Suche:alien thing

For Fans of Robyn, Tirzah, Charli XCX, Mica Levi, Jessy Lanza, Maurice Fulton. "Don't come closer, because I might hurt you boy / You don't deserve it, I treat you like a toy." So sings 28-year-old South East London musician Tatyana on "It's Over", the sad and squelchy electro-leaning title track to her second album. Primarily written and produced over the summer of `23, It's Over follows the loose trajectory of a not-quite-relationship from the year before. But, more than that, it's an album about modern dating, alienation and the confines of existing online. If you've heard Tatyana's name before, it's probably because she released a debut album back in 2022, Treat Me Right, co-produced with Metronomy's Joe Mount, a record she describes as more of a collaboration. For It's Over, Tatyana took control of every aspect of the album's creation, from the production (she co-produced it alongside Mikko Gordon) to the artwork and the technology she used throughout. "This record made me technically proficient because I really pushed myself," says Tatyana. "I figured out a lot of things that I didn't know before. In the past, I allowed others to lead the charge and I'm not doing that any more." Born in London, before moving to Russia, Holland and Singapore in her teens, before eventually studying music at Berklee College in the USA - which she attained on full scholarship - and then back to London, Tatyana imbues her music with both haywire technical proficiency and encyclopaedic, far-flung tastes. Mostly, though, her sound originates from a pure love of the dancefloor: Robyn, Tirzah, Mica Levi, Jessy Lanza, The Knife. You can hear these dance-pop influences everywhere, from the colourful synth shapes of "Control (ft. Dave Okumu)" to the crackling analogue hiss of "Nothing is True, Everything is Possible". Lean in a little closer, too, and you might catch the shimmer of a harp on every song (she's played harp since she was a little girl, and toured extensively as a professional session harpist). "I write about love, I write about romance, these are the things that interest me," says Tatyana. "That's what this record is. It's about this relationship that broke my brain and I had to write about it."

The Trip is the first solo album by N'Zeng, better known as Sébastien Blanchon. It has to be said that he hid behind his (hollow) nose to sniff out the right projects (ex Le Peuple de l'Herbe, member of Entourloop). His nose is hollow, but not for the trumpet, and yet it's with this instrument that he started out. And he reinvents it, giving it a subtle place on this musical road trip we call The Trip.
A journey open to all, with no tolls and no filters, apart from the cinematic filter of this lover of original soundtracks and trip hop. Beautiful images flash before our eyes, and in our ears, the smooth voice of Charlotte Savary (Wax Tailor). An album, a very good trip for lovers of Portishead, Gorillaz, and well-felt scratches in the form of controlled skids.
He's making a name for himself as N'Zeng, with his smooth arrangements.

N'Zeng's father played trumpet with his grandfather in the Feurs brass band in the Loire department. When he arrived in Saint Etienne, young Sébastien started out with a cornet à pistons at the Conservatoire. His teacher at the time, Marcel Heyte, had won a prize in Paris at the same time as a certain Maurice André.

His father took lessons in orchestral conducting, accompanying the offspring's budding musical career, which included a course at the Festival de Cuivre in Monastier-sur-Gazeille, where he met the soloists of the Radio France orchestra. A new awareness, a new confidence: off to Lyon, not for a soccer derby, but to "beef up his game". In 1997, he was awarded a gold medal for trumpet by a unanimous jury at the Conservatoire National de Lyon.

Lyon, capital of the Gauls, was the starting point for N'Zeng, who went on to become a member of the group Le Peuple de l'Herbe. 15 years later, with several successful records to his credit, a concert in 2003 at the Transmusicales with Beth Gibbons (Portishead), and a Victoire de la Musique award, it was time for N'Zeng to move on to other things.

Arrival in the City of Light, the place where dreams come true. Nzeng's dreams are not only sonic, but also visual, for Sébastien is not only a friendly presence and a talented musician, but also a cinephile. His knowledge of music theory, acquired during his years at the conservatory, enables him to tackle music for pictures.

He created a soundtrack for the cult film Alien - The 8th Passenger, and worked with musician Rone (collaborating with Baxter Dury) and his bandmates from Le Peuple de l'Herbe, composing 2 tracks for the soundtrack of Virginie Despentes's hard-hitting film "Baise-moi". On the album "Hollywood Hustlers", with the group "Mustang Force", he pays tribute to the soundtracks of Lalo Shiffrin, Ennio Morricone... The album is also well received by the critics. He conducts the arrangements and orchestrations for the Degiheuga Orchestra, and composes the original music for the Hôtel Bellevue dance show, another success!

2019 sees the birth of "The Trip" project. On this record, no masks, but a female voice, that of Charlotte Savary (Wax Taylor), laid on a carpet of strings. With this musical voyage, trip hop takes pride of place, with a balance between the body of the instruments and the mechanics of beatmaking.

There's no getting off track on this well-balanced record, with its silky orchestrations. N'Zeng accompanies us elegantly, with his trusty trumpet as GPS, here used subtly. The album cover is a photograph taken by Sébastien Blanchon's mother, in 1973, a year when Saint Etienne was about to become French champion for the 7th time.

From out of nowhere - if nowhere is the febrile, warped and twilit imagination of Julia McFarlane - comes Whoopee, the second album by J.McFarlane’s Reality Guest. Whoopee is an esoteric, kaleidoscopic movie in music form directed by Julia McFarlane and co-conspirator Thomas Kernot. Full of life, breakbeats and smokey vignettes on the fragile nature of interpersonal relationships, Whoopee is a stylistic evolution from everything McFarlane has done before. Surreal, beautiful in parts and replete with the aching wisdom McFarlane’s songwriting has always promised, this Reality Guest pulls back the curtain on a whole scene of naked truth. Recorded in Melbourne in bursts since the release of 2019’s Ta Da, Whoopee features a new sound palette and band member in Kernot. The duo dive deep into electronic pop tropes, mining digital synths, samples, breakbeats and deep bass grooves, largely dispensing with live instrumentation. If Ta Da took twists and turns with your expectations, offering a Dada-ist, monochromatic take on pop music, Whoopee is McFarlane’s subterranean love-sick pinks, reds, greens, purples and blues. Becoming something of a tradition, the album starts with an instrumental intro pilfered from a 90s’ spy film or cinema intro music, puffing up the listener for the heart-squeezing bathos of Full Stops. Over a bleary backdrop of walking bass lines, jazz- inflected keys and smoked-out atmosphere, McFarlane’s poetry narrates the fragile state of a relationship: “You put a full stop where I thought there’d be a comma, I want the story to continue even with all the drama.” Over a palpable pain, the narrator is revelling in the drama of a relationship, addicted to tumult and heightened emotion. On Sensory, a space age bachelor lounge pad ballad, the converse state of the previous song is explored, here the narrator is battling the numbness of being out of the drama, stuck in a sensory-deprivation tank, anaesthesized and battling to emerge from the fog. Wrong Planet explores an otherworldly pop music, hewing a bright hook out of a sense of confusion. A bona-fide, sing-along chorus bursts out of the narrator musing on the absurdity of existing in this reality. It speaks of one of Julia McFarlane’s main talents, her knack of inspecting human relationships and states with a clear perspective, like an alien visiting Earth and realising everything we are is really, really strange. Whoopee is both more accessible than previous Reality Guest work and somehow more obfuscated. Where the production on Ta Da was dry, sharp and strange, this Reality Guest is blurred, almost smeared with the effluvium of 90s+00s culture and existence. Through it all, it’s hard to deny the undeniable pull of the songs. Precious Boy carries on the lounge theme with a whole sampler of cut up sounds fading in and out of the haze as McFarlane’s voice is right up to the speaker cooing and free- associating, maybe in love or maybe in confusion... maybe they’re the same thing? Sometimes the listener is invited to just bathe in the tone of the vocal, as on Apocalypse, where the texture and timbre of the vocal is luxurious, bathing in piano tinkles and double bass throb. On lead single Slinky, a cut up beat reminiscent of Washingtonian Go-Go drum patterns leads, the song slipping through your fingers, elusive and presenting sound as pure pleasure. Closer Caviar jumps back into the broken breakbeats of a surreal funk, fuelled by the sensory pleasure of the music, a hedonistic whirl in rapture, the narrator now living life to the fullest in all its giddy heights and deep troughs. This is the album’s main character fully-actualised and in the terrible, beautiful moment.

Psychedelic Anxiety, as a mood, goes something like this: overwhelming, existential, vertigoic, arising when we stare into the void. This metaphysical unease also serves as the title for Brooklyn-based musician Frances Chang’s second album, and as a feeling it’s present throughout, charged by all things occultish. Recorded by Chang and engineer Andrea Schiavelli, featuring a cast of revered NYC DIY players, including Schiavelli (Eyes of Love) and Liza Winter (Birthing Hips), Psychedelic Anxiety relishes in the refining of aesthetic, in the electricity of improvisation, in balancing bleakness with humor. It embodies an idiosyncratic genre Chang calls slacker prog — offbeat, but brimming with spiritual and emotional resonance. The record infuses artifacts of the mundane with otherworldliness— even the love songs live more in the realm of fantasy (or horror) than the romantic. The psychic twin and mirror image of Chang’s 2022 debut full-length Support Your Local Nihilist, Psychedelic Anxiety by comparison is less urgent, leaving space for more nuance and storytelling. Together, these albums represent a new cycle of creativity for Chang, a reset to zero. “Eye Land,” captures Chang on a tour around the Irish and English countryside, in a moment of major life change. “Lying around your spare room,” she sings, “Sky is cloudy here in June.” Around her, guitar sputters and stops. Vocals branch off like vines on the side of an old house. It is a profoundly lovely song, a freaky miniature in the way that a Broadcast song is a freaky miniature. “Darkside” opens up with a particularly memorable narrative moment. “Last night I saw Parasite,” sings Chang, describing how she saw it alone, how regular life that week was acute, weird, intense. How she found comfort in resignation. After all: Psychedelic Anxiety is a serene, bizarre record full of alien sounds and big introspection.

Der weltweit gefeierte und Grammy-dotierte Electronic-Artist & Produzent Flume veröffentlicht am 17. November seine Rarities-Compilation "Things Don't Always Go the Way You Plan" mit ungehörter Musik aus dem letzten Jahrzehnt auf Vinyl.

Die Musik, die Tracks mit Injury Reserve, Panda Bear und Isabella Manfredi enthält, umfasst Hip-Hop, Pop und Ambient-Beats sowie Produktionen, die für seinen Aufstieg in den frühen 2010er Jahren stehen. Artwork von Jonathan Zawada.

There’s a big clue to the pacific wisdom of The Orchestra in the Sky in the artist name – Hochzeitskapelle + Japanese Friends. For this is, indeed, music based in, and resonating with, friendship, camaraderie, collaboration, and creative exchange. Across two albums – one documenting recordings from Tokyo, the other an expansive double album of sessions from Kobe – Hochzeitskapelle gather around them some of the finest voices in Japanese independent and underground pop music, like Tenniscoats, Eddie Marcon, Yuko Ikema, and Kama Aina, and explore an open field of music, full of creative encounters.

You may already know Hochzeitskapelle as the German instrumental quintet formed by members of The Notwist, Alien Ensemble, and friends from the jazz scene. Across three albums, one a collaboration with Kama Aina (2018’s Wayfaring Suite), they’ve developed a way of playing together that’s intimate and playful, rich and human; it’s a music that’s deliberately rough around the edges, and that nestles cosily into the everyday. Their relationship with Japanese indie has developed over the years, doubtless encouraged by Saya´s „Minna Miteru“, compilations series of Japanese indie pop for Morr Music. A peripatetic gang, Hochzeitskapelle also recently backed Japanese singer-songwriter Makoto Kawamoto on her new album, Hikari.

In many ways, The Orchestra in the Sky feels like the culmination of a set of ongoing cross-cultural exchanges: the Minna Miteru compilations; tours of Japan by Hochzeitskapelle and The Notwist; and indeed, Markus Acher’s Spirit Fest group with Saya and Ueno of Tenniscoats. The latter are present throughout much of The Orchestra in the Sky, and Saya’s voice is particularly winning on songs like “Tsuki no oto”, where the two outfits are joined by brass ensemble Zayaendo. There are several lovely turns from singer-songwriter Yuko Ikema, and Eddie Marcon appear twice; their songs are still beautiful, spectral acid folk, but with Hochzeitskapelle filling the details with lush, sad brass and strings.

But it’s also the potentially lesser-known names that shine through The Orchestra in the Sky, like the frail folk of Gratin Carnival; the delightful, gentle pop songs by sekifu and Zayaendo member, Kanako Numata; a trio of beautiful, stumble-drunk melodies played in swaying consort with popo. That group, along with the presence of Zayaendo, Fuigo, and Mitamurakandadan?, make strong connections with the Japanese underground’s love of brass bands, partly informed by the tradition of chindon’ya, marching bands that walk the streets of Japanese cities. They also all appeared on the recent Alien Parade Japan compilation of such groups, assembled by Acher and Saya.

All things converge, then, on The Orchestra in the Sky, a smart, spirited collection of heavenly pop songs, intimate folk melodies, lungfuls of joyous brass, deep weeping strings, and swooning sighs. The last words go to Acher himself: “Many things we did in the last years come together here and it feels like something special was captured.” We hope you like what you hear.

There’s a big clue to the pacific wisdom of The Orchestra in the Sky in the artist name – Hochzeitskapelle + Japanese Friends. For this is, indeed, music based in, and resonating with, friendship, camaraderie, collaboration, and creative exchange. Across two albums – one documenting recordings from Tokyo, the other an expansive double album of sessions from Kobe – Hochzeitskapelle gather around them some of the finest voices in Japanese independent and underground pop music, like Tenniscoats, Eddie Marcon, Yuko Ikema, and Kama Aina, and explore an open field of music, full of creative encounters.

You may already know Hochzeitskapelle as the German instrumental quintet formed by members of The Notwist, Alien Ensemble, and friends from the jazz scene. Across three albums, one a collaboration with Kama Aina (2018’s Wayfaring Suite), they’ve developed a way of playing together that’s intimate and playful, rich and human; it’s a music that’s deliberately rough around the edges, and that nestles cosily into the everyday. Their relationship with Japanese indie has developed over the years, doubtless encouraged by Saya´s „Minna Miteru“, compilations series of Japanese indie pop for Morr Music. A peripatetic gang, Hochzeitskapelle also recently backed Japanese singer-songwriter Makoto Kawamoto on her new album, Hikari.

In many ways, The Orchestra in the Sky feels like the culmination of a set of ongoing cross-cultural exchanges: the Minna Miteru compilations; tours of Japan by Hochzeitskapelle and The Notwist; and indeed, Markus Acher’s Spirit Fest group with Saya and Ueno of Tenniscoats. The latter are present throughout much of The Orchestra in the Sky, and Saya’s voice is particularly winning on songs like “Tsuki no oto”, where the two outfits are joined by brass ensemble Zayaendo. There are several lovely turns from singer-songwriter Yuko Ikema, and Eddie Marcon appear twice; their songs are still beautiful, spectral acid folk, but with Hochzeitskapelle filling the details with lush, sad brass and strings.

But it’s also the potentially lesser-known names that shine through The Orchestra in the Sky, like the frail folk of Gratin Carnival; the delightful, gentle pop songs by sekifu and Zayaendo member, Kanako Numata; a trio of beautiful, stumble-drunk melodies played in swaying consort with popo. That group, along with the presence of Zayaendo, Fuigo, and Mitamurakandadan?, make strong connections with the Japanese underground’s love of brass bands, partly informed by the tradition of chindon’ya, marching bands that walk the streets of Japanese cities. They also all appeared on the recent Alien Parade Japan compilation of such groups, assembled by Acher and Saya.

All things converge, then, on The Orchestra in the Sky, a smart, spirited collection of heavenly pop songs, intimate folk melodies, lungfuls of joyous brass, deep weeping strings, and swooning sighs. The last words go to Acher himself: “Many things we did in the last years come together here and it feels like something special was captured.” We hope you like what you hear.

Wildly acclaimed, Grammy-winning artist Flume is releasing his surprise album; a surprise package of unheard music from the last decade ‘Things Don’t Always Go the Way You Plan’ on vinyl on November 17th via Transgressive Records.

‘Things Don’t Always Go The Way You Plan’, released via Transgressive Records, features tracks with Injury Reserve, Panda Bear and Isabella Manfredi - with whom Flume previously collaborated on “The Greatest View” and “TRUST.” The collection is an immersive dive into the various eras of Flume with a combination of experimental and vocal material. There’s uplifting cinematic moments, “Close 1.2 2016 Export Wav,” wonky mixtape era beats, “Nice 2 Know U 1.5.3 2020 Export Wav,” a return to hip hop, “Counting Sheep (V2) [2018 Export Wav],” and classic song driven material, “Rhinestone 1.7.2 [2018 Export Wav].” It’s all very Flume and consistent with the eclecticism that has earned him his unique lane in electronic music and popular culture.

[a] 1."Counting Sheep (V2) [2018 Export Wav]" (feat Injury Reserve)
[b] 2."Nice 2 Know U 1.5.3 [2020 Export Wav]"
[c] 3."Why 1.3 [2012 Export Wav]"
[d] 4."Rhinestone 1.7.2 [2018 Export Wav]" (feat Isabella Manfredi)
[e] 1."Dream 1.2.2 [2016 Export Wav]"
[f] 2."Beat 58.1.1 [2020 Export Wav]"
[g] 3."Close 1.2 [2016 Export Wav]"
[h] 4."One Step Closer 1.4 [2021 Export Wav]" (feat Panda Bear)
[i] 5."SPOKE 2 ALIENS FINALLY 1.3 [2020 Export Wav]"
[j] 6."Things Don't Always Go The Way You Plan 1.2 [2020 Export Wav]"

Traversing the everyday in 2023, the need for ritual catharsis only grows stronger. The need to lose oneself in a force bigger than ourselves, and to venture into inner space the better to sculpt armour for the battles outside. Luckily this is the job of Bonnacons of Doom, aural soothsayers and progenitors of Trans Pennine hypnotic music. ‘Signs’ - their second album for Rocket Recordings - marks both a portent of things to come, and a roadmap of the psychic pathways to survival. This masked troupe, subsumed to mystery and amassed from across the North of England, have stepped up their mission accordingly. Building on the intimidating intensity of their self-titled 2018 debut, this series of fiercely charged mantras and premonitory transmissions is possessed of a new level of communal intensity. The band’s choice of weapons- the monomaniacal intensity of the riff, the liberating binary spirit of electronics and the incantatory vocals of ceremonial leader Kate Smith - here coalesce into a metaphysical force which stands defiant of easy categorisation. Within these otherworldly manifestations lurks solace in a place where the transcendent power of heavy amplification, cosmically aligned sonic explorations and strange forces darker and more unknowable can coalesce to cathartic and redeeming effect. ‘Signs’ marks out a supernatural landscape where ancient and modern, earthly and alien congregate in the eternal now, whilst Bonnacons Of Doom transcend era to light a path for the future

Clearlight returns, two years on from his DNO debut alongside regular collaborator Owl, with five otherworldly solo excursions.

What’s most striking about the Belgian’s work is the way he brings digital textures to life. Like an alien biosphere that doesn't abide by our own natural laws, his soundscapes are irregular and uncanny, but in a way that makes them feel all the more real.

Tracks like ‘Super Strong’ and ‘Heavy Feet’ sway and wobble to cumbersome beats, lumbering through swamps of croaking, chirping, fizzing things. The former eventually collapses into total abstraction, while the latter endures blasts of technoid bass, like the retrorockets of some hulking spacecraft coming in to land.

‘Spinning Head’ is powered by a buzzing oscillator that rolls back and forth across the stereo field. Paired with assorted clattering, clanking percussive debris, it’s an unnerving yet oddly pleasant experience, as if someone were rummaging around between your ears to help find a part that’s come loose.

Lead track ‘Water Willy’ is stranger still. Shifting from something akin to an exotica record played at the wrong speed to a melancholy whalesong lullaby, its twangs, chimes and plodding bass pulse create an eerie but beautiful ambience reminiscent of the deep ocean.

Only bonus track ‘Salt Cube’ is willing to break the spell, upping the pace to deliver the EP’s most traditionally dancefloor-friendly cut in the form of glitchy minimal d&b, with a heavyweight halftime switch post-breakdown.

Taking sounds from the club, but clearly not feeling forced to cater for it, Clearlight grows alternate realities that feel familiar, but offer wondrous, illuminating new experiences. Step inside and join him.

Rhythms of postmodern realism at the very bottom of the DNO.

Next Pressing on White Vinyl, single LP w/ printed inner sleeve + lyric insert and Download card. The Armed return with their first new album in over three years and Sargent House debut, ULTRAPOP. The album reaches the same extremities of sonic expression as the furthest depths of metal, noise, and otherwise "heavy" counterculture music subgenres but finds its foundation firmly in pop music and pop culture. As is always The Armed's mission, it seeks only to create the most intense experience possible, a magnification of all culture, beauty, and things. The band goes on to explain, "crafting vital art means presenting the audience with new and intriguing tensions-sonically, visually, conceptually. Over time and through use, those tensions become less novel and effective-and they become expectations. The concept of "subgenre" becomes almost the antithesis of vitality in art-itself a fetishization of expectation. ULTRAPOP seeks, in earnest, to create a truly new listener experience. It is an open rebellion against the culture of expectation in "heavy" music. It is a joyous, genderless, post-nihilist, anti-punk, razor-focused take on creating the most intense listener experience possible. It's the harshest, most beautiful, most hideous thing we could make." ULTRAPOP follows their recent contribution to the Cyberpunk 2077 soundtrack "Night City Aliens" and 2018's critically acclaimed album Only Love, which landed on 'Album of the Year' lists from The Atlantic, Pitchfork, Rolling Stone, Vice, Stereogum, and many more. The album was co-produced by the band's own Dan Greene in collaboration with Ben Chisholm (Chelsea Wolfe) and features contributions from Mark Lanegan, Troy Van Leeuwen (Queens of the Stone Age, A Perfect Circle), Ben Koller (Converge, Killer Be Killed, Mutoid Man) and many more. Kurt Ballou (Converge, High on Fire, Russian Circles) remains at the helm as executive producer.

Bold arrangements, excitingly honest lyricism and a riveting voice: Viennese Singer-Songwriter “Lorenz Ambeek” emanates the virtuosity of José Gonzalez and Eliott Smith (MUSIKEXPRESS / FM4). With his first two singles counting over a million streams, paired with chart positions and international airplay, Lorenz’ first album “Look at Me Now” sets sail for a promising musical future: 2023 will thus see the young artist release his 10-track debut-album, alongside several singles and live concerts.

“Look at Me Now” comes with a professional marketing-campaign of visualizer promotion on social media (TikTok & Meta), online marketing and print&online PR for Europe. Previously on chart positions and rotation in Germany (NDR2, EgoFm, FluxFM), Austria (FM4, 88.6) and France (FIP).

Borrowed Tongue is the debut solo album by Korean singer-songwriter Minhwi Lee. It’s a mysterious, strangely compelling thing, an album of rare poetry, and remarkably self-assured. Originally released in November 2016, the album made waves, winning best folk album of 2016 at the 14th Korean Music Awards. Its eight songs, written and predominantly arranged by Lee, don’t reveal their secrets easily, or at first blush; rather, they take their time slowly to unfurl in her listeners’ worlds. There are hints of other music here, from time to time: the intimacy of Stina Nordenstam, perhaps; the gauzy haze of Hope Sandoval, on the blissed-out pop of “Broken Mirror”; there are touches of acid-folk, and ECM jazz, and a slyly filmic approach to songwriting and arrangement that makes every song fit perfectly into the album’s arc.

Lee arrived at her solo music through a complex, circuitous route. After studying musicology in Seoul, she learned her trade, film scoring, in New York and Paris. She also studied classical music, blowing off steam in a wild punk duo, Mukimukimanmansu, who released one album, 2012, on Korean indie label Beatball. Subsequently, Lee has been refining her music, focusing both on her solo songs, and on writing for television series and films; she’s written scores for films by such directors as Sangmoon Lee, Jeongwon Kam, and Wanmin Lee. She also plays in the jazz outfit Cubed, and recently joined doom metal group Gawthrop on bass.

Since its release in 2016, Borrowed Tongue has slowly bewitched listeners with its idiosyncratic arrangements and evocative songwriting. It’s an album that hints at plenty, but refuses to make grand statements, something Lee seems intent to pursue: in correspondence, she’s very clear that she wants these songs to enact a kind of transmutation, to be adopted into the listeners’ lives and exist within their own imaginings. She does, however, offer a few hints to what propels these mercurial songs, explaining, “this album is about a person who again opens their mouth, which was once shut. The album deals with what it means to speak: things that are known but not said, things that should be said but are not, things that cannot be said but nonetheless are.”

This may well explain the curious mood of Borrowed Tongue, the multiple ‘voices’ that inhabit the album; Lee’s singing voice is pliable and mutable, approaching each song as its own diorama and ensuring the song is sung with just the right tone. The arrangements Lee conjures for her songs are all in service to narrative and melody; they appear to her alongside the composition, which is surely why everything here fits together so beautifully. From there, Lee approaches her songs carefully, in deference to their ‘need to be sung’ a certain way. There isn’t a moment wasted: everything on Borrowed Tongue is as it needs to be, whether a melancholy folk song taking to the air, or a psychedelic reverie dreamed into being. It’s a beautiful, poised and confident debut.

Third in a trilogy of LPs of Library Music miniatures from composer and multi-instrumentalist Daniel O’Sullivan (Æthenor, Ulver, This is Not This Heat, etc) following 2020’s Electric Māyā and 2021’s Fourth Density. For heads, the term “Library Music” in 2021 might evoke dodgy Italian gray market LPs and crate diggers hunting for “funky breaks” - but London’s venerable KPM Music is working with groundbreakers like Daniel to open up new avenues for composers to experiment. The 15 tracks on “The Physic Garden” are fully-formed and orchestrated compositions, which would be highlights on anyone’s LP, never mind as incidental music. Of the music, Dan says: “The Physic Garden is an album of diverse instrumentals inspired by a swathe of verdant vistas from manicured gardens and follies to urban common land, overgrown and forgotten. Convalescent memories in the shape of psychedelic auditory botanics.”

Key tracks include the droning acoustic folk of the title song; the Canterbury-esque rolling horn and woodwind melody of “Return the Heart” (with expert drum kit from Frank Byng); The prog-ish odd meter interlude “Buttercup Tea”; The quiet ambience and delicate melody of “Dusty Feather:”; and the Eno-like drift of “Vapourer Larvae.”

“Library music. Akasha. Here you accept that music behaves like a thing to accentuate another thing, seemingly unrelated. A beautiful, shining blankness. Not passive. An opportunity to wade. A brief encounter with an open-ended destiny. As in, you never know who or what it will be partnered with. With library music the emphasis tends to be on functionality and less on sonic self-portraiture. So it compels you to be concise, like what is the function of this work? The distance is liberating. It’s less “What Am I? and more “What Is This?”. It compels you to be brief, each little cell is a world of its own in an assemblage of miniatures all vibrating in their collective identity. Then there is the occult nature of library music which is fetishized by many for its ability to induce time travel, often to send us back to some televisual memory. However, despite its broad-brush strokes, the library can be so profoundly alien, especially when experienced independently of the televisual realm; an unruly chimera of genre mutations, compositional curiosities and the deepest wallpaper you ever laid ears on. Perhaps the observances of library music can help unshackle us from our artistic insecurities and delusions, where one is drawn to the shape of music as a whole instrument unto itself; as a vehicle carrying our intention and consisting of everything we have to give at that moment; so things that are seemingly unrelated are ultimately connected.” – Daniel O’Sullivan

How about you forget for a moment all the things you thought you knew about Saroos, okay? First of all, let’s forget about all the other projects these guys are part of. Why? Because thinking of The Notwist, Driftmachine, Lali Puna, Tvii Son, to name “only” half a dozen things, might be misleading in this case. What’s more, please make sure to forget the fact that they’re mostly filed under “instrumental,” “post-rock dub,” or “kraut-flavored indie-tronica,” you know, all that. And most importantly, let’s forget that they’re a closed, three-minded system: a fixed and fully committed entity of three. No more!

Known to reinvent themselves in less drastic ways, Christoph Brandner, Max Punktezahl and Florian Zimmer, have opened the floodgates to COLLABORATION – making things open, porous, different, new, in many ways, on their quietly explosive latest album “Turtle Roll”.

Announced by 2021 singles “Tin & Glass” feat. Ronald Lippok and aptly titled “Frequency Change” feat. Leila Gharib aka Sequoyah Tiger, the sixth full-length sees the Berlin threesome add another handful of vocal guests along the way – thus turning into shape-shifting full bands and/or temp quartets, perfectly at home in about as many genres as there are tracks on the LP.

Kicked off by the motoric B-funk (Berlin represent) of the Lippok-assisted “Tin & Glass,” complete with retro-futuristic effects, spoken declarations, and non-terrestrial vibes, it might not be Daft Punk playing at their house, but a byobv (vibe) house party of musical minds isn’t too far off, actually! Once again as much a mixtape as an album, the mood, vibe, and color changes with every new collaborative tune: From ethereally soothing and dreamy (“The Mind Knows” feat. Solent from Canada) to clap-driven and wildly hypnotic (that pounding “Mutazione,” featuring vocals and rhymes courtesy of Eva Geist from Italy) and almost radio-ready (“current, bass-heavy alternative indie hits only!”), when that stadium-sized oomph of “Frequency Change” feat. Sequoyah Tiger arrives around halfway in.

Elsewhere, Japanese guest Kiki Hitomi (WaqWaq Kingdom) adds exotic ecstasy to the hypothermic beatscapes of “The Sign,” while Ukrainian vocalist Lucy Zoria pushes poetic layers over “Southern Blue”’s wonky foundation that hardens and finds more direction with each round the beat clock takes – until it’s impossible to escape that undertow. “My baby makes it better,” sings Caleb Dailey on the faithful and still-loving “Being with You,” a sepia, softly churning look back by the US songsmith, a sweetly shimmering ode to a relationship.

Speaking of foursomes, there’s four instrumental tracks scattered throughout the new LP – ranging from a painting in crystal clear colors of night (“Organ of Recall”) to the highly dramatic sonic tapestry of “Thicket” (actually feat. vocals as well). Before the perfect goodbye of slow-moving album closer “Here Before,” “Passed Out” sounds like Odd Nosdam finding his feet after blacking out on a German carnival.

Titled after a surf maneuver that allows you to break through the crests on the way out, Saroos have skipped the obvious waves with “Turtle Roll” – creating their own kind of sonic “Hang Ten” by adding 7 new voices to the mix.

‘Where is Agartha? What is the specific region in which it lies? Along what road, through what civilizations, must one walk in order to reach it?.’ Saint-Yves d’Alveydre in 1886

Agartha, the debut full-length album by Japanese producer Wata Igarashi, is a mysterious, divine thing. Named for the mythical secret kingdom, understood as a complex maze of underground tunnels, perhaps designed by Martians who colonised the Earth tens of thousands of years ago, it’s a similarly mystical, perhaps even cosmic trip – but this time, exploring an inner, deeply personal cosmos. Beautifully detailed and bustling with rich incident, it takes Igarashi’s music to new places, which still retaining his unique sonic imprimatur; in this respect, it’s perfectly at home with Kompakt, a label that’s always encouraged artists to make the visionary music they need to create, to take risks and make sideways steps into uncharted territory.

An eloquent producer and DJ, Igarashi has been releasing techno for eleven years now, appearing on such imprints as The Bunker NY, Delsin, Midgar, and Time To Express; he has also self-released his productions via his WIP net label. Throughout, Igarashi has consistently explored his unique approach to techno and electronic music, one that’s eloquent and poised, even when it shifts into more psychedelic terrain; he’s a master at balancing the sensual and the functional, and he has an unerring ear for the right texture, the right tone, at the right time. He brings all of this into Agartha, his most thorough-going expression of self to date.

For Agartha, Igarashi had a strong concept he wanted to explore. Visualising specific scenes from an imaginary film based on the titular secret kingdom, he created soundtracks for those scenes, spending time during the pandemic in his studio, working away carefully at the ten tracks here. Given his background in creating music for television and advertisements, Igarashi is well-placed to explore the marriage of the sonic and the visual in such intimate ways, but freed from commercial concerns, he let his imagination run riot. He also drew on a rich palette of musical influences – techno is in there, of course, but you can also hear the smoky, improvised jazz of the likes of Miles Davis (to whom the album’s title is an indirect nod), and the minimalism and systems music of Steve Reich.

The latter is particularly pronounced on the gorgeous, beatless drift of “Floating Against Time”, where an arpeggiated sequence lingers, lovingly, around your ears for nine blissful minutes, coasting across swooning drones and waves of ambient noise. “Ceremony Of The Dead”, originally composed as part of a Sony 360 Reality Audio spatial sound concert, is a deep pass into systems composition, with various patterns overlaid and interlocking, before a wordless vocal rises from the depths, a gorgeous counterpoint to the swarming textures that gather across the track. On the other hand, tracks like “Burning” and “Subterranean Life” nudge toward Fourth World territory, painting deluxe dreamscapes of uncertain provenance; the title cut is an abstract drift-world, Igarashi painting an alien tableau dotted by shape-shifting creatures.

Agartha’s conceptual framework means that everything on the album sits perfectly together; listening to it in one sitting is a dizzying, lush experience. Its imaginings of inner landscapes recall, in some respects, the nautical, aqueous mythologies of the Drexciyan universe, though from different perspectives. But the result is Igarashi’s own creation, a deluxe, enchanting trip through the visionary Agartha of this unique producer’s cinematic mind’s-eye.

Wo liegt Agartha? In welcher spezifischen Region liegt es? Auf welchem Weg, durch welche Zivilisationen muss man gehen, um dorthin zu gelangen?'

Saint-Yves d'Alveydre im Jahr 1886

Agartha, das Debütalbum des japanischen Produzenten Wata Igarashi, ist ein geheimnisvolles, göttliches Ding. Benannt nach dem mythischen, geheimen Königreich, das als ein komplexes Labyrinth unterirdischer Tunnel verstanden wird, die vielleicht von Marsmenschen angelegt wurden, die vor Zehntausenden von Jahren die Erde kolonisierten, ist es eine ähnlich mystische, vielleicht sogar kosmische Reise - aber dieses Mal erforscht es einen inneren, zutiefst persönlichen Kosmos. Wunderschön detailliert und voller reichhaltiger Begebenheiten, führt es Igarashis Musik an neue Orte, die dennoch seine einzigartige klangliche Handschrift bewahren. In dieser Hinsicht hat es bei Kompakt ein perfektes Zuhause gefunden - einem Label, das Künstler immer ermutigt hat, jene visionäre Musik zu machen, Risiken einzugehen und seitwärts Schritte in unbekanntes Terrain zu tun.

Der eloquente Produzent und DJ Igarashi veröffentlicht seit elf Jahren Techno auf Labels wie The Bunker NY, Delsin, Figure und Time To Express; außerdem hat er einige Produktionen über sein Label WIP net selbst veröffentlicht. Dabei hat Igarashi stets seinen einzigartigen Ansatz für Techno und elektronische Musik verfolgt, der kontrolliert und ausgeglichen ist, selbst wenn er sich in psychedelisches Terrain begibt; er ist ein Meister der Balance zwischen dem Sinnlichen und dem Funktionalen und hat ein untrügliches Gespür für die richtige Textur, den richtigen Ton zur richtigen Zeit. All das bringt er in Agartha ein, dem bisher umfangreichsten Ausdruck seiner selbst.

Für Agartha hatte Igarashi ein starkes Konzept, das er erforschen wollte. Er stellte sich bestimmte Szenen eines imaginären Films vor, der auf dem titelgebenden geheimen Königreich basiert, und schuf Soundtracks für diese Szenen. Während der Pandemie verbrachte er Zeit in seinem Studio und arbeitete sorgfältig an den zehn Tracks. Mit seinem Hintergrund als Komponist von Fernseh- und Werbemusik ist Igarashi prädestiniert dafür, die Verbindung von Klang und Bild auf solch intime Weise zu erforschen, aber frei von kommerziellem Dünkel ließ er seiner Fantasie freien Lauf. Er schöpfte auch aus einer reichen Palette musikalischer Einflüsse - Techno ist natürlich dabei, aber man hört auch den rauchigen, improvisierten Jazz von Miles Davis (an den der Titel des Albums eine indirekte Anspielung ist) und den Minimalismus und die Systemmusik von Steve Reich.

Letzteres ist besonders ausgeprägt in dem wunderschönen, beatlosen "Floating Against Time", wo eine arpeggierte Sequenz neun Minuten lang liebevoll um die Ohren fliegt und über schwelende Drones und Wellen von Umgebungsgeräuschen gleitet. "Ceremony Of The Dead", ursprünglich als Teil eines Sony 360 Reality Audio-Raumklangkonzerts komponiert, ist ein tiefes Eintauchen in eine Systemkomposition, bei der sich verschiedene Muster überlagern und ineinander greifen, bevor sich ein wortloser Gesang aus der Tiefe erhebt, ein wunderschöner Kontrapunkt zu den wimmelnden Texturen, die sich über den Track legen. Andererseits bewegen sich Tracks wie "Burning" und "Subterranean Life" in Richtung der Vierten Welt und malen luxuriöse Traumlandschaften ungewisser Herkunft; der Titeltrack ist eine abstrakte Scheinwelt, in der Igarashi ein außerirdisches Tableau malt, das von formwandelnden Kreaturen übersät ist.

Der konzeptionelle Rahmen von Agartha ermöglicht, dass alles auf dem Album perfekt zusammenpasst; es in einem Zug durchzuhören ist eine schwindelerregende, opulente Erfahrung. Wata's Vorstellungen von inneren Landschaften erinnern in gewisser Hinsicht an die nautischen, wässrigen Mythologien des drexciyanischen Universums, wenn auch aus einer anderen Perspektiven betrachtet. Aber das Ergebnis ist Igarashis ureigene Schöpfung, ein luxuriöser, bezaubernder Trip durch das visionäre Agartha dieses einzigartigen Produzenten mit seinem cineastischen Blick.

This is Parand Haghi’s debut project for Specimen, and here we indulge the concept of events based around Area 51. This has always created controversy and conspiracy as a covert space for experimenting on extraterrestrial aliens. We can only imagine the horrors of human endeavour to probe the inner bodies as a means of developing advanced interstellar technology. Albeit, driven by fear and paranoia as a means of conquering outer space the alien species remain a puzzle, but they are here among us have no doubt.

An alien organism reaches planet earth it is sent in the form of a superior female whose dark, passionate embrace allures us to the magical and mystical bewilderment of sonic worlds. Parand is the future of Specimen with PATIENT-X. This is a taste of things to come, after probing into the future with a dark remix of Arsonist Recorder’s "Vaxxer", she is proving to be a formidable force in the realms of electro.


PARAND is Berlin-based producer
At an early age, she developed her passion and taste for music. While her musical roots are grounded in classical piano training, her broad influences and obsession with electronic beats led her to experimenting with DJing and producing what could be considered a unique style of electro with experimental sound shapes, infused with dark bass-lines and beats.

Murmer is the long-standing project for Estonian field recordist and composer Patrick McGinley, and in Tether, The Helen Scarsdale Agency welcomes Murmer back to our roster, over a decade since he graced us with his last production for the Agency. His field recordings often center upon the amplification and activation of resonance from a particular space, landscape, or object. Such sounds emerge from a condition as begin fleeting, inconsequential, or ephemeral and explode into that which alien, sublime, and profound. Here lies the tremendous prowess of the contact microphone, as wielded by an accomplished musician! The source material cited by McGinley includes cables, fences, wires, and vents.

There is a heft to many of these sounds as heard throughout all of "Taevast" with deep throbbing pulsations from arctic wind generating subharmonic patterns upon thick high-tension wires. Elsewhere the subtle dissonance from a rasping cooling fan blooms into a brooding ambience that is sublimely rich in its metallic timbres and complex reverberations. McGingley has long been an exemplary artist in the field of phonography even as he is less prolific than others. On Tether, he has produced a majestic if occasionally foreboding work on par with the mythic wire recordings of Alan Lamb, Jacob Kirkegaard's haunted resonance from Chernobyl, and much of the Touch catalogue for that matter!

Patrick McGingley on Tether:

In 2006, I made a collection of recordings at a mobile phone mast in Mooste, southeast Estonia. It is a guyed tower, 80 meters tall, affixed to 3 support points with heavy cables. I attached my self-made contact microphones to these cables with poster tack, and spent many hours over several weeks recording the various wind and weather variances (it was summer), and the birds that passed or settled on the tower or cables. This was one of my first visits to estonia, where i now live, and one of the things that marked me about that experience was the access: the tower had no fences or protections around it (I have not been back there recently to answer my own question of whether or not this is still the case); it stands in the middle of a field of tall grass along a dirt road in the countryside, just out of view of the few nearby houses, and during all the hours I spent there I was never disturbed or shooed away.

For more than 16 years, I have been thinking about this location and these recordings, and have made several attempts to work with them. I have used the sounds in installations a handful of times, and uploaded one short edit to the Aporee soundmaps, but have never managed to use them in any composed work. They always seemed too big for any structure I could provide them, whether I left them on their own, or partnered them with other sounds. Finally, in 2019, after putting them down and picking them up again repeatedly over so many years, they seemed to allow me in, although it took me another few years before they were happy with what I could offer. They stand now not quite alone - the majority of the layered sounds in the piece come from various edits of those cable recordings, but I added two other contrasting sounds, related to one another: one is snowflakes landing delicately on a plastic cakebox with microphones inside it, and the other is a frosted field of grass thawing on a lightly warming autumn morning (both these recordings can also be heard on their own on the Aporee maps).

Coming back to those cables brought to mind so many other wind-driven sounds that I had spent time with and recorded, but never returned to, that I began digging through my archives looking for them. I ended up with a pool of sounds from resonant wires, cables, fences, poles, fans, and vents, which became the basis for the 2nd work on this release. One of these sounds is among the first sounds I ever recorded, possibly within a month or so of buying my first microphone and minidisc recorder: the rhythmic fan of a beer cooler in a pub where I worked in North London in 1999. Other sounds in the piece include another phone tower, recorded on the northern coast of France in 2008, a telephone pole recorded in the Beaujolais region in 2010, the drone of ventilator fans at a factory in Tezno, Slovenia in 2012, an electric sheep fence in the Scottish borders in 2013, a hanging wire in a storage space in Rovaniemi, Finland in 2016, and, with no relation to cables or wind at all, calcium deposits being cleaned from the inside of an electric kettle here in Estonia in 2019.

I offer these two new pieces as my first solo publication since 2018, the first release on a physical medium since 2016. No one has ever accused me of working too fast, or being too prolific. I have a need, it seems, to leave a physical space of time around my work, before I can consider it 'finished'. Perhaps it is a simple need to forget how I did something, or that I did something; perhaps I have a need to be able to hear a work as a first-time listener would, before I can consider it ready for such an encounter. In some part of my mind I have to forget it before I can let it go. Well, I've just about forgotten that London beer cooler now, and that walk in the Beaujolais (with my father, who has since passed away), and that sheep fence next to our campsite in the borders, and that kettle that is now leaky. So I guess it's time.

Free-roaming French techno talent Angioma lands on Lady Tazz's Mind Medizin with a new single that comes remixed by the legendary Kaiser, Fixon and Toru Ikemoto.

Angioma does it all from peak time and hypnotic techno to jacking house, all with his own signature exotic twist. He is currently Berlin-based and has released on Made of Concrete, but also co-runs with BLANKA the Room Trax label and Room Lab, contemporary local art and networking space. With increasingly high-profile sets in clubs like Egg London and Anomalie Berlin, Angioma is an ever more crucial part of the modern techno landscape.

The brilliant 'Unusual Suspect' is darkly seductive with its high-pressure techno rhythms and silky synth lines. Pulsing keys bring late-night hypnosis, and the icy hi-hats draw you in further to this shadowy and tunnelling groove. It's a warm, Mills-inspired sound that is stylish and dynamic.

The A Side also features a heart stopping Detroit infused remix courtesy of Mexican based Fixon (part of the Illegal Alien crew). On the flip and Gianluca Caiati aka Kaiser has been tearing up the techno scene for 15 years. His superb remix pairs things back but the pummeling, rubbery drums remain the focal point as whip-snapping snares lash about up top, incendiary hi-hat pressure grows, and the sleek synths intensify the trip. Finally, Japanese Techno hero Toru Ikemeto delivers an off-kilter slice of driving take on the original.

“These things happen,” says K. Leimer of LUYU. Listen Until You Understand is a test drive through an obstacle course designed for new instruments, arrangements, juxtapositions, and real-time experiments dedicated to leaving the original impulses untouched and unadorned. Joined at times by digital percussionist Dolphie Stein, the music throws itself against itself without loyalty to genre or form, mashing granular particles into a tremulous spectrum of soundwalls, transitions, noise, distortions, and the occasional clearing. As close to live improvisation as one can get in a multitrack studio setting, LUYU takes generative techniques and drops them into short-form events by building its soundstage in thickets of shifting elements, collapsing phrases, broken signatures, and implied patterns. An outlier in Leimer’s catalog of general stillness and subtle detail, LUYU revels in the bare sound of things usually hidden in the mix.

Kerry Leimer founded Palace Of Lights in 1979. Leimer’s work has also been issued by Abstrakce, Autumn, First Terrace, Les Giants, Invisible Inc., Origin Peoples and RVNG. His work is included in the Cherry Red Noise Floor compilation series and his early cassette work is featured in the critically acclaimed VOD box set American Cassette Culture. Leimer has been actively producing music since the mid 1970s—his current catalog includes twenty solo albums plus collaborative albums with Savant, Marc Barreca, and Three Point Circle. Recent soundtracks include work for video artists Cristiane Bouger and Fred Birchman, HBO’s How To With John Wilson and the Netflix documentary John Was Trying to Contact Aliens. His work is included in the collection of The British Library.

This 40 year anniversary collection traces Brother Culture's career and includes some of his biggest hits, with remastered versions of these classics. The album includes his hits Jump Up Pon It (25 million streams), Supanova (15 million streams), My Selecta (2 million streams), and some of his most listened-to tracks ever released on vinyl.

A composition simply means things being put together. In music, we usually think of composition as a classical idea. But in recent years, the possibilities of what ‘composing’ can be, have dramatically increased. Based in Oslo, Norway, Deathprod (aka Helge Sten) has been making his own forms of music with no compromise since the early 90s. His specialty is a deeply atmospheric, grainy minimalism that slows time down and explores the very particles of sound itself. This music can sound forbidding and alien at first, but compared to his more brutal output, it’s an extraordinarily close and intimate experience. The first new Deathprod studio project since 2019’s OCCULTING DISK, Compositions is the result of an intense period at his legendary Audio Virus Lab studio in central Oslo. All tracks are released in chronological order – in other words, the order in which they were recorded. Helge used a personal, unique combination of obsolete digital audio processors and sound generators, combined with his own secret-sauce tuning system. Like gazing at the wonders revealed by an electron microscope with Helge compositional control directs your attention to a succession of ever more spellbinding details and textures. Helge adopted the Deathprod alias in 1991. A complex array of homemade electronics, samplers, sound processing and analogue effects – cumulatively known as the ‘Audio Virus’ – combined with obsolete samplers and playback devices, to distort and transform sounds into unrecognizable relatives of their former selves. On the new album Compositions, the virus has evolved into even more fascinating and kaleidoscopic new strains. Electronically generated sounds vibrate and tremble like undiscovered metals ringing and resonating together. Sonic forms attract or repel each other as if under the influence of a strange magnetism. None of the tracks are over four minutes, but no way are these ‘miniatures’. Each one contains its own fully-formed galaxy of tones and clusters, while all tracks audibly belong in the same universe. These are 17 compositions in search of a sonic ideal. His off-grid audio control centre created a parallel acoustic universe which he filled with mutated samples and electronic textures. Even the gaps between the tracks are part of that universe. Helge left the almost silent, twitching crackles of his snoozing analogue gear intact, ensuring a smoother transition between them. Helge is continually striving to find new parameters and possibilities for what music can be – what you can affect with the medium of sound. From the intricate homemade miniatures of Treetop Drive to the bonecrushing electronic barrage of Morals and Dogma and OCCULTING DISK, the different sides of Deathprod are all products of the same obsessive focus and self-discipline in pursuit of sonic exploration. His Compositions are private rather than public music: like introspective chamber or solo compositions instead of the more strident, outward-looking tones of a symphony. Helge is a founder of Norwegian improvising group Supersilent and has produced records by Motorpsycho, Susanna, Jenny Hval, Arve Henriksen and others. He recently composed music for Harry Partch’s legendary instruments, which can be heard on Sow Your Gold in the White Foliated Earth, released in 2022 on Smalltown Supersound.

Alt-rap dissident Jam Baxter announces his newest solo venture, Fetch the Poison. Conceived during a state-wide alcohol ban in Mexico, the album is Baxter’s first to be composed in complete sobriety — though his hallucinatory style of storytelling and cast of monstrous characters make a welcome return. Lyrics on Fetch the Poison meld Baxter’s Latin American experience with visions of a grisly alternate dimension: sun, sea and glittering vistas are sullied by hollow-eyed addicts, shady bar tenders and duplicitous lovers. Amongst deft bars, the rapper includes a number of spoken word pieces that echo the prose in his now sold out book Off-Piste. The album also features Blah Records' Nah Eeto & Black Josh, as well as DJ Sammy B-Side and Jehst, alongside Brazil’s NOG, Black Alien and Xamã. Baxter reunites with frequent collaborator Chemo on production — now under the moniker Forest DLG — for much of the album, with appearances from Jack Danz, Dr Zygote, Wundrop (CMPMD) and Midlands' electronic stalwart Lenkemz. Despite its diverse credits, tracks are connected by icy, spaced-out electronics with beats twisted through tape distortion and anchored by chest- rattling bass. Baxter began writing the album in Mexico just before the pandemic began while holed up in the city of San Cristobal De Las Casas, Chiapas, as the world shut down. “All the streets were eerily empty and it was amazing. I had the city to myself,” he says. “Then suddenly there was a state- wide alcohol ban and I could no longer casually sip tequila as I went about my business. I didn’t really have a choice but to write” With no alcohol to fuel him, and San Cristobal largely silent, the rapper says he was surprised to find himself in a deeply creative — and prolific – state. “I took to it amazingly well, and I wrote this whole album in three months of clear-headed bliss in the same apartment. I would sit and write all day, and occasionally walk up a mountain when I got stuck ... or go and feed the stray dogs at the church on top of the hill. It was weirdly the most fun I’d had in years.” Fetch the Poison is Baxter’s seventh solo album.

Oslo-based four-piece Legs 11 return to Beatservice Records with their third studio album, serving seven beguiling tracks on the delightfully off-kilter 'Welcome Home'.

Comprising of deviant players Sigmund Floyd, Torstein Dyrnes, Nils Tveten, and Audun Severin Eftevåg, Legs 11 have been Beatservice mainstays since making their label debut back in 2016. Fusing a disparate blend of esoteric sounds that include synth-pop, post-punk, new wave, house and more, the quartet journey from the murkiest depths into the pop-leaning stratosphere, taking in all manner of mind-altering detours along the way. Throughout their production journey, they've revelled in the unexpected, and 'Welcome Home' masterfully continues this aberrant trajectory.

Kicking things off in energetic mood, the new wave swagger of 'Flawless Logistics' dives deep into late-night rave abandon, Unhinged vocals and throbbing synth bass drive the cut through a futurist landscape of stripped rhythms and sinister tones before an atmospheric sax solo rises in to augment the searing lyrical message. Casting a critical eye on consumer-driven culture and mercenary musical forms, the vital composition is at once an unmissable social commentary and an irresistibly floor-filling groove.

Next, the glistening synths and sing-along vocals of 'Coup' saunter over bouncing bass notes and crisp machine drums. Acid licks rise in to add thrust to the club-primed groove while brooding pads and sultry spoken words meander through the sonic space. Elegantly sashaying into post-punk swirls, the hallucinatory swagger of 'Sax Consensual' bursts with theatrics. Seductive dart across the hyper-atmospheric backing track of pointed instrumentation, with glassy synths and fizzing drums joined by an evocative sax solo to vividly conjure late-night moods.

'Into The Darkness' bubbles with sinister intent, as striking bass and stripped rhythms charge through nocturnal synths, the serrated vocals purposefully projecting through the powerfully vivid subterranean mist. Maintaining the floor-focused tempo, 'This Is Your Home' sees sleazy vocals soar across an alien landscape. Distorted toms drive the groove as mysterious swirls and metallic textures fizz across the off-world horizon. Growling bass arrives alongside a searing sax lead as the endlessly-morphing rhythm undulates and evolves.

'The Crawley Within' sees darkly suggestive vocals enveloped by ominous synths and snarling acid licks, the determined rhythm steering the sparsely-woven instrumentation across alien topography as sensual whispers permeate the groove as the music undulates to an aberrant climax. Finally, completing a strikingly coherent collection, 'fuckboi' brims with attitude, with unhinged synths joined by growling rhythm guitar as the erotically-charged vocals project the steamiest of post-club invitations.

This is entirely unique work from Legs 11. Deviant, potent, and fiercely energetic, each track is propulsive enough to ignite dancefloors while embodied with more than enough profundity for headphone immersion. Utterly compelling.

Cultivated Electronics presents For The Floor, a new series of split 12s on its vinyl-only sister label CE LTD. For the Floor is strictly aimed at the dance floor and showcases CE regulars alongside new artists with EPs incoming from DeFeKT, Rico Casazza, Tripeo, Cycloplex, Steve Allman, Alex Jann, Cyphon, Obzerv, Maelstrom and Sync 24 x Alienata. Hot on the heels of his latest release on the mighty Tresor, Irish Electro king and CE regular DeFeKT kicks off the series with 2 dancefloor destroyers. "Control Your Mind" rips through with harsh distorted 808s and booming vocals while "Fear and Body" is a spooky, funky electro groover perfect for dark basements. On the flip, CE welcomes back Rico Casazza to the label. Rico continues the electro funk vibes with "Home Here Us", slick beats and a bubbly bass line lay down the backbone of this peak time banger. Things then go deep and trippy and acidic with "Caldo" , a rolling robotic groove made for the club!

MILK GREY VINYL

100% GALCHER was by all accounts a game-changer when it landed in 2013 as an hour of original music from a relatively unknown producer ushered in by the beloved mix series Blowing Up The Workshop. Galcher Lustwerk's signature sound _ a smoky stream-of-consciousness baritone shadow-boxing with beats, informed by funk, rap, rhythm, and blues _ felt like an epiphany, impossibly hypnotic and complete. Resident Advisor writes, "100% GALCHER laid out a louche, lysergic and resolutely black take on deep house." Pitchfork remembers the music's immediate impact: "It's the sort of gem you felt inclined to pass around" _ and by year-end list time, word-of-mouth intensified. It was Resident Advisor and Juno's mix of the year, and earned a top-ten placement in FACT Magazine's albums list, as well as Philip Sherburne's personal rundown for Spin." Since then, select songs from 100% GALCHER have seen small-run pressings, while the album has lived primarily on SoundCloud and YouTube as a low-key cult legend. The gateway into Lustwerk's now well-established catalog, known for its reliability as a late-night listen and its prophetic vision for the near future of underground dance music. RA would later name it a mix of the decade, citing its influence and imagination: "Original in every sense _ unknown, unheard and unbelievably good." In late 2022, marking ten years since he first recorded the material, Lustwerk returns to Ghostly International to release 100% GALCHER as a remastered limited-edition double LP. Lustwerk is a product of the Midwest. Growing up in Cleveland, he'd tape over his parents' cassettes and spend hours at his family computer recording loops and designing artwork for the jewel cases of burned CDs. In high school, he turned to Ableton Live and absorbed every electronic music magazine he could find at the local Borders Books store. As a college student at RISD, he played in noise bands, plugged into Providence's DIY scene via Myspace, and started DJing weeknights at bars downtown. There he connected with Young Male and DJ Richard, who would go on to found White Material Records and offer their third release to Galcher Lustwerk, an alias realized via CAPTCHA test, a perfect artifact of its internet age. By 2012, Lustwerk had drifted to New York City and settled into a graphic design job, quickly growing disenfranchised by office culture. "Some days I felt like a token, other days I felt invisible." At night, he and his friends were carving out their own space, throwing parties in small basements, office buildings, and off-beat karaoke bars in Manhattan, influenced by series such as Mr. Sunday in Gowanus and The Bunker at Public Assembly. The lifestyle started to bleed into Lustwerk's musical vision. He remembers the night it clicked in Providence, partying and listening to tunes with Morgan Louis and Alvin Aronson. He went back to New York and pieced together his bedroom setup: a Dave Smith Tempest drum machine, a Waldorf Blofeld synthesizer, and a TEAC cassette recorder. Early snippets went straight to SoundCloud, where Lustwerk tested the crowd. Comments and messages offered instant feedback. One DM proved to be the greenlight: from Matthew Kent, an invitation to his burgeoning mix series Blowing Up The Workshop. 100% GALCHER traveled fast and far. A phenomenon he could only enjoy for a short period before discovering that nearly all the masters of the tracks got wiped by water damage to his computer. "The only copies were now on the 192kbs mp3 mix I sent Matt." Until now, after Lustwerk revived the lost tracks and handed them to Josh Bonati for remastering. "The original mix was never mastered so I hope older fans can find something new here." Hearing the enhanced set for the first time delineated by tracklist reveals this was a proper album all along. Sly synth interludes (all titled "Stem") clear the air for raspy house anthems like "Fifty" and "Parlay," the set's original breakout. Themes present across Lustwerk's catalog first materialize in this iconic run _ the link between the meditative state of Midwest driving and the solitary comedowns of nightlife. Lust- werk, the narrator, is an elusive character, a secret agent of the club, embodied by the hooks: "One minute I'm on / next minute I'm gone," he reminds us on cult-favor- ite "Put On." These narcotic, one-line refrains stick with you; look no further than the original YouTube upload of "Kaint" to know that fans can't let these phrases go. While recorded alone, 100% GALCHER was a collective moment. A decade later, Lustwerk sees the legacy as shared: "Making music can be an alienating experience, especially for DJs who travel a lot, it's all super isolating. It's easy to express lone- liness in the music itself, but when it comes down to getting things done, putting music out, you def should go on that journey w other people, friends, or maybe just a group of people online, build things with your friends then they can build to help you."

On a first, careless, listen, Stockholm four-piece Melby might seem like a
charming, fun little jangle-pop band - Pay a little more attention however,
and you'll find their waters run a lot deeper than that
The band have all the flash and sparkle of your favourite indie band, but add an
ability to touch moods and feelings with a meaning beyond most of their peers.
Their guitars, drums and synths rattle, roll and flicker around each other, all held
together by the soul-shiver in Wiezell's vocals, to make immaculate little guitarpop gems, equally dusted with sadness and sugar.Finding comfort in a sea of
uncertainty might be a good way to describe Looks Like A Map, the bands second
album. The record captures Melby at a moment where they're growing as people
and as a band, expanding the reach of their sonic horizons, and taking in deeper
and heavier themes, trying to find a home in an often-alienating world. The music
they made around that has a little touch of sorcery around it, sometimes soft as
smoke, sometimes woozy and dream-blurred, sometimes crashing and explosive.
But even through all that evolution, the heart and the soul have remained the
same, and Looks Like A Map still has that Melby-feeling, of a band who put all of
themselves into everything they make and their own blend of indie, psych, pop,
rock and folk. It's a new high for the band that have toured Scandinavia, Germany
and the UK and have played festivals such as Eurosonic, Reeperbahn and
By:Larm, and one that hints at even bigger things to come.

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.

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."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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"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."

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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.

Basslines like a clumsy, exuberant puppy. A braid of guitar notes tickling your neck. The jittery buoyance of a marimba, so cartoonish you can picture its unblinking technicolor eyes. A snare that cracks like every friend knocking on your door at once. These are the fragmentary beats and visions that Josh Diamond and Eric Copeland spent the last two years exchanging, the magnetic, romantic, completely unashamed chunks stacked into the bubbling delight of "Riders on the Storm." These two are, yes, known for vastness, transcendence, and suffocation. Eric is a founding member of Black Dice, weaponizers of volume, misdirection, and alien language. Josh is a founding member of Gang Gang Dance, whose haunted, murky explorations drag listeners to infinite, irreversible revelations. Given these pedigrees, it's natural to anticipate their collaboration as an itchy, opaque monolith. Within the shit and terror of 2022 it's even understandable to yearn for something like that. But "Riders" with its light heart and wiggle and squirm is actually the record we need. "It's intentional," confirmed Josh of the record's lightness: "just wanting to make the opposite of what's going on outside." Eric reinforced this feeling of liberation and inversion, recalling the freedom of sharing unfinished ideas, of trusting Josh's creativity. "Nobody was vying for anything," he explained, "we were just trying to do it for each other." The completed exchange of sound unrolls like a laughter-filled conversation, Josh and Eric each banking on the other's improvements and re-configurations. The most remarkable thing about this trust, this generosity, is how their pair have managed to invite listeners into it, making everyone a part of this free-spirited dance. "Riders on the Storm" is the first full length collaboration between Josh Diamond and Eric Copeland, following their contribution to Mary Staubitz and Russ Waterhouse's 2020 `Distant Duos' project. It was recorded and mixed with the guidance of Ivan Berko (Hidden Fees, Ghost Exits). In addition to their work with Black Dice and Gang Gang Dance, Eric and Josh are both solo artists. Diamond released his debut solo album, "Seek Rips," in 2021. Copeland released his 16th solo album, "Spiral Stairs," in 2022.

"What took you so long?" might be a valid question concerning the ten year gap between Zanshin's new album "In Any Case By Any Chance" and his first album "Rain Are In Clouds".

Of course it is a question that the Viennese musician has asked himself quite startled in his usual self-critical manner, just to realize at a closer look that it has not been a lack of creativity or laziness at least. He used the Zanshin moniker on four EP releases and several remixes, plus a game soundtrack. Not to forget all his output as one half of producer duo Ogris Debris (the album "Constant Spring" from 2016 and roughly two dozen singles and remixes) and the many, partly award-winning audiovisual installations and performances with Leonhard Lass as DEPART (depart.at). Furthermore he has also built two sound installations in 2021, "I Gong" at Elevate Festival and "Cymatic Sands" at Ars Electronica. In addition, Zanshin performs with the Max-Brand-Synthesizer from time to time as part of the compositions by Elisabeth Schimana, and together with label mate Dorian Concept he has also composed and performed the piece "Half Chance/Music for Moogtonium" for this unique instrument, built by Bob Moog himself.

Not spared by certain global developments of recent years, but rather invigorated by exploring his own resilience, Zanshin had a talk with Affine Records Operator Jamal in the beginning of 2021, speaking of future ideas and releases. And what was initially a single release spawned into a whole album in seemingly no time. An old skit ("Polar Polychrome") on the Roland MC-505 groove-box that had never really been forgotten, but was rather waiting patiently somewhere in the back of his mind, suddenly proved to be the initial spark for the album.

The term "Zanshin", roughly translated as un-focussed attention, is in fact more than just a pseudonym but rather a directive in the artists life. Zanshin really likes to go in several directions at once, kind of according to Wittgenstein's claim that "The world is everything that is the case.", to find out where his love for music might lead him this time. He also somehow went back to his roots with this album. Not necessarily in the sense of certain musical influences or genres, because then the album would be even more eclectic than it already is. More like a focus on the core values in the fabrication process of the music itself, the freedom to rather follow the structures and sounds than to shape them in a completely predetermined way. Somebody once called it, "to weave what the music demands."

In this regard, Zanshin often feels more like a sculptor and tries not toadhereto strongly to the rules of specific sub-genres of electronic music. Searching for sounds and designing them is one of the energies that fuels his interest the most, thus at the beginning of a lot of tracks there are small skits and ideas that have the freedom to grow in whatever direction.

Hence this album has no elaborate story to tell, there is no extensive "narrative" or big time "storytelling" at work. "In Any Case By Any Chance" is not a novel but rather a collection of short stories (which are certainly dense and have complex plots nonetheless). The result is a long-player where playful electronica, skillful songwriting, extrovert dance music and symphonic film music enter into a symbiotic relationship. Returning to another Wittgenstein quote, "Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent", the emotional impact of music is the main focus and the results can be quite solemn at times, but around the corner always lurks the next bone-breaking rhythm pattern and gnarly sound design.

The infamous saying, "writing about music is like dancing about architecture", is another brick in the wall of sound in Zanshin's approach to music. He rarely roots himself in traditions or uses them too overtly, he really likes to agglomerate sounds, to challenge the listeners. It seems like he tries to avoid classification on purpose, because he knows that everyone has their own perception anyway. The only thing that this music demands implicitly is a willingness to listen attentively.

Very dense, at times really heavy and massive, then again airy and playful. "Music for clubs that don't exist.", might be another fitting caption to describe this album, which lasts for a little more than an hour.

The opener "Heatseeker" rushes to a sudden head start with its steel pan extravaganza, tropical vibes meet a bass line drenched in electro funk, and electrified synth stabs support the declaration of love in the lyrics. Kind of Jamie XX meets Electro meets Diva House. The monster that is "Bronteroc Brawl" is up next, a serious test for the speakers and a wild ride with metallic, growling sounds. The aggressive sound design reminds of suspense ridden shark chases, vicious dogs and cunning dinosaurs, in any case a track for people who love a proper bass stomper.

A new approach for the "indie discotheque" brings the emotional roller-coaster "In Gloom" with snappy drums and hypnotic synth motives á la Alessandro Cortini, creating an epic atmosphere together with the multi-layered vocals. A psycho-acoustic treat is position 4, the crisp instrumental "Polar Polychrome", you could even go as far as calling this a Zanshin signature track. Like mentioned before, the roots of this track go back to 2002 and you can hear the unmistakable influence of beat wizards like Photek, a piercing bass line is supported by poly-rhythmic drums, while dense pads try to escape the claustrophobic lockdown mood of winter 2020/21.

Another round of intense pathos waits for the listeners in the ensuing track "In Search Of". Moderat say "Hello", a melancholy piano melody is rushed to a climax by a wild bass arpeggio and forceful drums, the desire for a perfect sunrise at the next after-hour to the max. Initially just an appendix to the preceding track, "Time After Thought" swiftly developed from a mere improvisation to an ambient epic with a croaking alien piano, as if Keith Jarrett were on his way to Alpha Centauri.

Up next is the first single "Because Why", a breakbeat driven, synth-heavy track with winged vocals and a popular film quote. The title refers to the movie "Alphaville" by Jean-Luc Godard, a dystopian science fiction film noir, in which an omniscient computer system named Alpha 60 is ruling society and humans can only say "because" but never "why". As if the gears of a galactic mechanism were spinning into motion sounds "Identity Slices". A raspy chord structure finds its counterbalance in a kind of stumbling, wonky beat, and Zanshin would never deny the huge influence that Autechre's sounds and structures always have had on his music. Micro- and macrocosm meet on the same level and this friction is also a metaphor for questions of identity and self-awareness, without using voices or lyrics.

Off we go into the IDM bubble bath of "Enzyme Enigma", the bass drum is stomping and a fizzy acid-line is twisting in all directions behind rolling dub-techno chords. "Corrosion Creak" is a kind of acoustic degradation process, the rave dogs are finally let loose and everything happens at once, funky synths shred, string sounds wail and then there is this bass that sounds like smashing a rusty metal plate in the junk yard with a vengeance.

Towards the end everything slows down a bit, the beat in "Whatever Words" is Warp school cerebral hop at its best and therefore loads of glittery, creaky sounds swarm out until the synapses are overloaded, cumulating in a mighty bass ending. Last but never least, "Rebus Redux" guides us into the limitless night sky, with long indulgent pads dotted by an aimlessly wandering piano, while a compact net of tamed resonances and meandering sub frequencies unfolds in the background, enticing navel-gazing imagination.

Like meeting an old friend again, Dalmata Daniel welcomes DJ Overdose back to their catalog. Six years ago the infamous Dutchman's '05 Poly 800 Loop' EP was released, which served as a powerful launch to Dalmata Daniel, opening the first chapter in their story. Later in 2019, a split release with Sematic4 was also a highlight in the life of the label; and now, 3 years later, DJ Overdose checks in with the 'Powers of Ten EP' with a J. Mono remix, available both in digital and vinyl format, the latter having 2 bonus tracks.

The distinct, crunchy sound of DJ Overdose, bearing aspects of old school hip-hop-infused sampling and contemporary analog vibes creates the perfect blend of both worlds. 'Garden of Lust' opens up the adventure with a combo of warm basslines and solid drum-programming. This initial track feeds us these cardinal elements as the bread and butter they are: subtle variations and fine spices do appear here and there as the track goes along, but the key, beating pulse in 'Garden of Lust' brings massive hits stable as a sledgehammer in the hands of a blacksmith.

'Feed The Beats' elevates the game to cinematic territories: its majestic string-like central melody makes me alert and ablaze, making me feel like I'm in a late 80s L.A. setting facing malevolent zombie-aliens in my Wayfarer shades. Blasting beats and Carpenterian coolness all over the place, while the spooky bassline just keeps sneaking up on me endlessly.

If you are wondering when's the best time of the year to bring out your boombox at last, then this is your lucky day: with 'BOB', the first bonus track on the vinyl, we can experience some roarin' bassdrums, snappy snares, MCs with the speed of light and all that jazz. The low-bit sampling and vinyl scratching come and kick you right in the face so hard that it becomes pretty obvious you'll can't help but start some serious beatbox battles in your bathtub with your rubber duck.

A feverish groove in the prime time of a funky bash, in the haze of a sensual rave-up: that's all one really wants when going for a Saturday night out. We definitely get this and much more from 'Room 714', another vinyl-only bonus track. A berserk voice and ethereal chords guide us through this mysterious track, but while we are busy trying to impress our crushes on the dance floor, things around us are slowly getting very, very freaky, maybe a bit way too freaky.

As wobbly and jolly as it gets, our Dutch friend ends his session with 'Ðr ¡v€ M€ ¢r@z¥', a vocoder-heavy disco banger, full of merry vocal FX and smart rhythmic glitches as he completes his flight. To close the EP, our local hero, J. Mono delivers an insane remix of 'Ðr ¡v€ M€ ¢r@z¥': one can clearly imagine how he grabs and turns the BPM knob all the way up, fires up some arpeggios on his mighty synths and casts a complete reimagination of the original track.

Évariste is one of the rare specimens of artist-cum-scientists. Among his kind stand others like Pierre Schaeffer, a Polytechnique graduate (an engineer but also the father of musique concrète) and the eccentric Boby Lapointe (graduate of the École centrale and inventor of the Bibi-binaire system, patented in 1968). Évariste's songwriting, joyful and full of energy (albeit extremely critical), shrouds an original tragedy: born in 1943 among résistants, Joël Sternheimer (aka Évariste) grew up without a father, lost to Auschwitz. Although he makes little reference to Jewish culture in his music, his origins leave their mark: in 1974, he sings a Hebrew song on television. In 1966, the young Joël sports Princeton's colourful paraphernalia - that's because he's freshly returning from the US, where he was sent to pursue his research on "particle mass and the interpretation of observed regularities, such as the effects of a wave" (will understand who may). When he gets there the country's in the midst of the Vietnam War. With McNamara keen to find an alternative to the nuclear weapon and calling upon the country's biggest brains to undertake the task, there's a "fund shift" within the university - a diplomatic way to give notice to whoever may not be disposed to follow the government's scheme. Joël, who's under the supervision of a rebellious physician, is dismissed. He regardless keeps following the prestigious seminaries of the Institute for Advanced Study, chaired by Oppenheimer, inventor of the atomic bomb. Likely inspired by the hippie movement and music, Joël buys a guitar and starts playing in Washington Square - after all, Bob Dylan himself started there. He blithely skips Oppenheimer and receives a warm (though surprised) welcome from a crowd thoroughly unfamiliar with French. When the ageing physicist questions him about his decreasing attendance, Joël explains how drawn he is to music, and how he thinks it could help him in self-financing his research. Évariste recalls seeing the sickened man, his face torn by remorse, lighten up to his words and say: "What's keeping you - go for it! If I was still young that's exactly what I'd do." The student takes these words as a testimony from his professor - and it's enough to convince him . And so he takes the leap during the Christmas vacations he spends in Paris. A journalist friend he often sees around the Sorbonne introduces him to the artistic director of Disques AZ. The latter passes the tapes on to the label's boss, Lucien Morisse, also program manager on Europe N°1. Morisse is blown away - and signs him onto the label right away. Michel Colombier, arranger for Serge Gainsbourg and co-author of "Psyché Rock", with Pierre Henry, contributes some of his original ideas to the 7 inch "E=mc2": Évariste's preoccupation with the percussion sound on the track "Le calcul intégral" is that it goes "poom poom" and not "tock tock" - Colombier is aware of the issue and records Évariste's guitar like a percussion in an isolated booth. The organist Eddy Louis, who is to participate, in 1969, to the success of Claude Nougaro's "Paris mai", also appears on the record. It's 1966 and the Antoine phenomenon (signed on Vogue) storms through France. The two singers share similarities: Antoine is an engineer of the École centrale, gifted with a great originality in his song-writing. A godsend for the two labels who turn this resemblance into a commercial strategy, setting them out as rivals. To this day though, Évariste still denies what was little more than slushy tabloïd gossip. Success comes around swiftly and in 1967 Évariste launches into a second 7 inch, "Wo I nee", again arranged by Michel Colombier. Quantum mechanics fans finally get their anthem with "La Chasse Au Boson Intermédiaire" (or the "Intermediary Boson Pursuit"). To sum up what's a boson, say he's a close pal of the meson, photon and other gluons. A few months later, it's May 68 and everything's turned upside down. Évariste writes a series of songs inspired by the events, which he immediately submits to Lucien Morisse. When the man behind "Salut les copains", once married to Dalida, hears the song "La révolution" - a father and son dialogue - he can't take any more: AZ simply cannot release this. But there and then Lucien Morisse makes a gesture which will remain engraved in French music's history: sorry to be unable to officially stand by the singer, he encourages him to self-produce the record, but with his tacit support. He calls the pressing factory and asks they apply the same rate for Évariste as they would for AZ. The singer and his musicians use the same studio as for the previous record, all of them playing for free awaiting a return on investment. Évariste keeps singing at the Sorbonne with "Jussieu's gang" and "the young Renaud" he nicknames "le p'tit gavroche" (or "street urchin"). Renaud volunteers to type the lyrics of the song "La révolution" so that the chorus can be sung and recorded. A boy in the group is related to Wolinski and introduces them. The two get along so well that Wolinski ends up drawing the cover for the record "La révolution", for free. The self-released 7 inch "La révolution / La faute à Nanterre" is sold under the table and door-to-door for half the price of a standard record, on and around the boulevard Saint-Michel; and it runs out fast. In the end, there will be 6 releases of the record, and 25000 copies sold. When the theatre director Claude Confortès decides to adapt Wolinski's drawing series titled "Je ne veux pas mourir idiot" ("I don't want to die a fool"), he asks Évariste to write the original soundtrack. His friend, now cartoonist for Hara-Kiri Hebdo, often promotes him in accordance with a principle dear to him by virtue of which he gives a special place to his friends. Dominique Grange (writer of the song "Nous sommes les nouveaux partisans") soon joins the team. After 150 performances, Évariste leaves his place to Dominique Maurin (brother of Patrick Dewaere). Évariste composes the songs for Claude Confortès' next play, "Je ne pense qu'à ça" ("That's all I think about"), co-wrote with Wolinski in 1969. The comedians of the play record the songs on a 7 inch, with a cover signed, again, by Wolinski. In 1971, French television produces the documentary "Évariste et les 7 dimensions", but doesn't air it. Indeed, the scientific sub-comity of the programming comity (sic) censors the show. The given justification is that "Évariste dangerously mixed science with science-fiction, numerology and other non-scientific disciplines". The underlying motive might have been a will to censor the singer-mathematician's political discourse. In the documentary and among other things, Évariste discusses hierarchy, alienation and revolution. Half a century later the documentary remains invisible, though some excerpts resurfaced in 1992 in the cult show "L'oeil du cyclone", on Canal +. Though flourishing, Évariste's career is nearing its end. 1970 is the beginning of a decade in the course of which he is to make a decisive discovery in the musical and scientific domains. Following this breakthrough, he moves away from self-produced music and gaucho magazines to focus on science. He keeps Oppenheimer's encouraging words in mind, now freely pursuing his research thanks to the sales of his records. Joël realises that when decoding protein sequences, one finds musical sequences recognisable to humans. He names them "proteodies". If, when listening to a proteody, one responds by being so sensitive as to finding it beautiful, then it reveals a deficiency of the related protein - and this peculiar music may be the cure. We could trace back the music history in light of proteins lacking in a given artist, or within a public's majority. You always thought these hysterical groupies who'd throw their underwear with passion and faint in the pit had miraculously appeared because they had never heard anything as wonderful as the Beatles? Make no mistake! For Évariste, it all boils down to an intro's protein content. Indeed, the beginning of their first hit "Love Me Do" corresponds to dopamine, the neurotransmitter linked to compulsive buying. An intro like this could only unleash the fervour of groupies, victims of fashion and biology. Évariste's success is such that the income from his sales gives him the autonomy to which he had aspired when confiding to Oppenheimer. It made it possible for him to pursue his research without any institutional constraints. He now devotes himself to his proteodies, sat in the offices of the European University for Research, just around the corner from the Sorbonne he knew so well. Évariste is no more. Joël regained control of this strange and comical beast.

Third pressing on transparent pink vinyl. At the 2018 edition of Roadburn Festival - a congregation of all things obscure, heavy and experimental in Tilburg, the Netherlands - two generations of Japanese Krautrock genius took to the stage for a live collaboration that was just as hypnotic as it was inevitable. The artists in question were Tokyo's Minami Deutsch and the legendary ex-Can frontman Damo Suzuki. With Minami Deutsch's heady metronomic jams providing the backdrop on which Suzuki was left free to deliver his distinct improvised vocals, the Live At Roadburn LP is challenging, raw and, at times, totally alien. Divided into three parts, from start to finish the LP is consumed by an unrelenting motorik rhythm section that never lets loose for a second. At the flick of a switch, intricate guitars veer from hypnotic and meditative to skewed psychedelic freak-outs drenched in fuzz. Where Minami Deutsch's playing is sharp and meticulous, Suzuki's stream-of-consciousness ramblings steer the music into whatever direction he sees fit. The result is equal parts disorientating, sporadic and totally all-consuming - the only thing keeping you grounded being that distorted and seemingly-endless 4/4 drive. Repetition. Minimalism. Improvisation. Transcendence. That was the ideology of seminal Krautrock pioneers Can, whose 1970-1973 work with Damo Suzuki at the helm unleashed something in music that would change it forever. Some 45 years since Can's final record with Suzuki - the inimitable Future Days - and the spirit of that era still lives on. Not least because ever since then Suzuki has embarked on an endless one-man tour, traveling around the world and taking to the stage backed by countless different bands. Crossing paths at Roadburn, Suzuki's ensuing performance with Tokyo via Berlin-based group Minami Deutsch is now available to relive on wax.

Berlin-based label. Burial Soil proudly presents a collaborative electro album initiated by CYRK.

For their album "Freundschaft" CYRK has collaborated with Steffi, Anthony Rother, Ravn Jonassen, JakoJako, Jensen Interceptor, Alienata, Nite Fleit and David Carretta.
Over the last few years electro has had a massive resurgence. Since then, a new generation of producers has taken the genre under the microscope, recombining classic tropes and influences in new ways. CYRK is among the list of artists consistently pushing all things electro to new heights with forward thinking, dancefloor shattering and bass-heavy concoctions ready to turn your favorite club dance floor into a sea of spaced-out euphoria.

Fuchs is a band that never was. It vanished as quickly as it appeared in the picture, much like the animal that can be seen on this album and after whom it was named. In 2005, Kante singer and guitarist Peter Thiessen travelled to Weilheim to visit Markus and Micha Acher in their studio, where they were joined, among others, by Notwist-affiliated musicians like Cico Beck, Robert Klinger, Carl Oesterhelt and Stefan Schreiber. Spirits were high, but schedules were full: after a week of improvised sessions, everyone went their own way. The recordings gathered dust until Markus Acher found them again in 2021 while cleaning out his studio. After carefully re-evaluating the rough mixes, the musicians decided to finally release them. The resulting album comprises six tracks that musically draw on jazz, aesthetically lean on dub techniques and ideologically pick up on krautrock: there’s no solos to be heard on this record, just a few equally skilled and open-minded musicians listening to each other carefully, providing each other with space in which to unfold. »Fuchs« is a document of egos dissolving in a collective spirit.

Thiessen and the Acher brothers met in the 1990s and bonded not only over their shared background in hardcore music and the DIY ethos in which it was rooted, but also over their love for jazz. »If you look at those two things combined, you will eventually become convinced that you don’t have to be formally trained to make music that at least resembles jazz«, says Thiessen today. He invited Micha Acher to join his band Kante on flügelhorn in 2004 for a tour that saw the expanded group play unusual encores after the official concert was over. »Micha had taught us some dixie pieces, so night after night we would play a freestyle dixieland ska set in front of the remaining audience!« Naturally, the Acher brothers didn’t have to ask twice when they invited him for a visit in Weilheim to further explore their mutual interests in a studio setting. »I got on my way immediately and took two or three loose ideas, a tape echo and a guitar on whose headplate you could create fantastic sounds with me«, says Thiessen.

Between immersing themselves in books by the photographer Leonore Mau, cooking together and drinking the occasional fruit schnapps, the trio went into the studio. Says Thiessen, »Micha brought his flügelhorn and some wonderful ideas with him, Markus an Indian harmonium and a plan, Carl Oesterhelt came with a glockenspiel and a Chinese zither and a bunch of amazing jazz musicians joined in, too.« He considers the resulting recording sessions to be a kind of attempt at musically translating their conversations during those days. They discussed different approaches to jazz, whether sampling and musical miscitations can unlock ecstatic potentials and the possible parallels between syncretistic religions and pop music. »There’s traces of glossolalia, it's like a blurry séance«, adds Thiessen in regard to the sessions.

It is especially this spirit that managed to live on even though the recordings themselves were abandoned. »What we all liked most when listening back to the recordings is probably their marginal and fragmentary character, the empty spaces—the moments in which the virtuoso solo never comes, in which the centre remains empty.« The six pieces on »Fuchs« are chock-full of exactly these moments. When at one instant, the players seem to disperse and improvise freely, they always meet again on common ground a short time later, continuing on their way together. There are no conventions or even previous agreements that guide them, just a shared will to explore a vast range of curious sounds and unusual rhythms together as a truly unified constellation of very different musicians. Fuchs is a band that never was. Its ideas still reverberate vividly even 17 years later.

Martin Matiske's superb new six-track EP Circle Of Enlightenment on LDI Records is based around the concept of one-mindedness and togetherness. This German artist was fascinated with mixing records as early as his 10th birthday and had his first release on the legendary International Deejay Gigolo Records aged just 15. In the 20 years since he has released a selection of records on labels like Moustache Records and Bordello A Parigi. His timeless sound comes with a vintage touch and always fuses electro, italo and techno in fresh new ways. This new EP aims to describe the direct connection between human beings and the universe. Martin says: "Human beings are aliens always looking for answers to questions like why are we here and what life is about? We know the answer but won't accept it. We are made up of the elements of space and are directly connected to the universe. Each person contains the energy of the universe and is connected with everything that surrounds it. We are one! We are here because we are here! Our mission is to be!" The EP opens with 'Memory', and Martin explains that "Remembering is the ability to do things right but most of the time it causes pain." The track is a slick and icy electro workout with gorgeous retro-future pads bringing a cosmic sense of soul while the corrugated bass keeps busy below. 'Breakout' describes breaking out of normal thought and reaching a state of "no-mind." It is a playful and dynamic electro cut with characterful bass and synth stabs like shooting stars as shimmering arps ride up and down the scale. 'Lost In Space' deals with the idea that human beings on earth are just as lost in space as aliens. It's an interplanetary electro trip with glistening synths shining bright next to more twisted, tortured bass. 'Microbot' is about miniature robots that make our lives easier and ride on a punchy bassline, with neck-snapping snares and pads that circle around like spacecraft during battle. It is another lush electro workout that leads into 'Stars' and pays homage to the importance of these twinkling rays of light. It's a widescreen track with withering leads, cyborg vocals, and a real sense of hope as the snappy drums march into an unknown future. Last of all, 'Solaris' pays tribute to the life-giving force of the sun with another super crisp electro groove, slithering arps and conversational pads that make both a physical and emotional impact. Circle Of Enlightenment is a brilliantly adventurous and storytelling new EP from the ever-excellent Martin Matiske.

Hello Young Lovers is the 20th studio album by Sparks and was originally released on 6th February 2005. The album was the most commercially popular Sparks album since the 1970s.

Hello Young Lovers has been newly remastered for this LP reissue, which will be released on heavyweight vinyl.

This album will be launched alongside a comprehensive Marketing campaign, including brand new assets, as well as archival material from the time of the original launch. We have access to the Sparks socials, which we will utilise for boosted posts, ads and organic posts. The release will also be launched alongside a PR campaign, which should secure coverage across digital and print media.

"Way back in the 1990s, Mark Hand, Neil Iceton & Jez Nicholl channelled their love of sci-fi-fired Motor City techno into a string of inspired releases under the alias Cubic Space Collective.

After reuniting for a memorable machine jam at Freerotation festival in 2016, Hand & Iceton headed back into the studio for a one-off session and recorded 'Holiday in Beta Centauri', a musical love letter to Mad Mike and the rest of Detroit's most militant futurist techno crew.

Sending us surging skywards via 'Binary System', where lilting lead lines, fizzing electronics and enveloping chords dance atop a snappy, cymbal-heavy drum machine rhythm, before 'Arps in Hyperspace' sees them step things up a notch via layered waves of synths, sparkling melodies and a driving, hyper-speed groove.

The North-East-based twosome then attempt to warm us to the core in the shape of 'Rigil': restless organ stabs, undulating Michigan bass, alien electronics, psychedelic acid lines and Galaxy 2 Galaxy style chords catching the ear. Bringing us gently back down to earth, they complete their deep space mission with 'Beyond The Nebula (Holiday in Beta Centauri)', a bustling electro number full of stabbing analogue bass, star-burst electronics, meditative ambient chords that shimmer full of night-sky melodies.

A fine return to action for this Teesside UR-loving techno twosome... 3,167 miles away in Detroit, their achievement will be noted."

Growing up in the Californian sprawl and the vast suburbs of Phoenix, Arizona, Caleb Dailey largely dismissed the country and western music that surrounded him. Instead, he was drawn to independent rock, experimental zones, and other genre-defying forms, which led him to create skewed rock music with Bear State and establish the “minimal art label” Moone Records with his brother Micah Dailey in 2013. But in the early half of the 2010s, Dailey began to hear things differently. Drawn into the left-of-center works of artists like Gram Parsons and Blaze Foley, a more idiosyncratic take on country, folk, and roots music began to swirl in his imagination.

Wandering into the form’s cowboy chords and lonesome scenes, Dailey found himself wondering what his own country album might sound like. The result is his debut solo album, a collection of covers called Warm Evenings, Pale Mornings; Beside You Then. Produced by John Dieterich of Deerhoof, Keiko Beers, and Dailey himself, it’s a melancholy charmer, rooted in traditional ideas but free roaming in its scope. Laced with synths, pedal steel, acoustic guitars, and commanded by Dailey’s full and woozy voice, it owes as much to the busted waltzes of Lambchop and the homespun lo-fi folk of Little Wings (whose Kyle Field appears on the album via a spoken intermission) as it does to the songwriters and performers who provide its source material, which include Parsons, Foley, Elvis Presley associate Chips Moman, steel guitarist Buddy Emmons, and others.

“The subversive nature of country music isn’t as much at the surface as some other genres,” Dailey says. “But the deeper down the ‘country hole’ I went, the more I wanted to be part of it. It is truly a strange world.”

The hands of Dailey and his collaborators, which includes a wide roster of DIY experimentalists like James Fella of art punks Soft Shoulder, Jay Hufman (Gene Tripp), Lonna Kelley of Giant Sand, Japanese DIY hero’s Koji Shibuya and Tori Kudo, Nicholas Krgovich, Markus Acher of The Notwist, and more, that strangeness is accentuated. Dailey doesn't aspire to retro Nashville fetishism or sanctioned notions of “realness” so much as a genuine outsider authenticity. Take his version of Gordon Lightfoot’s “If You Could Read My Mind” for example: a highlight of the record, it pairs familiar genre signifiers like pedal steel and guitar strums with warbled synths. Then there’s his read of “Dreaming My Dreams,” originally made famous by Waylon Jennings (who also did time in the Arizona desert), which morphs from a mournful ballad into a wash of far-off sonic noise.

The attention here is on the songcraft itself, with Dailey inhabiting these songs and turning them inside out to reveal unexpected tenderness and playfulness.

Recorded at home with an acoustic guitar and 4-track, Dailey began open correspondences with his collaborators, who fleshed out ideas and added touches, often working with skeletal frames before Dieterich and Dailey shaped it into a cohesive whole. “John is the reason this album exists,” Dailey says. “He sculpted all these parts together in such an otherworldly way. He is truly a magician.” Deeply allergic to insincerity, Dailey avoids any trace of irony. He’s created a cohesive gem out of disparate parts, uniting Americana songcraft with experimental disassemblage. From this bric-à-brac, he’s made something touching and beautifully strange.

After turning heads with the densely orchestrated Riddles, produced by Dan Deacon, the Baltimore-based duo Ed Schrader’s Music Beat have given us another giant leap forward with their fourth record Nightclub Daydreaming. The whiplash-inducing stylistic shifts between aggressive noise rock and operatic gloom pop that have become the band’s trademark have given way to a single aesthetic that fuses both impulses. On Nightclub Daydreaming, menace teems just below the surface as propulsive, stark arrangements leave space that Schrader fills with strident, reverb-soaked narration.

LIMITED GOLD VINYL w/ Download Card

When Ed Schrader and Devlin Rice began writing the record in 2019, the idea was to make a fun, danceable album, but an underlying moodiness proved unshakeable. As Schrader puts it, “The cave followed us into the discotheque.”

The duo road-tested the songs “This Thirst,” “Echo Base” and “Black Pearl” with drummer Kevin O’Meara on tour with Dan Deacon in February 2020. COVID restrictions cut the tour short, squashed plans to go immediately into the studio and sent the touring party on a sprint from LA to Baltimore. “We broke down outside Roswell,” Schrader recalls. “And these cops laughed at our dumb asses as we used all our pent-up stress and fear to propel our half-submerged bus out of the muck, yelling epithets to the sky.”

It was one of the last experiences they had with O’Meara, whose death in October 2020 weighed heavily on Rice and Schrader’s minds as they worked on the record. It was also a cathartic moment that presaged the aesthetic that would permeate the songs on Nightclub Daydreaming: “mad euphoria in the face of doom,” as Schrader puts it.

“This Thirst” is an alienation-fueled barn burner barely restraining itself through musically sparse, lyrically dense verses to culminate in a howling, synth-saturated chorus that beats horror punk at its own game. “Came from the north with a twisted planetarium, rock salt, nervous tic and novocaine,” Schrader sings, assuming the guise of a vagrant whose irresistible urges lead him through a fever dream of chemicals, back-alley bartering and existential threats.

The hyperactive “Echo Base” exudes agitated-cool, with breakneck drum fills and a relentless bass line. The narrator is stranded in a frozen landscape and running out of options. “She is just a night train away,” we are assured, and yet we sense that may not be an altogether good thing.

The band recorded and mixed Nightclub Daydreaming over a two-week period with Craig Bowen at Tempo House in Baltimore with David Jacober on drums, turning demos with artificial sounds and placeholder melodies into fully realized songs playable by a live band. The end result is not the album of “sunny disco bangers” that Rice says the band set out for, but something deeper, darker and more rewarding.