am proud that I accomplished many of the electronic elements of the new album by myself, and otherwise laid the groundwork for the final electronic structures through my own experiments. I always wanted to record a 'big' record, one that has a lot of power and sound, and this one is 'bigger' than anything I have done so far."

"Salt" is big, indeed. The opener "Chains" is driven by a gliding bass line, bobbing 808 snares, deep chords and a mesmerizing chorus doubled by luscious strings, marking the beginning of a new chapter in her creative journey. A stark statement, both musically and lyrically. Meanwhile, the title track of the album is an almost abstract sounding ambient miniature, sketch-like, dark and haunting, showcasing Hansen's voice in a shy, brittle and fragile state. If This Mortal Coil/The Hope Blister were ever to record another album, these songs should be high up on the shortlist of tunes to pick. "The One Time" - a duet with Hansen's long-time friend DM Stith - gently meanders between a Philip Glass-inspired piece for chamber orchestra and a vocal ensemble performing on Top Of The Pops. In this range of styles and approaches, Hansen's vision is more present than ever.

For refining and finishing the songs, Hansen turned to Simon Goff, who produced the album and engineered much of the recording, merging Hansen's newly-found songwriting approach with the artistic delicacy which made her debut album an exceptional piece of work. Features include among others: Alice Dixon (Oriel Quartett) on cello, Kyle Resnick (The National, Beirut) on trumpet, Benjamin Lanz (The National, Beirut) on trombone and tuba, and Miles Perkin on bass. And then there is The Notwist's Andi Haberl, who "crafted perfect drum and percussion parts to move the songs wherever they needed to go, either into their driving grooves, slow-build explosions or gentle swells of feeling."

But what are songs actually about? "The themes revolve around a feeling of being trapped. Having to stay inside during the pandemic, with all the silence and stillness coming with it. Simultaneously, I was caught up in a professional situation that was not working for me, yet it required a lot of energy and time. I was thinking a lot about how to break old habits and patterns. Patterns in my life, patterns I saw my friends and loved-ones stuck in. There are a lot of ways that people can be trapped, and breaking out of that requires a lot of courage and energy - on all levels. The title 'Salt' seemed to fit, ocean themes showed up naturally in some of the songs, and I thought often about the quote: 'The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea.' Maybe I was just dreaming of the ocean, since it was inaccessible for the first time! But I wanted a cure for this feeling of being trapped, in a time of uncertainty and anxiety, salt as a remedy seemed to have some truth in it: sweat, tears or the sea."

Perseverance and the urge for freedom prevailed in the end. "Salt" is a bold artistic achievement, with songs as big as the biggest waves imaginable. With melodies as alluring as the most comfortable breezes. Perfect from start to finish.

For a few years Leo Robinson was the sort of hidden secret you sometimes come across in local music scenes. First in Manchester and now in Glasgow, he’d pop up regularly on DIY bills or as local support to a touring act, quietly blowing them off stage with his rich baritone vocal and homespun lo-fi tales of folklore and animism. With The Temple – his debut on PRAH Recordings – he looks set to cross over from being a cult concern.

“There's a spectrum within the album between fully mythologising or symbolising my lived experience, and just stating it in very matter of fact terms - that push and pull between the need to abstract and the need to break through the abstraction and have an honest moment with oneself” he explains. “This is one of the themes of the album as well as part of the process. The aim was to take all these anecdotal or symbolic elements and merge them into one narrative and one world, in a way that you can find your way through the record as if it were a landscape or language with its own logic.”

The record takes on a pastoral, slightly baroque nature that Robinson partly attributes to a friend screening a lot of ‘70s BBC material in his book shop that they used to hang out at. There are also elements of jazz, flickering to life in “The Spring”’s piano-led finale and coda.

Thematically, Robinson likens it to a Jungian ‘Hero's Journey’, his voice possessing a character who goes through several defined stages of consciousness. From conception and the beginning of an earthly life, the first half of the album recognises the development of the protagonist’s narrative and identity, before “The Pink Light”’s freeform departure from the hitherto more song-based suite devastatingly shatters this. The second half of the album then sees the protagonist witness “the uncontainable” water; learning that true divinity lies not in the individual self or lofty notions of gods and temples, but in the unremarkable nettles, insects and dogs on the roadside riverbank - referenced on tracks “The Cormorant” and “The Spring”.

Although now residing north of the border, The Temple was written while Robinson was finding his feet in Manchester, having moved there to go to art school as a teenager (as a visual artist, he has exhibited at the Tiwani Contemporary in London and Cardiff’s Chapter Arts Centre). As a result, many of the tracks bear out the shadows of his experiences in the northern city – at their most visible and explicit on the beautifully fragile storytelling of “The Pavement”. Written the day after the Manchester Arena Bombings, it recalls Robinson waking up to go to work on a hot summer’s day to discover that his street had been blocked off for terrorism investigations; it then progresses through the rest of his day, amidst the grimly surreal aftermath of the previous night.

Having written the chords, melodies and lyrics to the album, Robinson fleshed out the tunes by scoring out parts for the additional instrumentation, but it was only when a friend sent a demo to PRAH that he was able to fund its full recording. Guitars, vocals, piano and French Horn (the latter recorded by Lauren Reeve-Rawlings) were put down at Green Door Studios in Glasgow. Microphones were placed around the room and the sound of the musicians stepping on creaky floorboards and opening creaky doors were left audible to further the record’s live feel. The harpsichord heard on “The Serpent”, meanwhile, came from University of Glasgow lecturer David McGuinness. Strings were then recorded at PRAH Studios by Francesca Ter-Berg and Raven Bush, the Social Singing Choir adding their choral vocals to “Temple II”.

The result is an album that feels both luscious and yet intimately raw; as grand as Richard Dawson at his most panoramic but containing the rough edges and skeletal looseness of a Calvin Johnson work. At times Robinson lyrically moves towards the surreal, but ultimately this is a record grounded in reality; a true showcase of Robinson’s skill as a lyricist and songwriter.

Polish jazz rebels sneaky jesus are back with their second studio album For Chaching Taphed.The highly imaginative quartet out of Wroclaw comprising Maciej Forreiter (Guitar), Matylda Gerber (Saxophones), Ben Łasiewick i(Bass) and Filip Baczyński (Drums) have won fans around the world for their restless, quirky brand of jazz which takes in breakbeats, twisting chord progressions and improvisation as well as a wealth of musical influences.

The band have been touring their asses off ever since they surprised the world with their debut album For Joseph Riddle in 2021. From out of nowhere their debut LP of 500 copies sold out in a month and they quickly went on to sell close to 1,000 CDs of the album. Fast-forward to 2023 and the band are sharing stages with artists such as Ill Considered and Theon Cross.

For Chaching Taphed was created in complete isolation. The group locked itself in a barn at the Museum of Agricultural Technology in Piotrowice Świdnickie. It worked on its sophomore output surrounded by machinery, trucks and carriages. These new compositions mirror the abstract conversations which the group frequently has just for fun. Contrary to For Joseph Riddle, this album is simple and does not rely on ongoing grooves. This enabled the group to be much more experimental. The band was joined by friends Flautist Mariya Mavko on Piękno Niemożliwe (Impossible Beauty) and her playing is sampled in Hipotetyczny Taras (Hypothetical Terrace). Pięciu Pszczelarzy (Five Beekeepers) closes the album featuring EABS' Jakub Kurek on trumpet. His fiery solo is one of the most intense moments of the album.

Spacer Po Nadodrzu (A walk around Nadodrze) opens the album and is inspired by one of the districts of Wrocław. It is a sonic story depicting a walk through Nadodrze late at night. A steady bass rhythm imitates a careful pace and the responding sax line is a spooky theme that might pop to oneʼs head in a moment of uncertainty.

The album's first single Krztusiec (Whooping Cough) finds the group diving head first into their most recent influences. The trackstarts with drum improvisation, rolling into a solid hip-hop backbeat provided by Ben Łasiewicki on Bass and Drummer Filip Baczyński. Sax and Guitar weave steady but dissonant lines, written by Maciej Forreiter after many hours spent listening to the Ethiopian jazz greats. The track takes off right after that. Matylda Gerber delivers a fiery Sax solo, while the group picks up the tempo and quickens the groove. The essence is the middle section, a dubby collective improvisation. Forreiter, Gerber and Baczyński take turns playing both classic dub phrases and fierce avant grade lines. Łasiewicki keeps everybody in check with a steady bassline. The energy slows down until Baczyński's drum solo, which explores phrasing detached from the rest of the tune.

Second single Chiński Sprzedawca Smażonych Kasztanów (Chinese roasted chestnut seller) is a fusion of breakbeats, energized songo rhythms and motifs inspired by South African melodies. Presenting the group with spacious and rhythmic horn lines, guitarist Maciej Forreiter wrote a chord progression while Beniamin Łasiewicki and Filip Baczyński took care of the rhythm section. This first part of the track suddenly drops out and explodes into the dramatic main motif which includes double sax and fierce guitar playing in harmony, plus the rhythm section playing more and more jungle-esque. Powerful guitar and sax solos feature before we return to the main theme with a completely different rhythmic backdrop.

W Klatce z Bykiem (In a cage with a Bull), starts like a race. The music plays with an incredible nerve and when the theme is right on edge it suddenly stops. It is followed by an animalistic growl on the saxophone and a doom metal-esque bash of downtuned, distorted guitars and heavy drums. In this heavy fashion it slowly approaches the finishing line hitting one final metallic clang.

Piękno Niemożliwe (Impossible Beauty) features wonderful flute playing of Mariya Mavko (Kadabra Dyskety Kusaje). Her work in the opening motif evokes sounds of Polish and Ukrainian folklore. This brief mellow moment serves as a contrast to the usual frantic sounds of sneaky jesus. It is an appreciation of thepolish jazz music of the past, intrinsically-linked to folklore. The band took this idea and reworked it into their own unique style.

Hipotetyczny Taras (Hypothetical Terrace) is built on top of a lengthy vamp in an unusual 7/8 time-signature. The bass anchors the quartet in a simple line, while the rest of the quartet share an emotional conversation. This track is the most open of the whole project and it ends accordingly. The final burst is a call back to the basics ofspiritual jazzand the whole band shows every emotion simultaneously and gracefully fades out.

Pięciu Pszczelarzy (Five Beekeepers) is For Chaching Taphed's conclusion and is a non stop assault of heavy horn lines, punk rhythms and noise. The band is joined by the extraordinary trumpeter Jakub Kurek from EABS, who blends in perfectly with sax and guitar. His exchange of solos with Maciej Forreiter is a combination of classic jazz phrasing and discordant clatter. In the same fierce manner the whole group works within the motif, switching up accents and breaks.

In the short space of two years, sneaky jesus has gone from ambitious upstart looking to break out from its home city playing spit and sawdust venues, to touring Europe as well as prestigious Jazz clubs such as Jassmine in Warsaw. In the process, it has delivered two full-length albums that don't stay in lane or pander to established jazz sub-genres as so many groups do. Some artists make the same record twice or even more than that, but not sneaky jesus. For Chaching Taphed shows the band as restless, experimental, fun, irreverent but purposeful as never before.

“A lot of over-hyped improv / jazz projects out there at the moment and Sneaky Jesus are genuinely excellent and out on their own. Drawing on the expansive atmospherics of a barn as the recording's setting, the album immediately pulls you in with the unsettling 'Spacer Po Nadodrzu' and lifts off on 'Krztusiec', effortlessly moving from angular, abrasive jazz to trippy dub and cinematic intrigue. Tempos shift and intensities shift naturally. The whole set warrants a deep listen from start to finish and watch out for two great guest features from flautist Mariya Mavko and Jakub Kurek bringing some mad fuzz licks to the boisterous closer. Brilliant album.”
Quinton Scott — Strut Records

Knopha steps out on Mood Hut Records with 'Kwong'. Ranging in tone from downtempo drum and bass to Herbert-like cut up house tunes, from esoteric pop to digital abstractions.

After years of friendship, we're very proud to release Knopha's beautiful music. We hope you enjoy.

Now in its eleventh year and following hype for recent releases from Osaka's Kiji Suedo (Hosek EP & Riot album) and Edinburgh's George T (Roll On, King's Cross single), Edinburgh's Hobbes Music label burrows deeper into experimental ambient terrain with brand new signing Galun. With a discography over 15 years deep, Galun brings no shortage of his own props.

Galun is the solo project of Moscow musician, artist, and producer Sergei Galunenko (currently based in Tallinn), who has performed at numerous prestigious Russian events and collaborated on projects internationally in a career spanning more than 15 years, with a discography to match, turning his attention to myriad styles: IDM, funk, techno, juke, post rock, beatboxing, free improvisation, drone.

“In my project, Galun, I do not use musical instruments,” he explains. “All the sounds are produced with only the use of my voice through beatbox and special vocal skills. Some effects are used to produce electronic sounds.”

Hot on the heels of the new Golos album (out now via Berlin's One Instrument) plus a remix for US collaborator Alek Finn via Nevada's Mystery Circles label, Galunenko’s eighth studio album, Glagol (or Glagolь / Глаголь in Russian) is an ambient collection, recorded between 2013 and 2022. The title is an old Russian word which translates as ‘Speak’.

"This album consists of tracks written in different periods, so it turned out to be diverse," he says. "There are classic ambient tracks, as well as experimental ones in search of new possibilities for voice processing."

Why "glagol"? “Since the music on this album is 90 percent processed voice, it's a form of conversation for me," he reveals, “where I talk about my thoughts and mood, so speak music, while using my voice, is an amazing way of expressing.”

Five singles will be released on streaming platforms only, at intervals, over summer, with the full album released on digital 25.8.23 and a limited edition cassette plus lathe cuts out from 8.9.23.

"How gorgeous is that?! I have heard the rest of the LP and it is all equally gorgeous" DEB GRANT played ‘Mirror’ (New Music Fix show, BBC 6 Music, 17.8.23)

"'Glagol' translates as 'speak', an apt title when you consider 90 percent of the noises contained on it originated as recordings of his own voice, and that lends the ambient experiments here a very human, tactile feel. Closing tune 'Mirror' is a serene masterpiece, '1981' is an evocative phase-fest, the stuttery 'Stone' is endearing and enrapturing and Galunenko generally displays a knack for communicating clear emotions through abstract sounds. Recommended." ELECTRONIC SOUND
‘Really beautiful’ AVALON EMERSON (US)
‘Really loving the Galun tracks!’ INTERGALACTIC GARY (NL)

‘Super!’ JD TWITCH (Optimo, UK)
'Wow, this sounds amazing. Loving the atmosphere here, ambient with some groove somehow, really feeling this one.' DAN CURTIN (US/DE)

"Sounds great. Looking forward to getting into this properly" LORD OF THE ISLES

‘Wicked. It’s great stuff’ DRIBBLER (Pikes, Ibiza // Paradise Lost, Red Light Radio, Pure; SP)
‘Very nice, will play on Cashmere Radio here in Berlin. Keep up the good musical works x ALEX VOICES (DE)
‘Sounds really nice. The sort of thing I’d absolutely listen to on streaming etc’ AUSTIN ATO (UK)
‘Excellent stuff as always’ PAT BENSBERG (The Eccentric Selection, Phonic FM, UK)
‘Digging this one! Right up my street and just the ticket for my Radio Buena Vida show’ TOM CHURCHILL (UK)

Still on and about after years of the most intense crate digging, gem mining, desperate head-scratching and avid schooling, thirsty as ever for the next musical thrill to wrap our ears and brains around, here comes the fruit of our life-long love story with Japanese electronics, Denshi Ongaku No Bigaku Vol. 1 and Vol.2. From the soul-fulfilling first crush felt upon hearing the iconic soundtrack of ‘Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence’ by Ryuichi Sakamoto onto our release of Inner Science ‘Cosmo Tracks’, through the life-affirming sets of Laurent Garnier at Dijon’s seminal club, l’An-fer, which have at all times nurtured and expanded our taste for Easternmost delicacies, the influence of Japanese music on our vision and endeavours was paramount to the development of our catalogue, whether directly or indirectly.

This first volume gets the ball rolling with a fine assortment of mostly ambient, electronica and deep house-focussed joints. Draped in organic membranes and ASMR-like synth tapestries, K. Inoue’s nu-agey opener ‘Em Paz’ takes us on a ride across the most serene dreamscapes. Jazzing up these lush and oneiric coastal vibes, Gabby & Lopez ‘Drive form the Miracle’ merges a sense of Californian psychedelia with a straight out hard-bop swing. No stranger to our catalogue, Inner Science returns to serve up a crystalline slice of laid-back house on a mystique-imbued tip he holds the secret to. Flip it over and here comes Aquarium with the splendidly immersive ‘Rainy Night in Shibuya’, which very much feels like wandering amidst its neon-upholstered streets and swarming hallways in a bubble of your own.

Naohito Uchiyama treats us to a synth-drenched nocturnal ballad with the ‘80s-inflected vibes of ’Shugetsu’, whereas Keta Ra cuts a path of ethereal sublimation via the mischievously fun and bouncy balearic lounge of ‘equals’. Masterly crafted by Yuu Udagawa, ‘Infinite Possibility’ eases us in a realm where weightless pop and low-slung abstract hip-hop combine to further exhilarating effect. All in harp-driven brittleness and velveteen sub-bass stealth, Noah ‘Gemini - Mysterious Lot’ has us drifting to a lavishly orchestrated headspace, laying down an impressive work on textures and arrangements. All in on the sedated drip-tease flex, Sauce81 ’Sign of Secret Love’ is a blast of freaky hedonism, just as ready to cast its hypnotic spell down the sweatbox as it was upon its original release ten years ago.

Languid jacking house tune ’Tai+Dai’ from Keita Sano blows the winds of discoid luvin’ across the room with its impeccable balance of sharp, glimmering synthwork and driving bass onslaughts from the depths. An odd slice of reshuffled folk music, Waltz ‘Folkesta’ makes for some eerie invitation of sorts, enchanting and spookily haunting in equal measure. Back to a fevered, hip-swaying mindset, Kuniyuki hi-NRG jazz number ‘Free’ is an absolute wonder of piano and drums-driven boogie, cut from the same cloth as some of Blue Note’s finest Cuban jazz classics. Rounding off the package, Japanese legend Ken Ishii’s version of Larry Heard’s house Hall-of-Famer ‘Can You Feel It’ is pure bliss in a can, tailored to turn any crowd into a shapeless cloud of balmy euphoria and universal love, whatever the place or time.

Still on and about after years of the most intense crate digging, gem mining, desperate head-scratching and avid schooling, thirsty as ever for the next musical thrill to wrap our ears and brains around, here comes the fruit of our life-long love story with Japanese electronics, Denshi Ongaku No Bigaku Vol. 1 and Vol.2. From the soul-fulfilling first crush felt upon hearing the iconic soundtrack of ‘Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence’ by Ryuichi Sakamoto onto our release of Inner Science ‘Cosmo Tracks’, through the life-affirming sets of Laurent Garnier at Dijon’s seminal club, l’An-fer, which have at all times nurtured and expanded our taste for Easternmost delicacies, the influence of Japanese music on our vision and endeavours was paramount to the development of our catalogue, whether directly or indirectly.

This first volume gets the ball rolling with a fine assortment of mostly ambient, electronica and deep house-focussed joints. Draped in organic membranes and ASMR-like synth tapestries, K. Inoue’s nu-agey opener ‘Em Paz’ takes us on a ride across the most serene dreamscapes. Jazzing up these lush and oneiric coastal vibes, Gabby & Lopez ‘Drive form the Miracle’ merges a sense of Californian psychedelia with a straight out hard-bop swing. No stranger to our catalogue, Inner Science returns to serve up a crystalline slice of laid-back house on a mystique-imbued tip he holds the secret to. Flip it over and here comes Aquarium with the splendidly immersive ‘Rainy Night in Shibuya’, which very much feels like wandering amidst its neon-upholstered streets and swarming hallways in a bubble of your own.

Naohito Uchiyama treats us to a synth-drenched nocturnal ballad with the ‘80s-inflected vibes of ’Shugetsu’, whereas Keta Ra cuts a path of ethereal sublimation via the mischievously fun and bouncy balearic lounge of ‘equals’. Masterly crafted by Yuu Udagawa, ‘Infinite Possibility’ eases us in a realm where weightless pop and low-slung abstract hip-hop combine to further exhilarating effect. All in harp-driven brittleness and velveteen sub-bass stealth, Noah ‘Gemini - Mysterious Lot’ has us drifting to a lavishly orchestrated headspace, laying down an impressive work on textures and arrangements. All in on the sedated drip-tease flex, Sauce81 ’Sign of Secret Love’ is a blast of freaky hedonism, just as ready to cast its hypnotic spell down the sweatbox as it was upon its original release ten years ago.

Languid jacking house tune ’Tai+Dai’ from Keita Sano blows the winds of discoid luvin’ across the room with its impeccable balance of sharp, glimmering synthwork and driving bass onslaughts from the depths. An odd slice of reshuffled folk music, Waltz ‘Folkesta’ makes for some eerie invitation of sorts, enchanting and spookily haunting in equal measure. Back to a fevered, hip-swaying mindset, Kuniyuki hi-NRG jazz number ‘Free’ is an absolute wonder of piano and drums-driven boogie, cut from the same cloth as some of Blue Note’s finest Cuban jazz classics. Rounding off the package, Japanese legend Ken Ishii’s version of Larry Heard’s house Hall-of-Famer ‘Can You Feel It’ is pure bliss in a can, tailored to turn any crowd into a shapeless cloud of balmy euphoria and universal love, whatever the place or time.

Fortunea Records continues its release schedule of 2023 with the 4th edition of their VA-series ‚Fortunea Cookies‘ to highlight the status quo in Austrian house music.

A band that is generating buzz in this country right now is Spitting Ibex. Their music is a mixture of funk and heavy rock, in the style of Red Hot Chili Peppers, Prince and Rage Against The Machine. Currently they are touring with their brand-new album ‚E.G.O.‘ through Europe and Peletronic had the honor to remix the title-track of their
previous record ‚Love Hate Fear Fate‘. In this ‚Disko Miks’ he transforms the song into a driving house weapon.

In 2021 Nick Hanzo released his ‚Candy Places‘ EP. And on this record was a memorable abstract lo-fi house track called ‚Saturn Nate’ that gets on FC4 a treatment by Klaus Benedek. In this new version he accelerates the speed and focuses even more on the aspect of space travel with the addition of sound fx, pads, pianos and a Italo disco-inspired baseline.

Of course this release has not only remixes of previous tracks, but also 2 originals!

The B-side features Dzc. again with her ‚Expressions‘ of night culture. Caution! This will catapult the crowd up to new heights. An energetic peak-time tune that delves deep into 90s house and trance sonic images.

And finally Markus Quittner returns from Linz and brought his ‚Game‘ to the table. A board full of bouncing dices, strong drum patterns and funky orchestrations. A pleasure for the ears.
Fortunea Cookies Vol. 4 will come out this summer on white limited vinyl. Don’t sleep on this!

Psycho Bummer is proud to present UFO!, a true originator for bass music in the United States and a hero to us since before we can remember. As part of San Francisco's Phunckateck crew in the 90's, UFO!'s early music staked out a militantly abstract form of techstep that was unlike anything else around at the time. Releases like "Science Fact / Enemy Infiltration" in 1999 were among the first US-produced drum'n'bass records that many stateside ravers bought, and while we can only speak for ourselves, UFO! was a huge inspiration in getting us to make our own music.

On the "Level Up" EP, UFO! continues a recent exploration of jungle, footwork, and juke-influenced tracks that are completely unpretentious and fun yet carry a certain strain of weirdness that links back to his early music. From heads down rollers like "Operation Drag n Drop" to the bizarre rush of "Level Up", this stuff is unmistakably UFO! and it's an honor to have him on our label. We hope you'll love these tunes as much as we do.

Pointillist club rhythms and dense, porous dub clouds encircle the Wrecked Lightship as Laurie Osborne and Adam Winchester set sail for phantom islands once more. The nocturnal boatswains chart a course guided by pronounced percussive impulses, using physicality to navigate the looming atmospheric pressure that has become their signature style.

Opening tracks ‘Arial’ and ‘Third Law’ speak to the roots of Osborne and Winchester’s respective work as Appleblim and Wedge, dealing in dancefloor abstractions where techno, electro and dubstep once stood, but there’s much more at play than simple genre tags could ever express. ‘Third Law’s electro-static interference calls back to Winchester’s work in Dot Product, while the twitchy urgency and gnarly bass echoes Osborne’s ALSO project with Second Storey.

Wrecked Lightship is an anchorless concern, free to drift into experimental waters if the currents surge that way, and so ‘Kill Mirror’ and ‘Hydrotower’ head away from forthright structures to play around with sound design and full-frequency manipulation. It’s too kinetic and jagged to be considered ambient, even if it willfully shirks the dancefloor. But for every starboard swerve there’s a prevailing wind, and the likes of finely-tuned club weapon ‘Take It Back’ whip ahead with laser-eyed focus.

Nailing their split interests between immediacy and the avant-garde to the mast, Wrecked Lightship deepen the reach of their project on their second album. Whatever shape a specific track might take, Oceans & Seas serves as a paean to the art of sonic manipulation and spatial processing.

Written and produced by Adam Winchester and Laurence Osborne
Artwork by Chloe Grove
Layout by Takashi Makabe
Text by Oliver Warwick
Mastered and cut by Simon at The Exchange

More in tune now with the rhythm of the sun and moon, Xylouris White (Dirty Jim White and George Xylouris) speak to each other across great distances with the intuition and fellowship that can only be found over years in each other"s company. With fewer distractions, appreciative of the freedom to play with new sounds and spaces, they carve The Forest In Me from unbelievably thin air. Once you set the needle down on the record and hear for yourself, the intimacies and impressionism, abstraction and unfiltered emotion found in The Forest In Me, you may wonder what was the mood of the room in which this music came to be. George, Jim and long-time producer (and secret third member) Guy Picciotto share their thoughts: Guy Picciotto: "In late 2019, we had begun taking steps to working on new material. In a haphazard fashion, Jim and I started tracking drums in my basement, cutting them up into shapes with no set landing in mind. Some of it we sent to Giorgos in Crete - he responded with his lyra and his lute. Without intention we had initiated a process that would soon become more ruthlessly mandated by the world events that separated and isolated us to three corners of the globe in the following year." Giorgos Xylouris: "While we were recording, I noticed that the music had a certain solitude about it, both from the title and from inside. That led us to find more music from within that we had not yet discovered." Jim White: "The idea emerged, naturally nourished and nourishing a record with none of our usual angles and themes, no verbal language, no angst nor sudden dynamics, a more subtle structure. And we found The Forest In Me." The first revelation from The Forest In Me is "Latin White", in which Jim"s jaunty pattern sets the stage for George"s Cretan lyra and lute figurations, giving this short dance piece the feel of a welcome hoedown around the campfire, warding off the encroaching darkness of an emptied world. The repetitions, gathered to induce joy, have a glassy-eyed mechanical drive to them; their dervish-istic seeking betrays any suggestion of balm.

Kate NV's WOW offers listeners a prismatic shift in perspective and scale, a parallel dimension in which the mundane becomes funny, unfamiliar, and altogether sensational. Turning the contents of her 2020 album Room for the Moon upside down and spilling them across a floor checkered with intrigue and surprise, Kate places sound, object, and ritual under the microscope to magnify the delight hidden in plain sight of everyday life. WOW is Kate Shilonosova's fourth full-length release as Kate NV in six years, and third for RVNG Intl. Her prolific musical output aligns with a highly attuned aesthetic and a deep commitment to visual world building. WOW is one of many of these worlds in which music is fully saturated with color, deeply tactile and textural. Shiny, sproingy, plastic. Where Room for the Moon embraced structure (abstractly speaking) and veered pop, WOW happily abandons conventional song shapes, parsing the experience of musical time into ecstatic fragments. It's difficult to imagine a more fitting album title: pure exclamation, an organic pitch of delight leaving the mouth, with no clear etymological links. On Room for the Moon, Shilonosova's voice was layered and lyrical, with sweeping and urgent melodies. WOW finds her as a peripheral purveyor of high jinks, peeking out from the corners, commenting on her surroundings in non-verbal, and arguably non-human, utterances. Instead of employing lyricism, Shilonosova steps outside of language, and rewards us with a gum ball machine of textures: soda fizz and wind-up teeth and scraps of bubble wrap become comically huge, as if heard from an insect's perspective. Words are tasty plosives, onomatopoeias, percussive chirps and one-liners, and singing serves as another form of what Shilonosova refers to as "funny tiny sounds." WOW skews and skitters, trips over its own feet and laughs about it, plays out of tune on purpose, tilts and leans like a top-heavy flower. Shilonosova is a longtime user of Found Sound Nation's Broken Orchestra sample pack, a sound catalog of over one thousand dilapidated instruments sourced from Philadelphia public schools. These perfectly imperfect instruments are tightly spliced into WOW's patchwork of synthesizer and reworked snippets of Shilonosova's friends playing clarinet, flute, and marimba. It's central to the record's internal logic: a disregard for what is, and isn't, broken, what is, and isn't, a sentence or a song. A commingling of subject and object, with a firmly new wave sensibility. Shilonosova has long had an unusual relationship with inanimate objects (citing her bicycle as her best friend), as if the joys they evoke for her are personality traits of the objects themselves. On WOW, she evinces a kind of inverted anthropomorphism: she shrinks her voice and becomes an object among multitudes, toylike in size and perspective, cohabitating with sedentary, indifferent roommates. This pursuit of childlike perspectives is a thread that runs through much of her catalog, and places her work on a plane with that of her personal hero Nobukazu Takemura, who for decades has treated his music as a portal to childlike curiosity, both in subject matter and tone. With an invitation to pursue this curiosity, WOW further confirms Kate NV's deeply inventive, fluid and technically dizzying artistry. By refusing constraints and rules, Shilonosova embodies a profound freedom, allowing objects, sounds, and processes to unfold organically; or, as she puts it, a commitment to "accepting randomness." She succeeds terrifically at a breed of auditory defamiliarization that is all her own, and the rewards for listeners are many: through her lens, the small becomes monstrous, the abstract becomes sensorial, and the old becomes new. Kate NV's WOW will be released on February 10, 2023 on vinyl and digital formats. On behalf of Kate NV and RVNG, a portion of the proceeds from this release will benefit War Child, an organization that supports children and their families impacted by conflict, and working to build sustainable peace for generations to come.

Yellow Vinyl

Kate NV's WOW offers listeners a prismatic shift in perspective and scale, a parallel dimension in which the mundane becomes funny, unfamiliar, and altogether sensational. Turning the contents of her 2020 album Room for the Moon upside down and spilling them across a floor checkered with intrigue and surprise, Kate places sound, object, and ritual under the microscope to magnify the delight hidden in plain sight of everyday life. WOW is Kate Shilonosova's fourth full-length release as Kate NV in six years, and third for RVNG Intl. Her prolific musical output aligns with a highly attuned aesthetic and a deep commitment to visual world building. WOW is one of many of these worlds in which music is fully saturated with color, deeply tactile and textural. Shiny, sproingy, plastic. Where Room for the Moon embraced structure (abstractly speaking) and veered pop, WOW happily abandons conventional song shapes, parsing the experience of musical time into ecstatic fragments. It's difficult to imagine a more fitting album title: pure exclamation, an organic pitch of delight leaving the mouth, with no clear etymological links. On Room for the Moon, Shilonosova's voice was layered and lyrical, with sweeping and urgent melodies. WOW finds her as a peripheral purveyor of high jinks, peeking out from the corners, commenting on her surroundings in non-verbal, and arguably non-human, utterances. Instead of employing lyricism, Shilonosova steps outside of language, and rewards us with a gum ball machine of textures: soda fizz and wind-up teeth and scraps of bubble wrap become comically huge, as if heard from an insect's perspective. Words are tasty plosives, onomatopoeias, percussive chirps and one-liners, and singing serves as another form of what Shilonosova refers to as "funny tiny sounds." WOW skews and skitters, trips over its own feet and laughs about it, plays out of tune on purpose, tilts and leans like a top-heavy flower. Shilonosova is a longtime user of Found Sound Nation's Broken Orchestra sample pack, a sound catalog of over one thousand dilapidated instruments sourced from Philadelphia public schools. These perfectly imperfect instruments are tightly spliced into WOW's patchwork of synthesizer and reworked snippets of Shilonosova's friends playing clarinet, flute, and marimba. It's central to the record's internal logic: a disregard for what is, and isn't, broken, what is, and isn't, a sentence or a song. A commingling of subject and object, with a firmly new wave sensibility. Shilonosova has long had an unusual relationship with inanimate objects (citing her bicycle as her best friend), as if the joys they evoke for her are personality traits of the objects themselves. On WOW, she evinces a kind of inverted anthropomorphism: she shrinks her voice and becomes an object among multitudes, toylike in size and perspective, cohabitating with sedentary, indifferent roommates. This pursuit of childlike perspectives is a thread that runs through much of her catalog, and places her work on a plane with that of her personal hero Nobukazu Takemura, who for decades has treated his music as a portal to childlike curiosity, both in subject matter and tone. With an invitation to pursue this curiosity, WOW further confirms Kate NV's deeply inventive, fluid and technically dizzying artistry. By refusing constraints and rules, Shilonosova embodies a profound freedom, allowing objects, sounds, and processes to unfold organically; or, as she puts it, a commitment to "accepting randomness." She succeeds terrifically at a breed of auditory defamiliarization that is all her own, and the rewards for listeners are many: through her lens, the small becomes monstrous, the abstract becomes sensorial, and the old becomes new. Kate NV's WOW will be released on February 10, 2023 on vinyl and digital formats. On behalf of Kate NV and RVNG, a portion of the proceeds from this release will benefit War Child, an organization that supports children and their families impacted by conflict, and working to build sustainable peace for generations to come.

Heads have been after Otakar Olšaník and Jan Martiš's Advanced Process for a long time. That's because "coincidentally-cosmic disco" packed with spaced-out, smacky-synth dynamite tends to become sought-after. Originally slipping out on the mighty Coloursound in 1986, the label described the sound as "contemporary synthesizer underscores played by computers; depicting future technologies in today's process." If they'd just added "acid-drenched", they'd have been closer to nailing it.

The A-Side is totally beatless. It's also totally perfect. "Atomic Plant 1" is a pulsing synth epic and could've easily soundtracked a stylish 80s thriller such as Thief or To Live And Die In LA. It's a narcotically enhanced meeting between John Carpenter and Steve "Lovelock" Moore. "Atomic Plant 2" adds extra squelch and proper early computer synth squiggles. This stuff is addictive and truly ace. The 3 part "Fusion Point" showcases a dramatic and insistent industrial mood via a gripping sequencer pattern mixed with effects and accents. Menacing and magnificent. The trio of "Nuclear Radiation" tracks veer majestically from a hypnotic sequencer pattern with a heavy dramatic tune to hectic patterns without much of a tune, managing nevertheless to maintain a hold on the listener.

The drums enter proceedings on Side B and they're absolutely outstanding. Coming on like a slicker, heavier Johnny Jewel production, 20 years before Italians Do It Better, "Regulators 1" marries the smoothest head-nod beat you can wish for, with a murky mechanical rhythm and phasing effects. After the stunning beatless version ("Regulators 2") the suuuupppper slo-mo "Data Load" sounds like its wading through the heaviest K-Hole and is all the more thrilling for it. "Modem" is a brief and breezy funky bass and synth squiggle wonder, of the beatless variety. "Robot Masters", would you believe, actually sounds like something those Daft Parisians would've sampled on Discovery, over 15 years later. An uptempo, optimistic track with a real strut; propulsive rhythms with dramatic synths, what can only be described as "very-80s sounds" and digi-handclaps. The breathless "Digiheart" double bill rounds things out, one with a dynamic driving rhythm and more slick-as-hell beats and the other without drums. Mental, brilliant and completely essential.

As David Hollander, in Unusual Sounds: The Hidden History of Library Music, states, Coloursound was "founded in 1979 by composer, music lawyer, and vibraphonist Gunter Greffenius. A Munich-based library with a reputation for releasing innovative and ambitious music, it catered largely to the market for experimental sounds, its first release was 1980’s Biomechanoid, an abstract synthesizer excursion by Joel Vandroogenbroeck, of the pioneering kosmische band Brainticket. The record — complete with imposing, anonymous title and unearthly H.R. Giger cover art — set the tone for the label’s progressive leanings. The label’s catalogue stands as a tribute to the unfettered creative license that libraries were able to provide to forward-thinking musicians who, frustrated by the whims and constraints of the commercial scene, found complete freedom in the world of production music."

As with all our library music re-issues, the audio for Advanced Process comes from the original analogue tapes and has been remastered for vinyl by Be With regular Simon Francis. Richard Robinson has brought the original Coloursound sleeve back to life in all its metallic silver glory.

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.

Herva started to work on 'Seez' right after the release of his last Planet Mu album 'Hyper Flux' back in 2017. He was experimenting with home-made hardware and after the album release wanted to raise the bar, challenging himself to build a point-to-point mixer from scratch. This task took almost a year of intense soldering and forced him to scrap music production. Eventually all this hard work grew into making studio hardware properly and he co-founded a new company making mixers and compressors that work with Eurorack, called Audio Gear Obsession. On 'Seez' Herva moves away completely from the sample-based music he's most known for and into programming and computational production, which he mixes and compresses with his newly-built hardware tools to give them the life and feeling he requires. There's also an element of randomness in 'Seez' as the music is generative, defined with numbers and ratios from his own software, tuned by ear rather than to set scales, with unexpected outcomes.To make the record, he spent more time digging between the different iterations of each track than coding the programs that generated them. He says "How I make music is kind of weird for most producers, but I like it, and I plan to dig further. You can think of 'Seez' as the alpha version of what I and my system are able to do." The new music still retains Herva's laid back airy feel. Each track is like a small ecosystem of chiming tones, wafting drones and skittering rhythms, hinting at formal patterns and melodies but developing on its own abstract terms. It feels as if it's the audio equivalent of watching sped-up recordings of a camera capturing different combinations of plants growing, a pleasant and curious experience to let yourself enjoy.

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)

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.

Marisa Anderson is one of the most eminent guitarists working today. Her lucid, eloquent approach to guitar music and composition has established her as an unparalleled artist and an insightful, coveted collaborator. Anderson"s work draws on a mosaic of folk musics and lives in conversation with myriad musical traditions. Her music is inviting and candid, beckoning the listener into sprawling ecosystems and intimate corners alike, from barren landscapes to verdant thickets, impassioned communal experiences to pensive reclusions. As a master of her instrument, Anderson translates abstractions into undeniably moving music, tracing through traditional folk tunes, imagined Sci-Fi films, and foggy sanctuaries of sound. Still, Here is Anderson at her most direct, laying bare her practice of processing and understanding the world through music and distilling that practice into pieces as expressive as they are transfixing. The pieces of Still, Here center around Anderson"s present. The album is a compendium of living moments captured by her preternatural ability to mold human realities into enduring, lyrical compositions. Away from the road for the longest stretch of her career, the making of Still, Here affirmed for Anderson the role of the guitar as an essential tool in processing external and internal realities. "I don"t get ideas and then turn to the guitar, rather I turn to the guitar to find out what my ideas are. I turn towards it for meaning." The discordance of protest and upheaval emanates from a propulsive acoustic ostinato and mournful dueling pedal steel guitars on "The Fire This Time," pausing only to allow space for the blare of sirens on the Portland street near Anderson"s studio. "The Crack Where the Light Gets In" rapturously revels in the glimmers of hope that peek through a pall of darkness. Across Still, Here, Anderson"s playing transmutes the tributaries of fluctuating emotions into a unified flow, stirring and sublime.

Marisa Anderson is one of the most eminent guitarists working today. Her lucid, eloquent approach to guitar music and composition has established her as an unparalleled artist and an insightful, coveted collaborator. Anderson"s work draws on a mosaic of folk musics and lives in conversation with myriad musical traditions. Her music is inviting and candid, beckoning the listener into sprawling ecosystems and intimate corners alike, from barren landscapes to verdant thickets, impassioned communal experiences to pensive reclusions. As a master of her instrument, Anderson translates abstractions into undeniably moving music, tracing through traditional folk tunes, imagined Sci-Fi films, and foggy sanctuaries of sound. Still, Here is Anderson at her most direct, laying bare her practice of processing and understanding the world through music and distilling that practice into pieces as expressive as they are transfixing. The pieces of Still, Here center around Anderson"s present. The album is a compendium of living moments captured by her preternatural ability to mold human realities into enduring, lyrical compositions. Away from the road for the longest stretch of her career, the making of Still, Here affirmed for Anderson the role of the guitar as an essential tool in processing external and internal realities. "I don"t get ideas and then turn to the guitar, rather I turn to the guitar to find out what my ideas are. I turn towards it for meaning." The discordance of protest and upheaval emanates from a propulsive acoustic ostinato and mournful dueling pedal steel guitars on "The Fire This Time," pausing only to allow space for the blare of sirens on the Portland street near Anderson"s studio. "The Crack Where the Light Gets In" rapturously revels in the glimmers of hope that peek through a pall of darkness. Across Still, Here, Anderson"s playing transmutes the tributaries of fluctuating emotions into a unified flow, stirring and sublime.

1972-1985 KATEBEGIAK - Prog-Rock, Psych-Folk & Jazz-Rock Music from the BASQUE COUNTRY. The album KATEBEGIAK, now published by ELKAR, contains 13 tunes on double LP gatefold edition from Haizea, Izukaitz, William S. Fischer, Magdalena, Enbor, Itoiz, Koska, Itziar, Errobi, Lisker, Amaia Zubiria & Pascal Gaigne, Gontzal Mendibil & Taldea and Urria, and the CD-Book edition adds an extra bonus track by the great unknown artist Juan Arkotxa. Complied by Mikel Unzurrunzaga Schmitz aka DJ Makala. Music produced in the 70's in the Basque Country got trapped between two earth shattering artistic currents; Ez Dok Amairu in the 60s and Basque Radical Rock in the 80's, and unfortunately, most of the lovely discs and tunes created at that magical time have been pushed to a remote (and sometimes even despised) corner of our collective memory. 60's and 80's music currents are almost opposite, and both work as magnetic poles with a very strong power of attraction, and maybe also as a burden for any of the later artistic currents. 60's generation of artists searched within their rich and ancient cultural roots to acknowledge and update them, in proud, hopeful and unforgettable folk songs. The 80's one on the other hand, worked in a flammable environment in constant social and political conflict and found in punk the perfect way to express their anger and weariness for so many unfulfilled promises and the lack of opportunities into short, noisy, direct and corrosive songs, technically sparse but full of energy and expressive power. Most of the "classic" names engraved in our memory come from one or the other like Benito Lertxundi, Mikel Laboa, Lourdes Iriondo and Xabier Lete or Kortatu, Hertzainak, Zarama, Las vulpes, Eskorbuto or Cicatriz. 70's generation and their music work somehow as the "missing link" ("katebegia" in Basque) between the two. They loved folky tunes and don't forget their ancient roots, but they also look outside for inspiration and experimentation. Just as the 80's boys and girls found punk the 70's guys found a completely different sonic and aesthetic landscape in the works of Grateful Dead, Fairport Convention, King Crimson, Soft Machine, Gong_ and worked closely with keen souls in other neighboring regions such as Maquina!, Pau Riba or Sisa in Catalonia or Smash and Triana in Andalusia. This resulted in more abstract and poetic lyrical content, much longer psych-folk-prog-jazz tunes, full of complex instrumental passages and mesmerizing structures of sheer ambition and masterful execution in many cases. But, most important of all, they found a voice of their own, rich, unique, and fascinating, and that's what makes them so valuable to us. Not only to us, but also to lots of vinyl collectors and crate-diggers around the world, who have in many cases paid fortunes for some of the original editions of LPs that are the source of tunes in this compilation. Mikel Unzurrunzaga Schmitz aka DJ Makala, DJ and producer of worldwide scope and wisdom, noticed this fact first and decided to pay homage to these wonderful tunes through this masterful and dedicated selection for your pleasure and as an open invitation to dig deeper into your adventures in the dark and hidden side of Basque popular music.

Brand new 2022 ‘Moons of Phobos’ repressing:
2LPs pressed on ‘ghostly’ grey vinyl.
 Two worlds have collided and what glorious and
odd worlds they are. After a successful summer
tour pairing Les Claypool’s Primus with Sean
Lennon’s The Ghost Of A Saber Tooth Tiger, Les
and Sean have decided to combine their abstract
talents into a project called The Claypool Lennon
Delirium.
 The pair’s efforts thus far have spawned the full
length release called ‘Monolith Of Phobos’.
 “Sean is a musical mutant after my own heart,”
said Claypool. “He definitely reflects his genetics -
not just the sensibilities of his dad but also the
abstract perspective and unique approach of his
mother. It makes for a glorious freak stew.”
 Lennon added, “It’s been an honor and a
challenge playing with someone of Les’ caliber, but
luckily the Gods of Pinot Noir shone favorably
down and granted us a bundle of devilish tunes
about monkeys, outer space and sexual deviancy.”

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.

Following on from acclaimed recent releases on Hallow Ground and Boomkat’s Documenting Sound series, NOISEEM is a major new work from Japanese sound artist/instrument inventor Yosuke Fujita, who performs under the name FUJIIIIIIIIIIIITA. Where Fujita’s recent recorded output has focussed primarily on documentation of his remarkable self-built pipe organ, NOISEEM is the culmination of half a decade of work with highly amplified water. The evocative and timbrally rich sound of water has inspired concrete and experimental music practices since ground-breaking works such as Hugh Le Cain’s ‘Dripsody’ and Knud Viktor’s obsessively aquatic ‘Images’. However, other than his compatriot Tomoko Sauvage, few have explored the possibilities of water in live performance to the extent that Fujita has, constructing a series of water tanks that, with their pumps and amplification controlled by the performer, become a new musical instrument. The recordings contained here are drawn from live performances in Tokyo and London, edited and mixed by Fujita into two side-length pieces dominated by water, pipe organ, voice and subtle electronics. On ‘AWA’, which occupies the LP’s first side, the listener is immediately immersed in an aqueous world of recognisable drips and splashes, as well as more mysterious squeaks and squawks. While the liberal use of delay at times conjures up the sound world of early electronic music, the sparklingly clear amplification is unmistakably contemporary, lending the music a stunning weight and tactility. Building over several minutes, the piece eventually comes to a rapid boil, criss-crossed by washes of white noise splashes of electronics, before the untempered long tones of the pipe organ enter. The slowly shifting harmonies lend the remainder of the side a meditative, almost oneiric quality, inviting listeners to lose themselves in the aquatic layers that ripple across the harmonic foundation. On the second side, ‘UZU’ begins more starkly, with a single rapid bubble, quickly joined by full-spectrum wooshes and silvery, ringing tones. After a few minutes, the music undergoes a radical, entirely unexpected shift with the entry of a distorted, auto-tuned voice that repeatedly cycles through ascending and descending melodies. Left alone at times to be heard acapella, this mysterious element at times takes an odd resemblance to dhrupad singing. Eventually joined by rich, sonorous chords from the organ, the high tones of Fujita’s voice, and water, the piece takes on an ecstatic quality, channelling the sublime expansiveness of the natural element on which it is built. Disappearing as abruptly as they entered, the voices then make way for a haunted coda of isolated drips and distant whistles. Far from the intellectualised abstraction of much sound art, NOISEEM is strikingly immediate, both rigorously experimental in its explorations and unashamedly direct in its musicality. Tracklist 1. Awa 2. Uzu

Following the precursor singles of 2021, Formality Jerne-Site’s unveiling is finally cast upon her already-growing fanbase. Trained classically as a composer and completing a masters at the Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts, Jura introduces a highly-anticipated playground of carefully sculpted characters, plots and lessons - sometimes charming, sometimes nefarious, always absolute and sincere. A fictional land opens its doors and roof to us. A trio of trans kids run amok in rural suburbia. Various sorcerers of the wild future enter the scene on some songs; on others, the mind is cast to sun-drenched drives and journeys of yesteryear. At the heart is a pop sensibility: yearning, reflections, vanity, guesswork, hope. Jura is adamant about practice and precision. Dead seriously she offers, about making music: ‘Nothing should be half-hearted or an accident.’ There’s a maturity and elegance to her compositions, arrangements that - although at first sound seem abstract - lean away from experimental, somehow. She sing-speaks in English, and somehow not typically theatrically for such a play of a record. The theatrics are all real. It’s a fantasy land for sure, but it's based on hard facts. Like academia subdivided into poetry. It’s that weird-ass specificity she mentioned. Opener ‘Someone’s Lifework’ introduces less a choir of voices, than a choir of personalities. The art of storytelling is at the center of the musical expression. A protagonist relinquishes control of chaos that’s bigger than them on a perilous journey on some vessel: they comfort their co-passengers. There’s a sense that the hero - or anti-hero - might be more canny and cunning than the sweetness they first sell to fellow players. 'Is this our getaway chance?’ sings fellow Copenhagener Ydegirl amongst swelling synths and reverb that become so definitely Jerne-Site as the quest continues. The search? For intimacy, perhaps. ‘Same late Age (dIcK bIfFeReNcE)’ imbibes at once, some further disorientation, perhaps a little hallucinatory feeling which may come over the listener. Through a synthesizing of political themes that work across time ‘Same Late Age (dIcK bIfFeReNcE)’ bears reminiscences of the musical expressions of anti-capitalism in the 1980es, although in a new body and context. “I have a feeling that music reconjures societal morals and ideas from the time in which it was written when we press play or hear a live performance. From the moment at a concert when the symphonic orchestra starts tuning in, the time traveling begins. So I imagined how it would be to be trans sitting there playing the first violin, having the job of producing that first tone that all the other musicians around me tune in ona, ” Jura explains. The listener yearns for more; and subsequent tracks deliver. On ‘How Intimate It Gets,’ Jura meditates on the futility of closeness, begging the audience to enter the blood and guts of their own entanglements, the blueprints of focusing entering. Jura sings richly about fingers being lines, pointing or bending, and we’re reminded of their own wicked ways we can’t control. A history of singing in choirs informs the harmony of myriad inner voices heard across the album. At once prophetic and enigmatic, some of the songs rearrange historical events out of pop musical language. The enormously entertaining ‘Pinot-Botticelli Toast to European Users’ conjures scenes of Cold-War world leaders stuck on a cruise in the Transatlantic vacuum, and the protagonist watches a devastating heartbreaker careen on into the picture, led by his own hips on ‘The Lasceaux Associate’. Finally, on title track ‘Formality Jerne-Site’, American English rises to the occasion like a verdict around the narrative of three trans teenagers in rural Colorado: language turns into something sensual and haptic, playing with the snare and sizzle of syllables. The words twist and bend, while the music follows its own synaesthetic logic: “around us pop culture made a vow to a normative desire, drawing in like water color percussion”. Anyines is a site of play and documentation, with a canon so far quite nice. Their future is one that envisions supporting the galaxies their dear friends embody, be it music, performance, video games or beyond. Highlights from their discerning back catalogue include myriad formats: live and digital, plus releases binded to physical artefacts that enhance the live experience such as sculptures and scents. Their history also includes disappearing time-sensitive shadow-tracked material and cross-disciplinary opportunities that reflect deep professionalism and a totally non-schooled semblance of sound and drama. Recent releases include a dance-theatre soundtrack, a traditional shiny pop record, and the acclaimed ML Buch sophomore, Skinned.

Rome’s own disco wizard L.U.C.A. aka Francesco De Bellis is back for his second LP Terra, hot on the heels of his Venus 12” EP earlier this year. In this far-reaching album, the Edizioni Mondo founder explores the deteriorating relationship between Man and Nature, and the dire consequences. The album is split into two themes - part one is Consacrazione (Consecration) and side two is Coscienza (Conscience) - as L.U.C.A. charts a trip through mankind’s psychic universe, and imagines worlds beyond our physical dimension.

The opening composition Cities is an uptempo number that slowly comes into focus, as dreamy drum machines emerge from the urban bustle, before settling into a soulful groove as keyboard, upright bass and guitar figures dance across bright percussion. As it builds up a head of steam, the piece gives way to an ambient, tribal breakdown, which is also echoed in the following song, Drum Talk. This second tune sets up in a fourth world dreamscape of drums, synths, and abstracted echo effects, and is peppered with word fragments from the bush of ghosts. By the time we’ve reached the third track, Congiunzione sounds like travelling at singularity speed, beaming in from a future where human consciousness and gaia can finally dance on a cosmic plain.

Part two of Terra details how revelation of the spirit can guide the mind, as Time Spirals rises out of a drum motif with a nod to classic ragas, as a disembodied voice asks questions on the nature of corporeality. The sound design is just as front and centre as the sitar and fretless bass, and the song gives way to a richly-layered soup that sounds like the vast space between atoms. It’s this shift from composition to ambience that is the dynamic core of Terra, giving L.U.C.A. plenty of space to showcase his next-level audio and arranging skills. Midway through part two, Giallo Assoluto begins with reverb tails and choral voices before expanding in brightness and texture until the audio field is practically levitating your hi-fi speakers, vibrating them with drones, twinkling keys and shards of digital noise. The closing composition Ritorno al Domani is a perfect balance of optimism and mystery. Tension and release collapse in on themselves as waves of ambient pads crescendo and then break over stretched-out sonic turbulence, before reversed synths bring the listener to a closing door, and the end of the journey.

It’s a mind-expanding musical exploration of other worlds and parallel universes which are surely all around us, and in many ways serve to remind us of the marvel that is our own planet.

»Tableau« is Rolf Hansen's second full-length album under his given name and acts as a sequel to his solo debut »Elektrisk Guitar«, released in 2019 through Karaoke Kalk. On the 14 new pieces, the Copenhagen-based composer and musician further explores the sonic possibilities of the electric guitar by opting for a radically different approach and putting great limitations on himself as a performer. »Tableau« is an experimental record in the truest sense of the word, eschewing conventional modes of playing the instrument and instead turning the guitar into a sound source for compositions that are at once abstract and concrete.

Already on his last album, Hansen had found a different approach to playing and composing, but this time went even further and created a set-up in which the electric guitar becomes a different instrument altogether. This is also expressed in its title: a tableau is, broadly understood, an image-forming momentary bodily pause in a dramaturgical or narrative process. In the context of the album, tableau is the form and sound that emerge when the musician’s usual approach to playing and the compositional practice is halted and transformed. To achieve this, the guitar is placed on a table with microphones installed around it and tuned in a static microtonal modality thanks to wooden replacement frets that have been inserted under the strings. This alters how the sounds are being generated with the instrument, which is now played from above, occasionally strummed or stroked with a tool.

The opener »Begyndelse« already sets the tone by punctuating dense layers of sound with a one-note melody that provides a rough rhythmic structure and harmonic anchor for the track that still seems to mutate wildly the further it progresses. Even in moments in which Hansen opts for a more directly accessible approach like on the following »Over Grænsen« or »Tid«, the pieces’ emotional qualities are greatly amplified by their sonic idiosyncrasies. This is best exemplified by the first track on the second side of the LP, »Højre hånd«. Using high microphone gain to magnify the high-frequency acoustic sounds of the electric guitar, Hansen captured a rich near-symphonic changing spectrum of overtones. This is typical for the attention to detail put into the overall record whose approach maximises the music’s affective impact by focusing on minute nuances.

»Tableau« is full of moments marked by almost unnoticeable shifts and changes, offering a wealth of sounds that are as evocative as they come unexpectedly. Despite their aesthetic differences, the kinship between its predecessor »Elektrisk Guitar« and these 14 compositions is undeniable. Both are based on self-imposed constraints, a radical form of reduction that made it possible for Hansen to broaden his sonic palette and compositional approach. Though mostly short, concise, and abstract-sounding, the pieces on »Tableau« speak a clear, varied and simple language.