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Sub Pop und Wolf Parade bringen eine neue Pressung ihres legendären Albums ,Apologies to the Queen Mary" auf pinkfarbenem Vinyl raus. Diese Ausgabe lässt das lange vergriffene Album wieder in seinem ursprünglichen Single-LP-Format erscheinen, kurz nachdem die TV-Serie ,Heated Rivalry" in 2025 die Single ,I'll Believe in Anything" aus dem Album einem riesigen neuen Publikum vorgestellt hat, wodurch der Song zu einem echten Viral-Hit wurde. Wolf Parade wurde 2003 in Montreal, Quebec, gegründet. Nach zwei selbstbetitelten EPs veröffentlichte die Band - Hadji Bakara (Elektronik), Dan Boeckner (Gitarre, Gesang), Spencer Krug (Keyboard, Gesang) und Arlen Thompson (Schlagzeug) - im September 2005 ,Apologies to the Queen Mary", das auf breite Zustimmung stieß. Das Album wurde von Modest Mouse-Frontmann Isaac Brock und Toningenieur Chris Chandler bei Audible Alchemy in Portland, Oregon, aufgenommen. ,Apologies to the Queen Mary" stürmt mit voller Kraft und atemlos durch Songs, die in den ersten Jahren der Band Wolf Parade geschrieben wurden. Die eingängige, energiegeladene Dringlichkeit des Albums machte sie sofort zu einer der prägenden Kräfte des Indie-Rock der 2000er Jahre. Es wurde 2006 für den renommierten kanadischen Polaris Music Prize nominiert; The Guardian schwärmte: ,insgesamt großartig"; Pitchfork gab ihm eine Bewertung von 9,2 und meinte: ,Das wahre Talent von Wolf Parade besteht darin, das Alltägliche in etwas Beispielloses zu verwandeln." Später schloss sich Pitchfork dem Chor der Kritiker an, die es zu den besten Alben der 2000er Jahre zählten. Zwei Jahrzehnte später hat "Apologies to the Queen Mary" nichts von seiner Lebendigkeit eingebüßt und gewinnt weiterhin neue Generationen von Fans für sich.

Baptized with a name derived from astrophysical theories about dark matter and black holes, THE HOLEUM was formed in 2014 in Alicante, Spain. Founded by former members of NahemaH, Demised, quantumXperience, Hela, Neptunian Sun, and Priest of Dawn, the quintet set out to push the boundaries of heavy music and to intensify the emotional impact of darkness in sound. Their concept is both cosmic and sonic: “THE HOLEUM is related to the dark matter that forms the black holes in the universe. THE HOLEUM is not a black hole, but black holes are formed by The Holeum. That is the idea from which we extract our concept – we are a sonic and cosmic vision of the sublime.” With their third album “Ensis” (2025), the band continues its journey through experimental metal, death doom, melodic metal, and post-metal. This work is more than a continuation – it is a condensation and expansion of their previous soundscape. “Ensis” reveals itself as finely nuanced, challenging, yet at the same time profoundly sensitive and multifaceted. The songs unfold like cosmic landscapes where heaviness and melancholy meet subtle emotionality. The intensity remains palpable, but it is complemented by a deeper sensitivity that draws the listener into a fragile balance between harshness and delicacy. “Ensis” is an album that demands and touches at once – a work that makes the complexity of human existence audible in the mirror of the universe.

The breakthrough album. Enrico Rava's second solo record, recorded in Milan in January 1973 and released on the German BASF label, is nothing less than a cornerstone of Italian jazz-rock - the record that caught Manfred Eicher's attention and opened the doors to ECM. Rava himself has called it his breakthrough, and history proved him right.

The lineup is killer: John Abercrombie on guitar, Bruce Johnson on bass, Chip White on drums. Four musicians operating at the absolute peak of early seventies fusion energy - electric, cosmopolitan, burning with that particular fire that only existed in that brief window when jazz met rock and nobody knew the rules yet. Abercrombie, already on his way to becoming one of the most distinctive voices in electric jazz guitar, delivers some of his most ferocious early work here. White's drumming is relentless, pushing the music forward with an intensity that never lets up.

If Miles' Bitches Brew-era speaks to you, if Ian Carr's Nucleus gets you moving, if you know Sun Ra's Lanquidity and Don Cherry's Relativity Suite by heart - this is essential listening. Rava's vision was already fully formed: South American rhythms, Mediterranean warmth, free jazz ferocity, rock power - all flowing together without borders or categories. By the early seventies, Rava had absorbed everything - the New Thing, the European free scene, the electric revolution coming out of Miles' studio - and forged something entirely his own.

The seven tracks cover serious ground. "Bunny's Pie" introduces the music with an almost cosmic atmosphere of suspense, hovering in that liminal space before it trails off into the up-tempo vibrant frenzy of "Trial N. 5" - Abercrombie and Rava trading swirling solos at full intensity, the rhythm section locked in tight. "Dimenticare Stanca" moves from Rava's expressive balladic intro into pure funk, guitar and trumpet steering over the rhythmic drive with absolute confidence. The title track carries the lyrical feel and cadence of an Incan-Peruvian folksong - that cosmopolitan spirit made audible. "Fluid Connection" rides a funky bass riff into fusion heaven, with standout trumpet and guitar solos that build and release with perfect tension. "Cheerin' Cherry" pays homage to the great Don Cherry - Rava's spiritual mentor and fellow traveler in world music - exploring a North African soundscape that points toward the global jazz to come. Johnson's "Peace" closes the album with a minute and a half of serene, blissful calm - a moment of stillness after the storm.

This audiophile reissue - cut from the original masters, pressed by Pallas in Germany on 180gm vinyl, housed in a thick laminated hand-glued gatefold - does full justice to an album that remains a collector's holy grail.

Don't sleep on this one. Limited Edition.

Bombastic yet delicate, crushing yet ethereal, driving yet dark, Temptress fuse drone, doom, grunge and hardcore into an obliterating molten blend. Temptress are a jigsaw of sonic touchstones with no audible seams. Bombastic yet delicate, crushing yet ethereal, driving yet dark, the trio fuse drone, doom, post-rock, grunge and hardcore into a molten blend that creeps and obliterates like a liquid metal assassin. With 200+ shows played in their relatively short tenure, Temptress' endless ideas and nuances slide perfectly into place thanks to its members' vast live experience. New album hear churns with searing hooks and dissonant grooves in an irresistible confluence of ideas, and fans of multi-voiced, genre-tag resistant bands like Heavy Temple, The Well and Hippie Death Cult should prepare to be drawn in by Temptress' unyielding allure. Multicolored LP (Molten Smoke Ed., pressed on transparent sepia, clear and black marbled vinyl, w/ lyrics sheet) & digipaked CD on offer!

2026 Repress

One of the leading names in contemporary underground music, Guy J, embarks on a new journey. As a dedicated futurist and sound enthusiast who pushes boundaries akin to science fiction, Guy delivers the first track on his new label with an abstract vision of the layered future of sound. This 15-minute preview of Guy J's forward-thinking, innovative work indicates a promising future for his label. Experience the birth and transformation of a new era in sound from day one!



Every beginning carries excitement and unpredictability, requiring something extraordinary. Whether rooted in creationism, biblical narratives, or the Big Bang Theory, both theological and scientific origin stories resonate with events echoing millions of years into the future. One of the leading names in contemporary underground music, Guy J, embarks on a new journey. As a dedicated futurist and sound enthusiast who pushes boundaries akin to science fiction, Guy delivers the first track on his new label with an abstract vision of the layered future of sound.

From the opening patterns till the end, A Million Years From Now offers an adventure, blending moments of free-flowing thought with a perfectly engineered audio collage that evokes a spectrum of abstract emotions-from melancholia and psychedelia to breathless excitement and, ultimately, pure euphoria.
The layered creativity transcends realism, leading listeners into a state of trance. The second piece, Just Rain, kicks off with a bass-heavy, pumping kick drum that vibrates speakers on any sound system.
However, Guy J transforms this from a rhythm-based track into a melodic epic. Its power lies in the seamless transitions and manipulation of effects and in the compositional structure that evolves over the eight-minute arrangement. Despite its subtle atmosphere, the melody culminates in an explosion of emotions that stimulate every frequency of the audible sound spectrum.

This 15-minute preview of Guy J's forward-thinking, innovative work indicates a promising future for his label. Experience the birth and transformation of a new era in sound from day one!

Grupo um celebrate 50 years with release of lost dictatorship-era album nineteen seventy seven!

First time release - vinyl comes with printed innersleeves

Brazilian avant-jazz vanguardists Grupo Um celebrate their 50th anniversary, sharing a second previously lost 1970s album from the vaults. Nineteen Seventy Seven (titled after the year it was recorded) is another rip-roaring instrumental fusion treasure from the band which spawned from within Hermeto Pascoal’s famed mid-1970s São Paulo collective.

Like their debut album Starting Point, Grupo Um’s Nineteen Seventy Seven was recorded when Brazil's military dictatorship was at its most repressive. “There were no open doors to those who dreamt to be protagonists in creative instrumental music”, remembers drummer Zé Eduardo Nazario, “even popular composers and singers had to submit their songs to censors and many records were banned and confiscated from the stores.”

Just like Hermeto Pascoal's Viajando Com O Som (1977) and Grupo Um's previous album Starting Point (1975), both of which remained unreleased until the 21st century, Zé Eduardo asserts that the 1977 album was flatly 'without any chance to be released at that time."

Recorded at Rogério Duprat’s Vice-Versa Studios in São Paulo, the group were under both time and space restraints, “we chose the small Studio B,” Lelo Nazario recalls, “which had a Tascam (TE AC) 12x8 console and a 4-channel AMPEX AG 440 machine. Therefore, we had to record without overdubs, everything straight to tape.”

Expanding from a trio to a quintet, original Grupo Um members Lelo Nazario (keys), Zé Eduardo Nazario (drums), and Zeca Assumpção (bass) were joined by saxophonist Roberto Sion and percussionist Carlinhos Gonçalves. Carlinhos, Zé and Zeca had already played together in the group Mandala, while brothers Lelo and Zé had just finished a stint backing Hermeto Pascoal during his years in São Paulo.

Lelo was deeply immersed in modular synthesizer experimentation during this period, working extensively with the ARP2600 and EMS Synthi AKS. These electroacoustic explorations formed the sonic foundation for "Mobile/Stabile," one of his first compositions to merge modular synthesis with Brazilian music, a fusion that would ripple throughout the Brazilian jazz scene. The piece premiered at the first São Paulo International Jazz Festival in 1978, performed by Grupo Um with guest trumpeter Márcio Montarroyos. In a shocking moment, festival organizers interrupted the show mid-performance, sparking fierce backlash from both audience members and journalists who denounced the incident as artistic censorship during Brazil's era of political and cultural repression. The version on Nineteen Seventy Seven is the first recording of the composition.

Nineteen Seventy Seven combines Afro-Brazilian rhythm, modular synthesis and a plethora of whistles, percussion and effects pedals. Album opener “Absurdo Mudo” - so titled for the absurd difficulty it poses to the musicians performing it - starts out in a cloud of mysterious dissonance, before the haze breaks for a glorious keyboard and saxophone interplay atop an uptempo samba groove. “Cortejo dos Reis Negros (Version 2)” (Procession of the Black Kings), based on the maracatu rhythm, inverts the traditional jazz song structure by beginning with improvisations, which are followed by the theme and a final coda. “The studio also had two Parasound electronic reverb units,” Lelo notes, “and the timbre is very audible on the soprano sax and percussion.”

Grupo Um’s daring music represents a manifesto of resistance during the dictatorship years, but it’s one which remains just as relevant today. As Lelo puts it: “For me, the aesthetic issue has always been about combining contemporary avant-garde languages with Brazilian music, independent of categories and commercial interests. The result of this fusion takes music to a new level.”

Recording credits (1977)
Recorded at Vice-Versa B Studio, São Paulo, November 9, 1977
Produced by Lelo Nazario and Zé Eduardo Nazario
Engineered by Ricardo “Franja” Carvalheira



Lelo Nazario – Wurlitzer electric piano, acoustic piano, signal generator, percussion

Zé Eduardo Nazario – drums, percussion

Zeca Assumpção – electric bass

Carlinhos Gonçalves – percussion

Roberto Sion – soprano sax, clarinet

Release credits (2025)
Produced by UTOPIA Studio, São Paulo
Project Coordination in Brazil by Irati Antonio (Utopia Studio)
Tape Restoration and Digital Mastering by Lelo Nazario at Utopia Studio, July 2025
Liner Notes by Lelo Nazario and Zé Eduardo Nazario
Photography by Jorge Las Heras, Lelo Nazario, and artists' personal archives
Photo Restoration by Lelo Nazario
Artwork and Design by Alessandro Renaldin

Una interpretación de Soinuarenbidea II debería partir de esta premisa: todo es posible, nada es aleatorio, y en sí mismo es un imposible de aleatoriedades. El escenario planteado explora la idea de realidad aumentada desde una percepción sonora, ambiental y colectiva. La obra transita hacia adelante y hacia atrás recreando experiencias extintas de porvenir incierto, tratando de facilitar un fin pacificador. Cada pieza sonora se crea, se despliega, se repliega y se destruye, en una torsión permanente de toda la realidad que hace posible cada fragmento musical, cada identidad acústica, cada espacio sonoro. Lo onírico, la ficción, y el viaje están continuamente presentes, y es en el transitar de cada fragmento donde se produce el diálogo de la exposición musical. Los elementos de esta ficción se recrean continuamente, en un continuum donde se entrelazan y se van contorsionando a medida que crecen o decrecen con cada fragmento de síntesis concreta. Los temas explícitamente musicales son el magma que conduce a dar voluptuosidad al disco, siendo la piel un contexto o límite que en sí mismo fluctúa indefinidamente en texturas y configuraciones posibles. Y la urdimbre del silencio es la síntesis que está continuamente presente y que trata de cohesionar los fragmentos en continua colisión expresiva. Las grabaciones de campo proporcionan el material sonoro concreto, y como un fractal sonoro cada una de ellas ofrece diferentes grados de interpretación que a su vez conduce a nuevos fragmentos y nuevas creaciones. Así que se puede pensar que esta es una síntesis de una posible realidad, pero interpretable en infinidad de maneras. Un movimiento y una estaticidad implícitas que generan estructuras y dinámicas acústicas. Lo que se escucha no es real, pero en sí mismo forma parte de la realidad, creando un escenario expectante. Lo cinematográfico, plástico y teatral, danzante y dinámico cobra importancia en este juego, porque se trata de contar una historia, una experiencia recreada desde los puntos de vista del arte visual. Es a su vez hilo conductor y entretenimiento, discurso político y puro divertimento. Es desde este espacio de convivencia artística que tiene sentido la totalidad y justifica el formato sonoro planteado. La contradicción de la obra es patente en el formato, y es a su vez el planteamiento de una accidentalidad en el devenir vital. Contenedor de Ruido recoge todas estas contradicciones y las manifiesta en la obra Soinuarenbidea II. Es una historia sonora, es un cuento acústico. Es un fragmento de vitalidad en imágenes audibles. Es una invitación a la reflexión, a la crítica, al disfrute, a la meditación, a la celebración. Y sobre todo es esperanzadora apreciación de la realidad como algo maleable que confeccionamos colectivamente, que requiere de una paciente observación y la participación colectiva global, en un mundo finito pleno de diversidades y del que ignoramos prácticamente todo, al que deberíamos volver con respeto y devoción.

Soinuarenbidea II-ren interpretazio batek premisa honetatik abiatu beharko luke: dena da posible, ezer ez da ausazkoa, eta, berez, ausazkotasun ezinezko bat da. Planteatutako agertokiak errealitate areagotuaren ideia aztertzen du, soinu-, ingurumen- eta talde-pertzepzio batetik abiatuta. Lanak aurrera eta atzera egiten du, etorkizun zalantzagarriko esperientzia desagertuak birsortuz eta helburu baketsua lortzen saiatuz. Soinu-pieza bakoitza sortu, hedatu, tolestu eta suntsitu egiten da, musika-zati bakoitza, identitate akustiko bakoitza eta soinu-espazio bakoitza ahalbidetzen dituen errealitate osoaren etengabeko bihurdura batean. Onirikoa, fikzioa eta bidaia etengabe daude presente, eta pasarte bakoitzaren joan-etorrian gertatzen da musika-erakusketaren elkarrizketa. Fikzio honen elementuak etengabe birsortzen dira, continuum batean, non sintesi zati zehatz bakoitzarekin hazi edo txikitu ahala elkar lotzen eta bihurritzen diren. Esplizituki musikalak diren gaiak diskoari atsegintasuna ematera eramaten duen magma dira, azala testuingurua edo muga izanik, testura eta konfigurazio posibleetan mugarik gabe aldatzen dena. Eta isiltasunaren irazkia etengabe presente dagoen sintesia da, zatiak etengabeko adierazpen-talkan kohesionatzen saiatzen dena. Landa-grabazioek soinu-material zehatza ematen dute, eta soinu-fraktal batek bezala, horietako bakoitzak interpretazio-maila desberdinak eskaintzen ditu, eta horrek, aldi berean, zati eta sorkuntza berrietara eramaten du. Beraz, pentsa daiteke errealitate posible baten sintesia dela, baina hamaika modutan interpreta daitekeena. Egitura eta dinamika akustikoak sortzen dituzten mugimendu eta estatikotasun inplizitu bat. Entzuten dena ez da erreala, baina, berez, errealitatearen parte da, eta agertoki espektakularra sortzen du. Zinematografikoak, plastikoak eta antzerkikoak, dantzariak eta dinamikoak garrantzia hartzen dute joko honetan, ikusizko artearen ikuspegitik birsortutako istorio bat, esperientzia bat, kontatzea baita helburua. Aldi berean, hari gidaria eta entretenimendua da, diskurtso politikoa eta dibertimendu hutsa. Elkarbizitzarako espazio artistiko honetatik osotasunak zentzua du eta planteatutako soinu-formatua justifikatzen du. Obraren kontraesana nabarmena da formatuan, eta, aldi berean, bizi-bilakaeran istripu-tasa bat planteatzea da. Zarata-edukiontziak kontraesan horiek guztiak jasotzen ditu eta Soinuarenbidea II obran adierazten ditu. Soinu istorio bat da, ipuin akustiko bat. Bizitasun zati bat da, irudi entzungarrietan. Hausnarketarako, kritikarako, gozamenerako, meditaziorako eta ospakizunerako gonbidapena da. Eta, batez ere, itxaropentsua da errealitatea modu kolektiboan egiten dugun gauza xaflakor gisa hautematea, behaketa pazientea eta partaidetza kolektibo globala eskatzen dituena, dibertsitatez betetako mundu mugatu batean, ia guztia kontuan hartzen ez duguna, eta errespetuz eta debozioz itzuli beharko genukeena.

An interpretation of Soinuarenbidea II should start from this premise: everything is possible, nothing is random, and in itself is an impossible randomness. The proposed scenario explores the idea of ​​augmented reality from a sonic, environmental, and collective perception. The work moves back and forth, recreating extinct experiences of an uncertain future, seeking to facilitate a peaceful end. Each sound piece is created, unfolds, retreats, and is destroyed, in a permanent twisting of all reality that makes each musical fragment, each acoustic identity, each sonic space possible. The dreamlike, the fictional, and the journey are continually present, and it is in the transit of each fragment that the dialogue of the musical exposition takes place. The elements of this fiction are continually recreated, in a continuum where they intertwine and contort as they grow or diminish with each fragment of concrete synthesis. The explicitly musical themes are the magma that leads to the work's voluptuousness, the skin being a context or boundary that in itself fluctuates indefinitely in possible textures and configurations. And the warp of silence is the synthesis that is continually present and seeks to unite the fragments in a continuous expressive collision. The field recordings provide the concrete sound material, and like a sonic fractal, each one offers different degrees of interpretation that in turn lead to new fragments and new creations. So one can think of this as a synthesis of a possible reality, but interpretable in an infinite number of ways. An implicit movement and staticity that generate acoustic structures and dynamics. What is heard is not real, but in itself is part of reality, creating an expectant scenario. The cinematic, plastic and theatrical, dance and dynamic aspects take on importance in this game, because it is about telling a story, an experience recreated from the perspective of visual art. It is at once a common thread and entertainment, political discourse and pure entertainment. It is from this space of artistic coexistence that the whole makes sense and justifies the proposed sound format. The contradiction of the work is evident in its format, and it is, in turn, the presentation of an accidentality in the course of life. Noise Container gathers all these contradictions and manifests them in the work Soinuarenbidea II. It is a sound story, an acoustic tale. It is a fragment of vitality in audible images. It is an invitation to reflection, to critique, to enjoyment, to meditation, to celebration. And above all, it is a hopeful appreciation of reality as something malleable that we collectively craft, requiring patient observation and global collective participation, in a finite world full of diversity and of which we know practically nothing, to which we should return with respect and devotion.

Paisajes sonoros, diseño sonoro, drones y música grabada, realizada y arreglada para Contenedor de Ruido por David Aranaz. Coro: Basandere Ahotsak. Producido y mezclado por David Aranaz. Mástering: Estanis Elorza. Fotografía: David Aranaz. Texto: David Aranaz. Traducción: Saioa Aranaz Oreja. Trabajo y Diseño artístico: Cristina Martinez. Edición: Contenedor de Ruido Producciones y Sarbide Music. Distribución: Contenedor de Ruido.

Contenedor de Ruido agradece el apoyo en la realización de Soinuarenbidea II al coro Basandere Ahotsak y en especial a Eva Orbara Goicoa.

Soinuarenbidea II está dedicado al pueblo palestino.

Paisajes y objetos Sonoros, samplers y otras músicas transformadas para Soinuarenbidea II
Burlada: Paseos sonoros matinales por Merindad de Sangüesa, Calle Mayor, Capuchinas, Parque Uranga y varias iglesias y plazas. Pasajes del cotidiano: basura de papel, cristal y plástico.
Pamplona: Cementerio de San José. CEIP Sanduzelai /// Quinto Real: Fábrica de Armas, Puerto de Urkiaga y alrededores. Suite del silencio, bosques en movimiento /// Fábrica de armas de Orbaiceta: regatas, biosques, paseo sonoro hasta regata /// Belate: Puerto de Belate y alrededores. Vacas en pradera junto a las turberas /// Bardenas Reales: Suite de guitarra y Suite del silencio, estepa desértica /// Austria: Tranvías de Graz y Viena. Muchedumbre del metro de Viena.
Voces cinematográficas de: Matanza en Texas, Robocop, Espíritu Sagrado, Solo los Amantes Sobreviven, Voces de Gaza, Yojimbo, Terciopelo Azul, Los 7 Magníficos.
La pista A2 está dedicada a la memoria de David Lynch.
La pista B4 está dedicada a Eva Orbara Goicoa.
Pista A4: Contiene interpretaciones de piano de Three Piano Pieces Op.11 de Arnold Schoenberg.
Pista A5: Es una interpretación expandida con síntesis FM del Concerto Op. 24 - Etwas lebhaft - de Anton Webern.
Pista A7: Contiene la canción Besarkatu ninduzun (Letra de Josune López y música de Josu Elberdin) en interpretación de Basandere Ahotsak en la iglesia de Burutain bajo la tormenta.
Pista B2: Contiene la canción Recuerdos de la Alhambra (Fernando Tárrega) en interpretación torsionada de David Aranaz Sarasa.
Pista B14: Contiene la canción Agur María (Letra y Música de Estíbaliz Robles “Estitxu” y arreglo exclusivo de Alfonso Ortiz para Basandere Ahotsak) en interpretación de Basandere Ahotsak.

Equipamiento para Soinuarenbidea II.
Micros de condensador SE7, configuración XY y ORTF; Micros de cinta ORTIZ LUTHIER configuración XY y Blumlein; Grabadoras MARANTZ y ZOOM; Sintetizadores y samplers Elektron MONOMACHINE SPS-1, MACHINEDRUM SFX6 y MODEL:SAMPLES. Dave Smith MOPHO. Torso Electronics S-4. Sintetizador Modular 333 DIY; Guitarra clásica ALHAMBRA 6P; Esculturas Sonoras tipo Baschet, cristal y metales; Mesa Soundcraft FX16ii; Interface de Audio RME Babyface Pro FS; DAW Logic Pro; Procesamiento de modelado analógico con Acústica Audio, Waves, Softube, Brainworx, Sonible, Analog Obsesion, Tokio Dawn. Metering de Logic y RME DigiCheck . Amplificación Hafler PRO2400. Monitorización BW DM602 S3. Mezcla digital; Mastering híbrido.

'In 2023, sound artist and composer Weston Olencki toured across the American South. Beginning in their hometown in South Carolina, they snaked a circuitous path from the mountains of West Virginia to the banks of the Mississippi River. As the miles accumulated, so did the initial seeds of new work.
'Instruments and artifacts they acquired hitched a ride in the backseat, while songs and sounds filled their portable recorder: water in its various states, the familiar insectoid buzz of those summer nights, trains cutting through the landscape, the traditional music that lived alongside the communities that kept it. Olencki took it all in, and over time, found ways that these experiences coalesced into a bramble-like perspective of time, where past, present, and future intersect in ways both barbed and beautiful.
'Broadsides, Olencki’s newest solo full-length is the multilayered result of this journey. The album follows their landmark release Old Time Music from 2022, which presented radical interpretations of traditional tunes from Appalachia and throughout the South alongside original compositions that drew significantly on archival recordings. On Broadsides, Olencki rejects delineations between the unmoored avant-garde and the rootedness of one’s cultural heritage, revealing their porous and intertwined nature. “My mother was a quilter. Her mother before that,” they write in the album’s liner notes. “Quilting, like music, is a practice of embedding knowledge and remembrance into the very core of the thing you are making. It’s not just about the materials, but how they’re reassembled, recontextualized, stitched, woven to form new patterns - the minutiae of craft holding significance to those looking to find it. Stories woven from stories, never told the same way twice.”
'Like all great road trips, Broadsides unfolds slowly and continuously, with moments of dramatic reverie punctuating the endless melt of highway in the rearview. We’re immediately confronted by the uncanniness of revisiting old haunts, as Southern storms break through the initial churn of the freight locomotives of Alabama. Olencki’s interpretation of the bluegrass standard “Foggy Mountain Breakdown” captures the euphoria of melancholy in motion. The permutational plucks of banjo are bounced around the frame by a computer, its pitches determined within algorithmic sequences and transcriptions of classic three-finger licks. The tonalities of old-time are smeared and stretched until all that’s audible is the insistence that Heaven might be real.
'In the album’s second half, “Omie Wise,” a murder ballad made famous by Doc Watson, follows an interlude recorded on the river in North Carolina in which the titular character’s body was laid. Ghostly echoes of a dozen other renditions float through the substrata as Tongue Depressor’s Henry Birdsey accompanies them on the pedal steel guitar. The album’s central composition, “all my father’s clocks,” is a profound meditation on entropy and impermanence. The sound of their father’s extensive clock collection ticks away as Olencki pulls a bow across the length of an autoharp sourced from a rural strip mall. The instrument was left as detuned as it was found, the resonance of its deep bass drone and clanging high-end the result of years of neglect and the warping effects of Southern humidity.
'Historically, broadsides were an early form of broadcasting, an often- musicalized telling of current news pasted in the public square. The name was later taken up by Sis Cunningham and Gordon Friesen in the 1960s, whose Broadside magazine published songs and social commentary when American folk music resurfaced as an urgent way of communicating the multifaceted politics of its time.
'Olencki borrows the phrase to recall both this old form of songmaking and that later prominent reexamination of traditional music’s role in modern life, but also to draw attention to the fragmented and machine- mediated way heritage is diffused in this very different, but no less pivotal, moment.
'As a sanitized past is used as justification for current violence and domination, we can turn to these artifacts to better understand the history of ourselves, but only if they are consciously pushed to evolve. Broadsides represents one personal, striking vision of what far-flung futurisms could be respun from = these high, lonesome sounds: a reflection of the unbridled joy and deep sorrow inherent to living together through time, and a desire to push further into the untold and unknown.'

On her fourth full-length album as Shedir, Sardinian sound artist Martina Betti offers a profound meditation on what it means to be human on the threshold of uncertainty.

We Are All Strangers is a series of ambient tapes-tries shaped by duality and introspection, where sound becomes a space to explore the tension between identity and ambiguity, presence and disappearance, connection and solitude. Inspired by the idea that we are all strangers, however, first and foremost to ourselves, Betti crafts seven fluid, slow-burn compositions that inhabit a sociological liminal zone—what she comments as an “inner elsewhere.”

These aren’t songs in the traditional sense, but evolving sonic environments that feel like emotional states made audible. Environmental textures, submerged electronics, and deep low-end pulses coalesce into a dreamlike architecture of sound: immersive, fragile, and quietly transformative.

Rather than offering answers or closure, the album invites us to live in radical openness—to stop trying to define everything we see and feel, and instead bathe in what remains unnamed. In this sense, We Are All Strangers is an invitation: to sit with uncertainty, to embrace the unfinished, and to find resonance even in our collective disconnection.

For listeners drawn to the introspective frequencies of Rafael Anton Irisarri, Félicia Atkinson, or Lawrence English, Betti’s music offers a similarly haunting and immersive experience—one where strangeness is not a flaw, but a starting point. In her hands, ambient music becomes a kind of reflective shelter: a place to brush against each other in the dark and begin to learn, as she puts it, “the difficult art of closeness.”

With ten original compositions (and one well-chosen cover) to record and a schedule window of just one day in New York City to record them, there was no margin for error. For the frontline Kerry picked a pair of legends - Kurt Rosenwinkel on guitar and Jaleel Shaw on alto and soprano sax. In the rhythm section she selected NYC's busiest bassist Alex Claffy and, keeping it close to home, her partner George Colligan on drums. And in the face of delayed flights and traffic hold- ups, the album Alternate Route was created, hitting the highest standards of performance with the depth and warmth of Kerry's challenging but engaging compositions. It's a set of tough and tender tunes that combine sophisticated harmony with intricate but accessible melodies to inspire some fierce blowing from everyone, all delivered with a concise, timely precision.

The empathy and good feeling flowing between the players are audible from the first notes: "Kurt, Jaleel and Alex all have Philly roots so there's a really strong relationship there. Alex is incredibly gifted, and Jaleel is such a beautiful player with such a huge, recognizable sound. And it was such a thrill to have Kurt on the album - he's one of my favorite composers and I've been a fan for such a long time." Each player has a powerful personality and Kerry allows them free rein, yet such is the strength of her compositions, and her calmly stated but immensely powerful presence on piano, that no one player dominates the music: everyone finds their own alternate route to excellence.

Sonetos del Amor Oscuro is an ode performed by four enchanted souls who have intertwined their hearts and conjured harmonies and rhythms that wander endlessly among the spellbinding words of a poet from Granada... Federico García Lorca;
He wrung, pushed and vibrated words like tectonic plates, transforming plains into poetic mountain landscapes. He then covered them with a Moorish carpet of snow crystals and had them reflected by the dark locks of hair of a gypsy girl from Albaicín who, with a voice forged in gold and silver, sings her little sister to sleep with a soothing lullaby.

Helena Casella – vocals
Myrddin De Cauter – flamenco guitar
Stijn Kuppens – cello
Stefan Bracaval – flute, bass flute

Helena Casella, the Belgian-Brazilian vocalist with a deep, soft and warm voice, translates her multicultural background and personal thoughts into music in a passionate, soulful and refined way. With her roots in an exceptionally musical family, her music exudes this unique heritage. She effortlessly interweaves genres such as R&B, soul, hip hop and modern jazz, while remaining true to the vibrant sounds of Brazil, an essential part of her roots.
Her debut album was released earlier this year on W.E.R.F. records.

Myrddin De Cauter's music is deeply moving, complex, passionately rhythmic and deeply emotional. He has mastered the compás of flamenco, which gives him the freedom to converse with elements from jazz or classical music. His speed sometimes seems otherworldly, but those who take the time to listen closely to his music will quickly discover an immense world of pure emotion, beauty and tranquillity. After six albums and countless concerts, Myrddin proves that great virtuosos do not necessarily have to come from Spain. At the tender age of eleven, his father taught him to play the clarinet in jazz and gypsy swing style; he became part of the family orchestra and gained his first experiences on stage. A classical melody composed on the guitar prompted him to ask his father to teach him the basics of flamenco guitar. Soon after, Myrddin seemed ready for the real thing and went to Andalusia to learn from Manolo Sanlucar and Gerardo Núñez. This inspired him to compose in his own unique language, deeply rooted in the pure flamenco tradition but enriched by boundless creativity.

Stijn Kuppens is a cellist, composer and producer. In his own genre, which he describes as non-classical cello, he uses the cello in his own unique way. His profound knowledge of the complex history and techniques of the style is clearly audible: Kuppens' mastery of classical music is evident in every note he plays, whether he is performing solo or collaborating with other musicians. His skill as a musician and ambition to explore the boundaries of conventional classical music is evident in his ability to seamlessly blend different genres.

Stefan Bracaval is a classically trained flutist who graduated from the Royal Conservatory of Antwerp. His fascination with the expressive potential of improvisation led him to jazz, where he became a self-taught jazz flutist. Bracaval has collaborated on projects with prominent jazz figures such as Charles Loos, Bert Joris and the Brussels Jazz Orchestra. In addition, he worked as a soloist and arranger with the VRT Radio Choir in 2016. Bracaval leads the Stefan Bracaval QU4RTET, which emphasises the flute as a central jazz instrument and brings new repertoire rooted in jazz traditions.

Live
31/10/2025 – Café Silverio, Gent (BE)
15/01/2026 – Kloosterkapel Diepenbeek (BE)
16/01/2026 – ‘t Ey, Belsele (BE)
17/01/2026 – Sint-Luciakerk (kerkconcerten Merode), Engsbergen (BE)
23/01/2026 – Muziekcentrum Dranouter (BE)

His eighth studio LP, Action Adventure, finds DJ Shadow continuing to evolve as a producer and songwriter over 14 mostly instrumental tracks. It is a thrilling new addition to an influential body of work defined by a restless ear, always searching to rescue some forgotten gem from the dustbin of music history or a fresh blast of sound from the cutting edge.

Simon Popp is back on Squama with his fourth album Trio.
At its heart, Trio is a work about collaboration, playfulness and unification. It is music as a means of coming together, a sonic equivalent to the Japanese philosophy of Kintsugi, in which broken ceramics are repaired with a visible golden lacquer. Rather than hiding the breaks, Kintsugi embraces them, making them part of the story, a form of delicate transformation. Popp and his collaborators Flurin Mück and Sebastian Wolfgruber take a similar approach: three distinct drummers, three different temperaments, three personal styles. Fused together into a single expressive instrument.
The album is a celebration of timbre, texture, and touch, its sound palette drawn from across continents and traditions. Human beings at all points of time, across all cultures and continents have used music to celebrate, mourn, worship and bond. Along with our voices, creating rhythm with our bodies. Clapping, stomping, hitting with sticks. A celebration of rhythm as both a shared human memory and an audible expression of close bonds.
Trio is a reflection of the beauty of imperfection and the timeless pull of rhythm as a shared human force. The cracks are not hidden. They are filled with gold.

Manchester based trio, Sonnenspot have unashamedly taken their favourite records from the Kosmische Musik landscape and fused these to inform their own spontaneous sonic constructions. Motorik drums, pulsating flutes, wah guitar and almost excessive use of space echo make this a dense and dreamy listen, with a hint of the rainy pensiveness of their home town.

Notable inspiration from Neu!, Manuel Gottsching, Sonic Youth and Yo La Tengo is all clearly audible in the various recordings on this album and minimal effort was made to shy away from this. The longest track 'Motorway' is an epic homage to the space rock art form and 'Madrugada' takes both John Martyn's 'Small Hours' and Gottsching's 'Inventions' as a starting point. Others include the tobacco lovers art-rock-ear-worm ('Liquorice Paper'), a dub laden celestial synth jam ('Slow Blinker') and the album opens with the first thing the band ever recorded, as a meaningless improvisation to tune their synths up to ('Figurescene'). Turned out it had a killer bass line and drum part.

Initial sessions were mostly just an excuse for the three long standing friends to get together musically for the first time, and after knowing each other for many full moons, it was long overdue.

They all bring some peripheral musical heritage to the table. Ian Smith was the guitarist in Alfie and the The Beep Seals and played on Badly Drawn Boy's 'The Hour of Bewilderbeast'. Pete Philipson played in Jane Weaver's band for ten years and has made his own ambient guitar albums. Dan Hope plays in the jazz folk band Mother Sky and promotes events around the city under the Rainy Heart banner.
They were joined by another long term musical friend Sam Kynaston who added heavenly flute to much of the album.

Limited Edition of 200 copies incl. Dolphins Remix (DALO, Benedikt Frey and Menqui).

Hot seducers. Two of them. On one 7inch. A/B Side business, hard to choose a fav, as both so fab. The A-Side is called "Happen". It comes from prolific Tokyo based DJ and producer Hoshina Anniversary. A simple drum machine groove, a manic melody, witching siren sounds, psychedelic voices, some soft chords, and soulful high-pitched singing, somewhere between Dam-Funk coolness and Ian Svenonius-The-Make-Up sixties pop longing. One for warm sexy nights under neon lights. Out there in psychic realms. The flip brings a Dolphins interpretation. Yes, that feverish trio behind R.i.O., consisting of Nadia D'Alò, Benedikt Frey and Menqui. Their freshly recorded version comes with haunting nonchalant singing, displaying the tunes core melody as a more prominent actor of the play. Michael-Mann-Pop-Nostalgia with a baroque touch, that waves dark-ish. Even some Jon Hassle feeling is in there. Hoshina Anniversary disclosed, that the original song is inspired by jazz musicians like Chet Baker, Miles Davis, Sonny Rollins, Chick Corea, Herbie Hancock, Jaco Pastorius and Keith Jarrett. None of them is directly stylistically audible. But their kind of blue is all over. On the A as well as on the B. Twice soul music for the free.

"The Golden Age of Wireless is the debut album by English musician Thomas Dolby. The album was originally released in May 1982. Several tracks have a submerged, barely audible layer of almost random sound that serves as a constant (and disturbing) subtext, occasionally erupting into a song. This sonic underworld is all part of Dolby's mechanical wizardry. Rolling Stone magazine awarded The Golden Age of Wireless four stars out of five, calling it ""one of the most impressive debuts"" of 1982. They compared the album's melodicism to the works of Paul McCartney and concluded that ""unlike many synthesizer bands from England, Dolby eschews morbid, droogy drones."" Musician magazine said the album was ""the best damned record to come out of Europe's current fascination with synth-pop. Period."" Theye added, ""Dolby is purely amazing. And best of all, he writes songs.""

The Golden Age Of Wireless is available as a limited edition of 1000 individually numbered copies on silver coloured vinyl and includes an insert. "

When the hypnotic groove of Berlin band Onom Agemo & The Disco Jumpers meets the pulsating riffs of Malian guitarist and singer Ahmed Ag Kaedy, new horizons open up.


At the centre of 'Common Stars' is Ahmed Ag Kaedy's distinctive vocals - always with poetic urgency. His lyrics, deeply rooted in the political and cultural realities of his homeland, deal with freedom, home and the search for identity. They deal with the ongoing conflict of the Tuareg in Mali, who are caught between the desire for cultural self-determination and political tensions with the central government. They also address the threat posed by Islamist groups, which have controlled parts of northern Mali and banned music since 2012. Ahmed Ag Kaedy had to flee his home country due to this repression. With his band Amanar, he shaped modern Tuareg rock and toured internationally. The collaboration with Onom Agemo began after he came to Berlin for the premiere of the film 'Mali Blues', in which he is one of the protagonists, and led to joint concerts throughout Europe.

'Common Stars' is a musical meeting of cultures that unites sounds from the Sahara to Berlin. Music that creates connections and makes different perspectives audible. The tracks are characterised by trance-like rhythms, hypnotic bass lines and shimmering saxophone and flute sounds. Pulsating synthesizers, dry-as-dust guitar riffs and improvisational outbursts interweave to create a soundscape that is sometimes driving, sometimes floating and creates a very unique, captivating atmosphere. Ahmed Ag Kaedy describes it aptly: 'Space jazz meets the rhythm of the camel.'

The 2018 live performance captured on Carlos Niño & Miguel Atwood-Ferguson’s Chicago Waves marked another beautiful turning point for International Anthem. The set was recorded at our then HQ, Co-Prosperity, the day after Niño and Ferguson performed as part of Makaya McCraven’s Universal Beings ensemble to celebrate the release of his album by the same name and recreate their contributions to the music on the record’s “LA Side”.

The release of the recording as the Chicago Waves album at the height of the COVID-19 Pandemic drove home the unmistakable sound of togetherness audible in its grooves in a way that only a society trapped in their houses for a year can truly understand. But as that year fades further into the rearview mirror, Chicago Waves still maintains its power. It’s not a mystery—this is what togetherness sounds like.
The IA11 Edition LP features our IARC 2025 obi strip, plus a new 16-page 11x11" insert booklet with additional photos and extensive new liner notes by IARC co-founder Scott McNiece.

Front man Austin Getz doesn't blink when asked to sum up Turnover's third full-length, Good Nature. "Learning," he replies. "This whole record is about learning. Opening your eyes to new things, going outside of your comfort zone, and learning to grow into something new."The album's unique blend of musical and spiritual growth is immediately audible on the opening track, "Super Natural," a late-summer idyll of intertwined guitar parts and laidback vocals. Listening to how the leisurely "Nightlight Girl" melts into a more propulsive selection like "Breeze," and the way Good Nature flows together as a seamless whole, it's also evident that the foursome has been paying closer attention to how artists from earlier eras made full-length albums: the range of textures, tempos, and dynamics on Good Nature are infuenced in part by bossa nova, cool jazz, electronic music, and psychedelic grooves. This infux of new infuences and inspiration, navigated by Peripheral Vision producer Will Yip, results in the band's best album to date. Good Nature comes from a place of calm and contentment, nurtured by looking inward.

I must admit to being a sucker for two-guitar bands. Ok, Hendrix pulled off a trio. But I don’t care what anybody says: The Yardbirds were a better band than anything that came out of them (Ok, maybe not Zep. But Cream?).

Maybe the reason I go back so far in my references is that, within the two-guitar band format, original new roles are difficult and rare. There’s the classic (socially problematic and often boring) “rhythm/lead” solution. There’s the JB’s or Nile Rodgers’ chicken pickin’ vs comping solution (which avoids chordal clashes by relegating one of the guitars to the role of single-note percussion instrument). There’s Ornette’s Prime Time division between Bern Nix’s rolled-off “jazz” tone and Charles Ellerbee’s trebly wah. Almost everything else is a variation on one of these.


In Ches Smith’s record Clone Row, each piece is built around a different concept for guitar interaction. The delightful and gifted weirdness of Mary Halvorson’s playing is counterpointed, contrasted, unisoned with, played off, juxtaposed (that is to say, enters every relationship possible) with Liberty Ellman’s equally amazing sound palette, chops, and imagination. This definitely ain’t your father’s guitar band.
The overall vibe of the record—despite Halvorson’s occasional noise outbursts or Ellman’s distorted guitar lines (see Mixed Fridge) is neither punk/funk, nor Zorn-ish metal—and certainly not the looser parameters of Ornette’s improvised harmolodics. Smith’s vibraphone playing, Halvorson’s guitar tone (whammy pedal squiggles aside), the brilliant electronics, and (most of all) the compositions themselves are somehow strangely West Coast cool. It’s as if I’m hearing a Jim Hall concert in which one of us did a lot of mushrooms, or (dare I write this?) some post-punk post-Dave Brubeck post-trip-hop experiment with classical form.

This recording is, most of all, about Ches as composer. He’s picked up a lot on his long, strange trip of the last few decades. The Haitian funkiness of his work with We All Break is audible—but deeply buried, encoded in the polyrhythms (check out Heart Breakthrough). His long-running side musician collaborations with John Zorn and Tim Berne are also evident but sublimated here into something new.

Not that improvising is absent. Check out the compelling collective statements in Sustained Nightmare and Ready Beat. Check out the brilliant interplay and bass soloing on Abrade With Me (a Weather Report for the age of extreme weather?) Nick Dunston is my favorite bassist of the new generation, and he plays brilliantly throughout. And Ches’ drumming here has all the groove, energy, and incredible range that have kept him in demand from Saturday night Vodou services to jazz and new music recording sessions (…the thinking man’s rock barbarian?).
The sus chords in Abrade With Me do build, for a moment, towards a fusion type of climax...but just at the moment I was gritting my teeth in anticipated defense against some horrible synth solo, the drums drop out, and we’re transported to the ambient lounge at the rave, and we suddenly understand we’re in the hands of a composer with the power to transport us just about anywhere.
So, this is a composer’s record most of all; a composer’s record performed by musicians who happen to be great improvisers. Ches Smith builds here on his reputation as a gifted new voice with an important vision, while showcasing some of the most creative musicians of our time.

Shiken Hanzo is an artist not easily forgotten. His sound splices the fractious traditions of jungle with more ambient touches and this hybridisation has us incredibly excited to bring you his first full length album - ‘Fate Worlds’. In doing so, his boundless creativity is brandished through complete artistic freedom. The result is a special blend of foreboding atmospherics and tightly-bound percussive force, an odyssey of an album which takes influences from across the jungle spectrum and twists them into a unique musical journey. Hanzo's record on label's like Samurai Music and Cylon Recordings is clearly audible, a palpable legacy that has given breadth to his current creative purpose: to make ever-evolving music with no respect for conventions or boundaries.

'Quiet Pieces' initiates Abul Mogard’s personal imprint Soft Echoes with a definitive self-portrait of calm, contemplative, and discreet inner landscapes made audible. It is the first solo album on vinyl in four years. RIYL Alessandro Cortini, William Basinski, The Caretaker.

While sifting through archived material left idle from earlier projects, a chance encounter with a late uncle’s trove of beloved 78rpm classical and opera records prompted the reworking and completion of what would eventually become the album. Spinning dusty records at 33 and 45rpm, Abul Mogard recombined their enduring spectres with unfinished sketches from his archive. The resulting soundscape blurs distinctions between his memories and those of another, exquisitely short-circuiting the senses with its waking, dream-like lucidity.

This was a process I hadn’t explored in my earlier works. I began sampling brief moments from these records, altering them with studio effects and playing them at slower speeds. In many cases, I wasn’t entirely sure how the original music sounded. These fragments, once further processed, became a source of inspiration for my new compositions. Over time, I realised that the old pieces from the archive and the new material derived from the samples naturally complemented each other.”

The resulting pieces hover over a threshold, a liminal space that harmonises the old and older material. Voluminous waves of quiet and loud undulate between consonance and dissonance, conjuring imagery of a decaying grandeur that humanity’s decadence has surrendered to the elements. Abul Mogard’s seemingly abandoned yet vast landscapes are nevertheless intimate with timbral frissons of red-lined distortion. Elusive, yet as tangible as sea spray or smog, they affect the olfactory senses with a rarified, synesthetic quality that modestly engages one’s emotional register – a hypnotic, distinguishing feature long hailed as one of the hallmarks of his work. A fidelity to memory and dream recall is sensitively probed in the journey from the stately symphonic stasis of 'Following a dream' to the almost industrial, untethered brutality evoked by a looming silhouette that’s never fully visible in 'Constantly slipping away', culminating in the foreboding coda of 'Like a bird'. Those pieces appear to shield the album’s sentimental core, where the tempestuous play of light and shadow of 'In a studded procession' escalates to breathtaking, panoramic climax, while 'Through whispers' evokes an out-of-body-like experience encountered with visceral poignancy.

Looking back, Mogard notes an unexpected influence: “I realise being inspired by Phill Niblock, whose work I had barely known at the time but explored after his passing in 2024. His album 'Boston Tenor Index' changed the way I approached dissonance. It encouraged me to push my sound further, to the edge of a space where I began to feel uncomfortable.”

The album artwork, created by longtime collaborator Marja de Sanctis, features a photograph taken at the Temple of Jupiter Anxur, an archaeological site overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Captured with an iPhone, the image traces the residual presence of construction techniques and architectural forms of the Romans, where material history is transcribed through contemporary tools. The convergence of ancient and modern technology aims to reverberate the site’s lasting spiritual presence – an echo persisting in what is now perceived as a quiet, emptied space. The spiral gestures towards infinity and light. Past and present dissolve into one another, reflecting 'Quiet Pieces' meditation on sound, memory, and time.

RIYL Alessandro Cortini, William Basinski, The Caretaker

On ‘Animal’, Ash Fure appeals to “animal intelligence” by using sounds that are inherently physical and driven by perception, athleticism and interaction. Placing polycarbonate sheeting over an inverted subwoofer she built alongside her partner Xavi Aguirre and brother Adam, Fure isolates the physical impact of sound by focusing on psychoacoustic sub-bass pulses, semi-perceptible micro-rhythms and discomfiting white noise bursts, linking the process to her experiences in Berlin and Detroit’s techno dungeons where the sound has to adapt to the space it’s performed in. When she performed ‘Animal’ for the first time, Fure fabricated a “listening gym”, allowing the audience to interact in real-time by circuit training in response to the sound. The sweat is almost audible across the record, a run-on selection of rhythms, resonances and abstractions that sound like interlocking heartbeats on a series of treadmills. Her fascination with techno’s cavernous cathedrals is clear from the beginning, but Fure doesn’t worship at the altar: we’re hit with the feeling, not the aesthetic. The beats themselves, made from unstable vibrations and waterlogged, reverberating clicks, echo the brain’s unconscious reaction to repetition in a vast concrete box, the feeling you get when each percussive snag ricochets from every surface in the building. Coddling these whirring, criss-crossing polyrhythms with harsh, distorted low-end retches, Fure accurately recreates the energy and fatigue of the endless weekend sesh. We never once encounter techno in its expected shell, just its residue - the outline of humans figuring out their relationship with technology, architecture and each other. Fure’s use of dynamics is also deviously smart, marking out an overall rhythm that’s not tied to the strength of the sounds themselves, but just volume and physical impact. Often her most brutal sounds - ear-splitting squeals and overdriven mechanical whirrs - are reduced to an almost inaudible level, a bit like the bandy legged trip to the bathroom, or the escape to some dimly lit nook, the part of the night where you can still detect the sound on your skin without being battered by it. When the undulating rhythm returns in earnest, Fure masks acidic sequences in jet engine expulsions, still refusing to objectify anything that an AI model might be able to pick up on.

David Janeway’s 1986 independent release Entry Point is a gathered and stylish offering of fusion jazz, flitting between Latin, modal and spiritual themes. Featuring desirable cameos from the likes of Bob Berg, Steve Berrios and Marcus Belgrave, the album comprises seven tracks, six of which are original Janeway compositions.

Self-released in 1986, Entry Point didn’t initially make a splash and fell into relative obscurity, only to be discovered by rare jazz collectors and dealers many years later. Upon contacting David with a view to potentially reissue Entry Point, he revealed that he had original sealed copies of the release in his possession – a record which has commanded high prices in jazz dealer circles. We have exclusively imported the last of the original stock: what you’ll get here are original, sealed copies from 1986, pressed up on David’s New Direction label. They are all in mint condition, sealed in their original shrink wrapping, and extremely limited in quantity, with only forty copies in stock.

Entry Point is a beautiful album full of outstanding musicianship, dedication, craft and audible passion, informed by the many diverse musical stylings of its time and gathered by the overarching sonic maturity and discipline of jazz. A true classic of its ilk, and a one-of-a-kind album that is an absolute must for any discerning jazz collector, a newly discovered gem that is long overdue recognition for the outstanding piece of work that it truly is.

David Janeway is an extraordinary pianist with a great facility and wealth of ideas. He exhibits maturity and depth in his playing. He has most definitely “ARRIVED”. ~ Eddie Henderson

Emerging from the suburbs of North London in the early 1990s, Hulusi was an experimental electronic music collective formed by four friends of multi-ethnic origin: Cypriot, Caribbean, Indian and English heritage. Cultivating their musical practice within very specific parameters of time and space, Hulusi instills the essence and spirit of the acid house movement (and its aftermath) that had taken much of England by storm from 1988 onwards. The ‘Dream’ EP was the collective's first release of their self-funded and limited output, offering up a categorically elusive record that could soundtrack the most esoteric and life affirming club moments, whilst simultaneously satisfying the ears and obscure desires of those found dwelling in the heavily occupied ‘chill out’ rooms and nocturnal after parties. As the emerging UK rave scene aligned with newfound accessibility of music production, the late 80s and early 90s became a fertile ground for experimental electronic music, spawning a generation of bedroom and basement producers interacting with and creating music for often the very first time. Like many, Hulusi was a musical project that connected the dots between DIY spirit, technological advancements and the burgeoning cultural phenomenon of acid house. The project operated outside of the then perceived, traditional band conventions, instead developing their sound and exchanging ideas through the format of demo tapes and floppy disks, nurturing their work through individual bedroom studios and feedback sessions. Considered a crucial and possibly defining element of the record, is Hulusi’s unconscious exploration of the groups hybrid cultural identity. Rooted in a shared desire for self-invention, the Dream EPreflects Hulusi's response to a world of rapid musical and technological change. Each track on the record draws inspiration from both Western and Eastern musical frameworks, symbolized through the record’s structure. The ‘Western Side’, featuring "Dream," echoes the ambient techno and acid house influences of early rave culture and bands like 808 State and Orbital. In contrast, the ‘Eastern Side’ of the record is highly decorated with samples, yet stripped back, through its purposeful use of organic sounds, reflecting the group's fascination with blending Western modernism with imagined Eastern themes. Despite operating in near obscurity, Hulusi - The Dream EP acts as an audible catalyst to transport the listener to a different time and place, offering a lucid snapshot into the musical and cultural explorations of the past whilst simultaneously remaining a timeless piece of music.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Aunes is a rare solo album from peripatetic Australian cellist-composer-performer Judith Hamann, presenting six pieces recorded across several years and countries. Developing the collage techniques and expanded sound palettes heard on their previous releases, Aunes makes use of synthesizers, organ, voice and location recordings alongside the dazzlingly pure, enveloping tones of Hamann's cello. The record takes its name from an old French unit of measurement for fabric, varying around the country and from material to material. Unlike the platinum metre bar deposited in the National Archives after the Revolution as an immovable standard, an aune of silk differed from an aune of linen: the measure could not be separated from the material. In much the same way, in these six pieces_which Hamann thinks of as `songs'_formal aspects such as tuning, pacing, melodic shape and timbre are not abstractions applied universally to musical material but are inextricable from the instruments and sounds used, even from the places and communities in which the music was made. Audible location sound embeds the music in its place of making, as in the delicate duet for church organ and wordless singing `schloss, night', where shuffles and cluttering in the reverberant church space form a phantom accompaniment, gradually displaced by a uneasy shimmer of wavering tones from half-opened organ stops. `Casa Di Riposo, Gesu' Redentore' documents a walk up a hill to an outdoor mass in Chiusure, layering voices near and far with footsteps, insects and other incidental sounds. Like in the work of Moniek Darge or Luc Ferrari, location recordings are folded on themselves in space and time, their documentary function dislocated to dreamlike effect. On other pieces, it is the emphatic presence of the performing body that grounds the music, whether in the intimate fragility of Hamann's softly sung and hummed vocal tones or the clothing that rustles across a microphone on the opening `by the line'. The idea of a music inextricable from its material conditions is perhaps most strikingly communicated on the album's briefest piece `bruststärke (lung song)', composed from layered whistling recorded while Hamann suffered through an asthma flare up, the results halfway between field recordings of an imaginary aviary and the audiopoems of Henri Chopin. More than any of Hamann's previous solo works, a strong melodic sensibility runs through Aunes, even when, like on `seventeen fabrics of measure', the music hangs together by the merest thread. At other points, Hamann's love of pop music is more obvious: the rich synth harmonies of `by the line' could almost be a melting fragment of a backing track from Hounds of Love. The expansive closing piece `neither from nor toward' exemplifies the highly personal musical language that Hamann has developed in recent years through constant solo performance (and a rigorous discipline of instrumental practice), pairing two overdubbed voices with the boundless depth and harmonic richness of just-intoned cello notes, calling up Ockegham or Linda Caitlin Smith in its elegiac slow motion arcs. Hamann's most personal work yet, Aunes arrives in a striking sleeve reproducing a section of a painting made from sewn pieces of dyed wool by Wilder Alison, a friend and fellow resident at Akademie Schloss Solitude, one of the temporary homes where much of this music was recorded.

Helena Casella is a Belgian-Brazilian vocalist with a multicultural background who vocalizes her thoughts in her own passionate, soulful, and tasteful manner. She grew up in an incredibly musical family with strong ties to the broader artistic world. This rich background is clearly audible in her musical approach, where she blends genres such as R&B, soul, hip-hop, and modern jazz without breaking the connection to the vibrant sounds of Brazil, where part of her roots lie. The depth of her soft, warm voice pulls you into her story, floating between the realms of the intimate and the ethereal.

With her debut album 'Pit Of Impressions,' Helena shows that she is an artist from whom we have yet to hear the best.

File under: neo soul, nu jazz, R&B

Sounds like: The Internet, Hiatus Kaiyote, Michi, Solange, Erykah Badu, Charlotte Dos Santos, ...

Black Vinyl / 350 mcn double white coated paper / Poster sleeve / PVC outers / Original artwork / Exclusive 30x30 cm insert with Q&A by Tony Higgins with Ole Matthiessen printed on on 250 gram Gardamat coated paper. Archive picture from original recording session printed on 350 gram Gardamat paper. Archive pictures printed on 375 gram Vintage Bindakote Monolucido. All papers are acid free an printed with food based inks.

Personnel: 

Jesper Nehammer - tenor saxophone
Ole Mathiessen – piano
Jon Finsen – drums
Henrik Hove - bass

Notes:
Danish jazz band founded in 1969. Band line up: Henrik Hove on bass, Ole Mathiessen on piano, Jesper Nehammer (later Thors Hammer, Alrune Rod and Entrance) on tenorsax, and Jon Finsen on drums. Played for a while every Monday in the famous Jazzhouse Montmatre in Copenhagen.
Tordenskjolds Soldater only made this record (1970).
The small record label Spectator Records was founded in 1969 by Jørgen Bornefeldt a former journalist from Danmarks Radio in coorporation with the jazz musician Carsten Meinert. Meinert recorded two albums on the label. He only joined the company in the beginning. Cindarellaistudiet The studio was destroyed august 6th 1972 by a major fire. And that was the end of Spectator Records. From 1969 to the end, the label recorded at least 23 lp albums and 9-11 singles/EP's. The picture shows Henning Kragh Pedersen from Cinderella in Spectators studio. The great Danish rock band Gasolin recorded their first single – Silky Sally - on Spectator Records. It was no success and sold only 155 copies. Silky Sally is now one of the most sought after Gasolin singles among collectors and is of course very expensive.
The music from Spectator Records is mostly jazz, progressive rock and hippie free style. But they also made strange records for children, education etc. Most records were issued in very small numbers (300-500). Some of the best progressive rock in Northern Europe was recorded here.
Quality of vinyl was often poor - even new looking records can have audible problems. Covers and labels are primitive and cheap. On the other hand the creativity could be outstanding - check the Furekaaben cover gallery or the artwork of William Skotte Olsen from Green Grass. Several record from the labels are cult today. A perfect copy of certain records costs a fortune.
Master tapes was never found after the fire in 1972. Unofficial reissues and bootlegs are therefore made on the base of the original records. Recordings that never made it to the vinyl got lost in the fire. Both Cinderella and The Copenhagen based band, Lines lyst, had material readdy for lp's which was never recorded. (Tony Higgins)

"When it travels, the voice is a double agent, a trickster, or a dubious guru, but when it pauses for a recording, it's historical, capturing a mood or an emotion for all time. I didn't expect that I would hardly recognize the people who made Salt — myself and Hessel Veldman — a year and a half after recording it, but this is where I find myself now, so I'll say a few words about this temporary prosopagnosia.

Twelve years ago, when I moved to the Netherlands from Japan, I made a piece called How to Lose Your Voice. It was a YouTube hit because people wanted to learn how to actually lose their voices, though I doubt they found what they were looking for in the video. But I mention it because it's like a diary for me: my voice simply isn't the same now as it was then.

I wonder where my voice has gone.

I just listened to a radio interview with a woman who had her larynx removed.

About fifteen minutes after listening to her new voice, altered by the use of a voice prosthesis to make her audible, the interviewer played a recording of her pre-surgery voice. Of course, I was curious to hear it, and although it was immediately obvious that the gentle ease of her first voice was gone, this new voice, with its raw, gravelly sound, was even more intriguing because of its determined power to express that which needed to be expressed.

When Hessel and I first listened to the Salt in its entirety, I said in astonishment, "who wrote this?"
Marianna Maruyama, sure, but this artist goes by more than one name. Many voices spoke through me in this album. You might even recognize one of them as yours."

I first saw Hugh and Jackson play together at Good God’s ‘Soft Future Piano Bar’ at the Sydney Opera House in 2017. That year was a fruitful year for the two as artists and for the Sydney music community in general. I remember that all of us, along with Greville and Brad, hosted a DIY party in a tunnel under a highway somewhere near Sydney Airport. Is that the same tunnel that Tunnel Dancers derived their name from? 7 years after that first meeting at the Sydney Opera House, Hugh and Jackson have released an album. Listening to these songs there is an audible patience and understanding between two musicians. They probably could have released something else a long time ago, but chose to wait - instead enjoying bowls of laksa on their lunch breaks and sharing long, quiet conversations at The Babylon Sauna & Spa. When the next warm bowl of noodle soup arrives on your table, how long will you let it sit before you dive in? Soup first or noodle first? If you learn from these songs, perhaps you will know to first observe the whole bowl. Observing in this way, the moment settles and hovers and remains for much longer than a moment.

ALCEST took an audible step towards their black metal roots with their sophomore full-length “Écailles de Lune” ("Moon Scales") without losing any of the trademarks that had evolved on their debut album “Souvenirs d’un Autre Monde”. The French post-black metal pioneers created a sound of lucent, dreamlike quality and otherworldly beauty that has equally defined them and been refined by them ever since. New colour vinyl!!

Repress of DVS1's highly anticipated album that came out on Axis digital during the pandemic. From the perceiving body to the liminal space of the dream-state, audible frequencies send a neurofeedback message. A paradigm-shift is activated in the mind. A movement from the present hour toward the realm beyond measure. The pulse of a synthesized kick. The distance between evolving rhythms of time & place left behind. Sensations created in forgotten corners of the consciousness are distant, yet familiar. A low-penetrating drum beat pulsates. Hypnotic hallucinations reveal detailed layers, oscillating from the back to the forefront of the dream. Synth programming yields abstract ideas into concrete images. Lucid percussion arranged to paint a deeper shade of architecture in this future-memory-system. Be aware that sensations resonate into imagination without warning. The observer extends from rational thought to a deeper state of understanding. The mind-body experience gives way to a transient response from a shock wave to the steady state. The senses reach entrainment.

elbow return with their seventh studio album on 3rd February 2017. 'Little Fictions' was recorded in Scotland and Manchester and sees the band collaborate with the string players of The Hallé Orchestra, the Hallé Ancoats Community Choir, members of London Contemporary Voices and session drummer Alex Reeves. As with the previous three elbow albums it was produced by Craig Potter.
'Little Fictions' is emphatically a band album. Having written individually for its chart-topping predecessor, 'The Take Off and Landing of Everything', sessions this time were collective affairs, with all four members gathered initially in a house in Scotland before moving to Guy's attic in Prestwich and finalising recordings in the familiar setting of Blueprint studios, Salford.
'Little Fictions' is an upbeat album. All the band talk of the sessions being 'joyful', Mark summarises it as 'the sound of four people who love what they do and each other', of an album that came into being naturally and, at times even unconsciously. Lead single 'Magnificent (She Says)' was embraced for the joyous, thrilling piece of music it is, positive and outward looking. Mark never even considered his audible switch towards electric guitars, most notable on the psychedelic lushness of 'All Disco', until the very end of the process.
The departure of drummer Richard Jupp prior to commencing the writing and recording process in earnest saw early sessions characterised by new approaches to rhythm, with the band utilising percussive noises, sampling and loops to build tracks. The grooves that run through much of the album, from the go-go beats of 'Gentle Storm' through the jagged trip hop of 'Kindling' to the soulful 'Firebrand & Angel' represent both the band's widest musical palette and a newfound sense of experimentation borne from both necessity and desire. That desire fuelled the title track, an eight minute piece that is epic without at any point feeling excessive. As a shorthand for the album it is perfect, crossing musical genres and experimenting with sound in ways that demonstrate the confidence and enthusiasm of the band throughout the recording process.
'Little Fictions' is, therefore, more than just yet another brilliant elbow album. In many ways it marks the start of a new chapter for the band, characterised by a rediscovery of shared purpose in doing the thing that has always brought them together, the place that Mark describes as 'the creative space where we all meet'.

The exact relationship between Henry (T-Bone Burnett) and Howard Coward (Elvis Costello) remains ambiguous. They often referred to themselves as “One and a Half Brothers,” which might hint at their height difference or imply they were not actually siblings but were involved in an elaborate ruse. Their musical partnership, known as The Coward Brothers, was initiated by Smiley “Doc” Snipson, who discovered Henry Coward in 1956 and signed him for a UK tour. The brothers' hit single, “My Baby Just Squeals (You Heel),” was followed by less successful records and a controversial Cold War-themed song. To preserve their fading fame, Snipson orchestrated their supposed death in a plane crash, but they were actually in hiding on a Caribbean island, secretly recording music and sending it back to Snipson. When their funds ran out, they returned to Miami and made sensational claims about writing famous songs, leading to a brief stint as songwriters for Bill Bogguss. They later resumed recording, but their partnership eventually fractured, leading to years of estrangement. Their music, from early rock and roll hits to later, more introspective songs, is compiled in the album, The Coward Brothers. After years of silence, their story was explored in a radio program, revealing the complexity of their relationship and their enduring bond. Despite their tumultuous history, their music remains a testament to their unyielding spirit. The Coward Brothers are Elvis Costello and T-Bone Burnett. The Audible Original radio play, The True Story Of The Coward Brothers, is directed by Christopher Guest, and stars Howard Coward, Henry Coward, Harry Shearer, Edward Hibbert, Rhea Seehorn, Stephen Root, and Kathreen Khavari.

Was the lesson intended?
It hangs like mist in the air
And now the throne is upended
And the lesson is the son and the heir

Was the lesson intended?
It resonates in the sky
A shockwave in the heavens
Visible to the naked eye

Was the lesson intended?

Was the lesson intended?
It has soaked into the ground
It is felt in every movement
And is audible in every sound

Was the lesson intended?
It cannot be denied
It rings loud like thunder
Leaving our poets tongue-tied

Was the lesson intended?