Search:bent out of shape

BeNeLux Streetpunk Outfit Bent Out Of Shape sind zurück mit ihrem ersten Full-Length-Album. Bent Out Of Shape ist eine im Oktober 2019 gegründete Streetpunk/Oi-Band aus Fryslân (Niederlande) mit (ehemaligen) Mitgliedern von Icepick, Spirit 84, DSS, No Denial, Dead Horse Running, de Hûnekop. Anfang des Jahres veröffentlichten sie ihre CD "Demo 2020" mit 7 Songs. Ende 2020 wurde die EP von Who Laughs veröffentlicht. Im Jahr 2021 veröffentlichten sie eine Split 7" mit Boldness aus Indonesien und im Mai 2022 veröffentlichten sie eine Split Picture Disc 7" mit ihren Freunden Skroetbalg.

A cocktail of rebellious queer vocal fragments, deceptive percussive granules and swaying hammered vibrations, upsammy and Valentina Magaletti's first collaboration trembles with suspense. The seeds of 'Seismo' were sown following a commission from Amsterdam's Rijksmuseum to soundtrack an exhibition of work from the Museum Boijmans van Beuningen in Rotterdam and the duo didn't want to approach their collaboration flippantly. So, wandering the museum's maze of rooms, they recorded various improvised percussive sounds with their arsenal of microphones, using the space to inform various rhythms and textures that were sculpted later into electroacoustic vignettes. This was just the starting point, though; as Magaletti and upsammy began performing together, the project evolved and 'Seismo' began to take shape. The duo had struck on a salient aesthetic concept, using mostly digital and acoustic mallet instruments to blur the boundary between their roles and create friction between the synthetic and the authentic. And the finished record is a phantasmagoric push-and-pull between its various conflicting elements: harmony and dissonance, randomness and predictability, openness and constraint. 'Seismo' isn't the first time that upsammy has studied her environment in search of revelation. On her acclaimed second album, 2024's 'Germ in a Population of Buildings', the Amsterdam-based DJ, producer and multidisciplinary artist erected her complex, unorthodox rhythms and eerie melodies around a modernist frame of field recordings collected in various cityscapes, countering heavyweight basslines with subtle, microscopic sounds. London-based Italian vanguard Magaletti, meanwhile, has applied her unique logic to innumerable projects at this point, working with everyone from batida icon Nídia and hardcore-dub outfit Moin to French writer Fanny Chiarello and British bass scientist Shackleton. For years she's approached the drums with criticism, attempting to challenge any preconceptions, something that's most visible on 2020's 'A Queer Anthology of Drums'. And both artists' thoughtful perspectives are welded together seamlessly on 'Seismo', a dizzying suite of eight eccentric statements that's fragile but never insecure, gauzy but not indistinct. An unnerving sense of space characterizes 'It Comes to an End' as Magaletti's in situ improvisations herald for upsammy's microscopic glitches and chiming pitch-bent melodies. It's almost unbalancing to witness the track's impossible dimensionality, the interplay between reverberant marimba hits and bone-dry synths, or percussion that's been recorded and processed in consciously different settings. A new architecture emerges in the sound itself that the two artists scan and explore meticulously, testing its boundaries with undulating hybridized rhythms on the invigorating 'Superimposed' and offsetting the powdery drums with liquified smacks and alien voices. The duo's vibrations are knotted with piano flourishes on 'Hyperlocalize', balanced with artificial clanks and clangs that disappear into the track's sonorous atmosphere, replaced by whispers and half-hallucinated insectoid chirps. 'Seismo' is an album that feeds off the energy generated by its juxtapositions: the tension and anticipation that's melted by rapid, hyperactive movement and the finely drawn rhythms disrupted by a layer of indistinct, barely perceptible microsounds. It's a collaboration that sounds like two minds challenging each other but not wrestling, each peering from their own distinct vantage point and imagining a third landscape shaped by optimistic, queer vibrations.

Debt is a new album by Harvey Sutherland about the cost of doing business in the meme economy. In his first LP since the 2022 debut, Boy, the Australian artist reduces his fusiony disco repertoire to ten microhoused funk essentials. This is minimalism not so much as aesthetic conceit than pressurised container, shaken in the Escherised time and space unique to our overdriven, red-lining present. The album's title nods to the financial contortions necessary to strive/survive/thrive as an independent artist. But Debt is better understood as the ledger of what we owe, and to whom, in the course of a creative life. What's the ROI on being an artist, a son, a friend, a partner, a father? Have we been worth our loved ones' own investments? If that sounds transactional, this is merely the lingua franca of our overwhelmingly digital culture, a grifter's bazaar in which Bob Dylan tunes up over Salt Bae, and Wordsworth's pitch is opposite the Rizzler.

Debt came to life when Harvey Sutherland acquired a freightload of Y2K minimal cargo from Akufen, Ricardo and Baby Ford—courtesy of local Melbourne hero Martin L—which bent the album towards a moreish pointillism. The resulting music's eyes-down minimal gestures within expressive pop shapes feels apt for the apparently contradictory things we can't help craving: immediacy and craft, on-tap "authenticity," life lessons drawn from Reel nonsense. A few years after the "neurotic funk" of Boy, a thorough excavation of interiority that comprised Harvey Sutherland's first LP proper, Debt is his to-the-point response to pressures that manifest outside the self. But in its own way it remains a reflection of Harvey Sutherland's musical innerscapes, which stretch across the grit and glitter of private-press disco and the sensual grids of Metro Area.

Asa Moto hail from Ghent, Belgium — a city where concrete collides with cathedrals. Their music obeys the same law: rhythm wired into noise, melody bent out of shape. No genres. No safe zones.

They’ve taken this across Europe and beyond: festivals like Dour, Best Kept Secret, and Boiler Room Bangkok; clubs that shape the underground including Panorama Bar, Opium, Lux, XOYO. Sacred halls turned into dancefloors, basements stretched to capacity. Wherever they land, Asa Moto rewire the room.

Resident Advisor and the BBC were listening from the start. Altın Gün brought Asa Moto in to produce the critically acclaimed Yol (2021) — the band’s first collaboration with outsiders. Remixes for Polo & Pan, Chloé Thévenin and others spread the same edge further out — each a glimpse of their method, a vision in motion.

All signals run through Studio Martino in Ghent — their own control room for recordings, remixes, transmissions. The records surface on DEEWEE, the label founded by Stephen and David Dewaele of Soulwax/2manydjs — the only one reckless enough to carry them. The next, DEEWEE082 — Music For Disk Jockeys Pt. 1, continues the line — four tracks as proof that Asa Moto refuse limits, because the world refused them first.

Not so long ago in 2017, the first release on Michiel Claus' and Ailsa Cavers' Basic Moves saw the light of day and especially the shine of night. Produced by founding father Walrus, BM01 set the tone for a record label that focuses on releasing hidden archives from the 90s, whilst combining them with modern club music from the here and now. By highlighting the musical heritage of the Belgian electronic music scene, the label illustrates the continuity between past and present, history and shaping identities of 21st-century artists, undeniably building on the strong foundations of their forerunners. Seven years and nineteen releases later, Basic Moves is rounding off the series with BM20, a final double 12'' by one of the major figures from the Belgian underground: Circadian Rhythms also known as Dj Deg. After many years of collecting, deejaying and producing music, his musical spectrum ranges from synth, library and wave, to jazz, funk and disco, from house to techno. His journey started in clubs like Bocaccio (1988 - 1993), and La Gait? (1979 -1989), where young Deg came across deejay's like Olivier Pieters or Eric Beysens who made him choose the path of becoming a devoted disc jockey himself. BM20 is a sonic witness of Deg's first musical encounters with his machines, revealing a withdrawn selection of six bedroom patchwork tracks produced between the years of '93 & '99, a time without the internet or user manuals to help you solve the riddles of technology. Though only at the very beginning of his creative process, Deg's unique personality is nevertheless already clearly identifiable: blending techno with jazz, where the sharp edges of 16-step drum-sequences are smudged and bent in different directions. In the lower countries, the second half of the 90s was a period of fast & funky, happy Detroit, 140 BPM techno. Whenever Deg was not oscillating between record shops or gigs and had a moment on his own, mostly during morning hours after the club, he would spend his leftover energy in the studio. Either by himself or with his loyal ally Mike DMA, he would benefit from these moments to slow down and give space to a different, introverted sound - processing moods, feelings and thoughts. This record therefore gathers only a few of many (unrecorded) one-shot live sessions which were never intended to be shared - and only existed for the love of music and its power to take you beyond all things known. Thank you Deg for sharing your music and giving us a glimpse of your universe. Without your productions, your memorable warm-ups and closing sets - many of us would not be where we are now, and Basic Moves might never have been founded. As a last note to a closing song, BM20 is about being fully committed to the music and the club, a medium and place of fruitful settings for encounters, creativity and growth. Where dreams and ideas have a chance to exist, being almost ready and thought out to shape future times to come - and many party nights. Gurl, December 2023

Torn traverses the charnel realms of the grey area on his debut EP for DNO, ‘Taiga’. Steely beats and stony bass coalesce into chimeric rhythms across four enthralling constructions; techno and drum & bass seeping into each other like liquids in a solution, changing the very nature of both.

Opening with a solemn march shrouded in swathes of noise and jitter that blur the soundscape like the death throes of some unlucky video game character, ‘Wreak Havoc’ is an incessant builder. When it finally lets loose the chaos promised by its title, reinforced breakbeats rain down like great factory apparatus hammering out metal plates.

‘Whalebone’ is of a similarly industrial bent. Like a head full of rotor blades, it ripples with densely packed polyrhythms that rattle and whirr, new layers emerging from the churn to grab the consciousness before sinking back into the melee.

‘Taiga’, meanwhile, channelling the cold, ancient immensity of its boreal forest namesake, progresses at a plant-like pace — unhurried and purposeful. It's droning low-end seems to mask secrets, while a canopy of tangled percussion cuts angular shapes through the shadowy undergrowth.

And on ‘Stay’, the complex drumwork vibrates so rapidly around the track’s irradiated pads as to almost merge with them completely, rhythm and ambience becoming a singular hypnotic form.

A natural fit for DNO, Torn’s mystic machine music opens new pathways for the label’s darkling voyage through sound.

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

Limited 180g black vinyl (500 copies worldwide)
“Marcel Wave combine sharp-eyed Northern lyricism with DIY guitar-janglers rooted in a retro C86 aesthetic. Epic finale ‘Linoleum Floor’...is a gloriously bleak rumination on the horrors of enforced late-night hedonism worthy of prime Pulp” UNCUT
Marcel Wave write eulogies for tragic actresses, ancient riverbeds and concrete obscenity. Their inaugural sonic instalment ‘Something Looming’ is part trades club symphony, part itchy serenade, and part wistful lament. As their heady concoction of ‘Meades meets Pat-E-Smith meets Kirklees Borough Council’ gets prepped to be formally baptised on a dank stage near you, Upset the Rhythm and Feel It Records have dutifully stepped in to deliver its songbook to the masses on both sides of the pond.
Formed when Lindsay Corstorphine and Christopher Murphy of Sauna Youth and brethren Oliver and Patrick Fisher of Cold Pumas were summoned by northern ink-slinger Maike Hale-Jones, Marcel Wave’s debut offering is a walk through a smoke-filled pub with yellowing wallpaper and all eyes on you. It’s a chronicle of the death of the docklands, the decline of industry, of the high street, of civic pride, of civilisations, of hopes and dreams. As Hale-Jones delivers the bad news in her low, West Yorkshire brogue, Corstorphine adds the bells and whistles via the frantic pulsations of a wheezing Hohner organ in tandem with Fisher O’s rasping guitar. MW are completed by the throbbing basslines of Murphy and Fisher P’s fervent rhythms.
The title itself sets the tone for the listener. There’s a sense of foreboding in Hale-Jones’ lyrics which sit at the quintet’s core—elegiac, sardonic and piquant in equal measure. A mixture of narrative epilogues and inward paeans, her words weave tales across a broad thematic church. Crooked tales of urban renewal and the voices left behind are probed in ‘Barrow Boys’ and ‘Stop/Continue’ and are at the fore in ‘Where There’s Muck There’s Brass’ with its refrain lamenting ‘Concrete and slate shine in the rain, cities destroyed, nothing to gain’. In these lyrics, tower blocks loom over terraced houses with the same shadows that the Hollywood sign casts over Peg Entwistle before she takes her tragic leap. ‘Peg’ and ‘Elsie’ are both meditations on two different actresses with different fates crushed by the cut-throat trappings of showbusiness: ‘The mad hopes break, fragile as glass. She traded it all, for the cutting room floor.’ A snaking, existential dread also runs through the album, stated more obliquely in the otherwise poppier interludes of the title track ‘Something Looming’ and album opener ‘Bent Out of Shape’, and present too on the comparatively ramshackle ‘Discount Centre’, where Hale-Jones reports ‘On a mini bus on the outskirts of Enfield, I’m losing all of my spark’. On the album closing weeper ‘Linoleum Floor’, it is laid barer still—a keyboard-led reflection on the deflating nights out of our early-twenties.
Marcel Wave invites the listener to dance to society’s decline, and then to later weep into its lukewarm pint.

3XL boss and scene hyper-connector Special Guest DJ (aka uon, shy, Caveman LSD) lands on their own label with a debut album of hazed ambient noise and aquatic club anarchitextures, with a patented, heady style bent into new shapes.

For nigh on a decade, Berlin-based American producer, label boss, promoter and DJ Shy has operated at the centre of a scene that's still not fully defined. Their mythical DJ sets, where you're likely to hear precision-tweaked dubstep, dreampop, decelerated rap and dubwise ambient blended into vapour; gives some sense of the vibes at play, and a comb thru their spiderweb of a catalog - as Caveman LSD or uon, as part of Ghostride the Drift, Hoodie, crimeboys, virtualdemonlaxative and Cypher, or as the figurehead of 3XL, Experiences Ltd, xpq? and bblisss labels - further blurs that gist.

They've been caught in the crossfire of Big Ambient, sure, but there's always been something scrappier, sexier and more present going on under the hood. Shy and his network of associates - Huerco, Ulla, Perila, Ben Bondy, Naemi/Exael, Ponteac Streator and Arad Acid, among others - have asserted the interrelatedness of their discrete approaches. So-called "ambient" music doesn't exist in a vacuum, it un-focuses elements that undergird so many more corporeal sounds, and for Shy, their music reflects the druggy, DIY, genre-agnostic ethos of a trans-Atlantic neo-punk underground that exists in some liminal zone between the club, the bedsit and the basement.

Concerned with themes of “anger, sensuality, and dreaming”, the 40 minute roil of ‘Our Fantasy Complex’ frames Special Guest DJ at their most unapologetically oblique and illusive, expanding and contracting between whorls of shoegazing dynamics and extended portions of quasi-speed D&B x dub tech smeared on the mind’s-eye, with a vivid sense of bruised lushness that’s perfused all shy’s work thus far.

Joined by kindred collaborators Ben Bondy, Arad Acid and mu tate, and suspended in agitated bliss by Rashad Becker’s lucid mastering, the results feel out some of 2025’s most considered and distinctive within an amorphous zone that’s become a world unto itself. Ambient music’s fluffier signifiers are swapped out for a sort of sublime tension that, like the sound’s original ‘90s explosion, can be heard to reflect states of altered consciousness - both individual and collective.

Shy's layered, undulating productions are more like the chewed remnants of a thousand mixtapes cooked into a stream-of-consciousness hex. Save for the glistening, zoomed-out parting piece ‘Dream’, it all mostly avoids pretty melodies in favour of a spatio-textural sensuality that wraps us up, sometimes uncomfortably intimately, in shy’s thoughts. That oneiric closer is one of three gritty palate cleansers that swirl around its peaks, where elements of Reese-bass are suspended, writhing below looming atmospheric pressure in ‘How Long Can I Burn?’, emerging charred and flecked with rattled percussion on ‘Yoro (pt I & II)’, as though K-holing thru a blazing summer’s day.

In step with Perila’s notably darker turn of events on her ‘Omnis Festinatio Ex parts Diaboli Est’, album, or the unexpected ferocity of recent Space Afrika live shows, it’s not hard to hear a darkside gravitational pull on this one, where ambient music is no longer just a balm for troubled souls, but also suggestive of humanity’s most frightful odours.

Mobile Fidelity's UltraDisc One-Step 180g 45RPM 2LP Set Plays with Authoritative Tonality, Airiness, and Clarity:
Pressed on MoFi SuperVinyl and Strictly Limited to
3,000 Numbered Copies
1/4” / 15 IPS Dolby A analogue master to DSD 256 to analogue console to lathe

Joni Mitchell is the only artist who could’ve made Hejira. The legendary singer-songwriter said as much when discussing the album decades after its release. Yet that fact seemed obvious from the moment the gold-certified effort streeted in fall 1976. An adventurous travelogue, probing narrative, and offbeat homage to freedom, Hejira remains an inimitable entry in the catalog of recorded music — a spare, gorgeous, meditative series of sonic vignettes comprised of floating harmonic pop, cool jazz, soft rock, and sensitive vocal elements that beckon feelings of motion, discovery, and self-examination.

Sourced from the original analog master tapes, pressed at Fidelity Record Pressing on MoFi SuperVinyl, and strictly limited to 3,000 numbered copies, Mobile Fidelity's UltraDisc One-Step 180g 45RPM 2LP set presents the record ranked the 133rd Greatest of All Time by Rolling Stone with definitive detail, richness, accuracy, and directness. Marking the first time the revered LP has received audiophile treatment, it's one of six iconic 1970s Mitchell records Mobile Fidelity is reissuing on vinyl and SACD.

Playing with a virtually nonexistent noise floor, dead-quiet surfaces, and superior groove definition, this collectible reissue reproduces in enveloping fashion the tones, textures, and craftsmanship that help Hejira function as the equivalent of a liberating trip down an open road with nothing but blue sky, natural landscape, and fresh air in the immediate vicinity. Passages bloom, carry, decay as they do amid an acoustically optimized environment. Soundstages extend far, wide, and deep, with black backgrounds and pinpoint images adding to the realism.

The reference-grade immediacy, airiness, and presence put in transparent perspective Mitchell’s dense strings of words, stream-of-conscious-like phrasing, and unhurried albeit forward momentum. Likewise, the instrumental contributions of her A-list support musicians — a cast that includes L.A. Express members John Guerin, Max Bennett and Tom Scott, plus Neil Young, Victor Feldman, and Abe Most — emerges with breathtaking clarity and dimensionality.

While Mitchell, whose intimate vocals and abstract guitar parts center everything, Mobile Fidelity's restoration of Hejira further reveals the visionary breadth of guitarist Larry Carlton and bassist Jaco Pastorius. Though heard on only four tracks, Pastorius' fretless bass epitomizes the fluid, subtle, flexible, roomy, and shape-shifting characteristics of songs that often appear to transpire out of nowhere akin to the formation of a puffy cumulus cloud overhead. In sync with Mitchell’s voice, Pastorius’ fusion hovers and floats, suspended in a fog you want to deeply inhale. The "grace notes" Mitchell desired on Hejira can now be heard in full. Ditto the luxurious tapestries of alinear lines, fills, and supplements unreeled on Carlton’s six-string.

Visually, the packaging of this UD1S set complements its identity as the copy to own. Housed in a deluxe slipcase, the LPs come in foil-stamped jackets with faithful-to-the-original graphics. This version is for listeners who desire to become immersed in everything about Hejira, including the unforgettable album cover — a pastiche of 14 different photos Mitchell used a Camera Lucida to assemble into one image that’s anchored by a portrait of her in a stoic pose — and the interior shots of Mitchell skating on a frozen Wisconsin lake wearing a pair of black skates, black shirt, and fur cape.

The notion of skating, feeling an awakening wind whipping against your face, and losing yourself to the surroundings are extremely apt for Hejira, which Mitchell wrote after a sequence of trips and relationships prompted her to reflect on the complicated conflicts between independence and marriage, success and satisfaction, duty and desire — and, more specifically, “the cost of being a woman.” The Canadian native delved into such themes before. But never as she does on Hejira, whose liberating, running-away aura doubles as another of Mitchell’s rejections of tradition as well as a suggestion of a better alternative.

At once observational and personal, expansive and insular, cheerful and poignant, Hejira spans a sea of human conditions, emotions, and circumstances. It addresses drifting, isolation, pleasure, place, time, and surroundings with strikingly poetic discourse matched with music that, save for the crooned ballad “Blue Motel Room,” forgoes conventional structures and choruses.

The jazz-based arrangements, marked by scaled-down percussion and all manner of bent, rounded, and unsettled notes, hint that Mitchell has no exact destination in mind. Excursions such as the moody “Furry Sings the Blues,” funky “Coyote” and edgy “Black Crow” throw open previously locked doors to possibility and journey. They signal it’s time for a welcome departure from norms and the past, one that leads to a heightened sense of clarity and perspective. Or, as Mitchell said upon choosing the album title, it’s time for “leaving the dream, no blame.”

Alanis Morissette Delivers the Equivalent of a Spiritual Awakening on Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie:
Introspective Themes and Compassionate Emotions on Eastern-Tinged Album Have Grown More Relevant
1998 Smash Plays with Enhanced Detail, Rich Textures, and Sharp Focus on Mobile Fidelity’s 180g 33RPM 2LP Set:
First-Ever Audiophile Edition Strictly Limited to 3,000 Numbered Copies
1/2" / 30 IPS analogue master to DSD 256 to analogue console to lathe

Alanis Morissette refuses to adhere to convention on Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie. While most artists follow-up their breakthrough with an album that closely parallels the approaches that helped make them famous, the maverick singer-songwriter stayed true to herself and drew inspiration from travel to India before she began the recording sessions. As much as the preceding Jagged Little Pill put her on the global radar, Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie confirmed her role as a vital generational voice — and proved her blockbuster success was no fluke. Having set a mark for most sales of an LP in its debut week by a female artist, the 1998 smash remains a pop-rock staple.

Sourced from the original master tapes, strictly limited to 3,000 numbered copies, housed in a Stoughton jacket, and pressed at Fidelity Record Pressing, Mobile Fidelity’s 180g 33RPM 2LP set of Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie presents the triple-platinum LP in audiophile sound for the first time. Benefitting from defined grooves that befit the album’s nearly 72-minute length, this pressing plays with enhanced detail, refined clarity, sharper focus, and broader dynamics than prior versions.

Those traits are key given Morissette’s use of more textured and atmospheric soundscapes, not to mention her evolution into a more nuanced and controlled singer. Similarly, the scale and reach of David Campbell’s string arrangements come across as orchestrations should. Ditto the synth-based architecture shaped by producer and principal Morissette collaborator Glen Ballard. All in all, Mobile Fidelity’s collectible edition simply delivers more information via transparent means.

Notable for its balance, sophistication, and richness, Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie at heart finds Morissette pausing, taking a breath, and learning how to navigate life in a healthy manner after enduring one of the most exhausting and rocket-to-fame stretches any musician ever experienced. It’s the sonic equivalent of a spiritual awakening, a call to betterment, a brave assessment of the self and humanity as a whole. As such, the tunes on her second international (and fourth Canadian) release teem with gratitude, compassion, love, empathy — emotions that lend themselves to the largely mellow, contoured scope and Eastern-tinged melodies of the songs themselves.

“How ‘bout how good it feels to finally forgive you,” Morissette sings on the lead single “Thank U.” “How ‘bout grieving it all one at a time.” Those sentiments, and the vocalist’s embrace of concepts such as divinity and acceptance, not only provide a foundation on which Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie rests. They also reflect the personal maturation she gained from her embrace of Buddhist culture in India and a mindset bent toward notions of reconciliation, peace, and sensuality that were nearly absent in popular music in the late ‘90s.

Those themes continue on “That I Would Be Good,” a confident reflection that takes stock of one’s mental, physical, and emotional state in the face of both changing and unpleasant circumstances — and concludes with Morissette performing a flute solo, further exposing the raw intimacy of the introspective tune. She channels relatable simplicity and joy on “So Pure,” with her invocations of “dance” and “freestyle” speaking to the freedom of expression that courses throughout Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie. And perhaps no song finds Morissette showcasing her refreshed attitude toward life and opening up more than the relationship-themed “Unsent,” whose unconventional structures and lack of a chorus only add to its directness.

Akin to many albums that were ahead of their time, and despite the critical and commercial accolades afforded it upon release, Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie attracted new appreciation and perspective as it got older. Issued during an era where its ideas of serenity, absolution, tranquility, and contentment seemed largely alien, the record — akin to the ways its predecessor foreshadowed a movement — now functions as a visionary beacon that foretells of way to maintain sanity, dignity, and goodness amid a contemporary landscape filled with constant distractions, polarizing views, and incessant calls to purchase, promote, and produce without questioning the what-for purpose.

Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie dares to ask the questions and, at its best, supplies meaningful answers and alternatives that lead to longed-for enlightenment, healing, and laughter. For these reasons alone, it’s a record that never goes out of style.

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

On her sophomore album "Germ in a Population of Buildings", upsammy moves through her surroundings with the curiosity of a place-bending landscape architect. The album is rooted in her interest for ambiguous environments in constant shift, and the feeling of discovering strange patterns in different ecosystems. Often, the Amsterdam-based artist finds herself zooming in and out beyond a place's most recognizable surface features to inhabit the microscopic and gigantic. Gathering field recordings and evocative environmental sounds, she shapes this source material into vibrating electro-acoustic rhythms and unstable, psychedelic textures. upsammy's debut album, 2020's critically-acclaimed "Zoom", was praised for its careful reimagining of IDM, evolving vignettes that nodded towards the dancefloor without being shackled to its rigid set of rules. On "Germ in a Population of Buildings" her process has evolved considerably; the skeletal trace of IDM is still present but it's been trapped in amber, allowing her unique sonic landscape to develop organically. 'Being is a Stone' is a proof of concept in many ways, layering upsammy's contorted voice in rickety patterns beneath a lattice of fragile rhythms and faintly melancholy synths. It's never immediately obvious where the sounds are coming from - a hiccuping beat might be glass cracking underfoot, and larger pulses could be wet concrete, rusted iron or bent plastic. As the sounds develop they morph into each other, demolishing what came before and building on top of the ornamental wreckage. On the dynamic 'Constructing', upsammy's sound design fluxes through hyperactive bass music structures, abstracting expectations at every turn. Often her sounds are whisper quiet, rattling and vibrating until heavier masonry drops and disrupts the structure. And when discernible rhythms subside into the background, like on the album's eerie title track, they become almost illusory, morphing between the real world and the electronic. upsammy's processed voice works like a bridge between these realms, snaking between stark, whimsical melodies on 'Patterning', arching from AutoTuned detachment into cooing, dreamy intimacy. By considering the harmonies between each location she's visited, upsammy has been able to build a unique topology that's an uncanny digital amalgam of her lived experience. It's a thoughtful alternative in an era more concerned with flatting the landscape than crumpling it and examining its peaks and troughs.

BANGER MAKE MY BODY SHAKE MAKE THE SPEAKERS SHAKE

It was two and a half years ago when a conversation took place between Sal Carmona and Dj Producer Jovonn Armstrong; talks of which planted a seed in Sal Carmona's ear, which years later would manifest what was once a dream into a reality. No stranger, nor a newcomer in the world of dance music, Sal's experience in the club scene goes way back to the days when his sisters, to whom he credits for helping shape the person he is today, took him to Dave Mancuso's The Loft. An experience that he recalls being nothing short of magical. It was a spiritual encounter that immediately took over thus steering him towards the direction of clubs such as The Paradise Garage, Bentley's, Underground, Red Parrot, Latin Quarters, Roseland, Studio 54, just to name a few. Years later, Sal decided to take on the role, of which he became quite successful at, of promoting his own events in New York City; throwing regular parties at venues such as Park Circle & USA roller skating rinks, Red Parrot, The Palladium, The Copacabana and many others, soon becoming one of the premier go to promoters in NYC. Taking a long and well-deserved hiatus from the club scene, in 2012 Sal decided to make his return back to what he loves. It was around this time that he began thinking what it would be like to venture into creating his very own record label. Envisioning his first release being a bona fide House Music Album, one that would include some of his favorite producers. Not one to let dreams drift into the ether, while recollecting on that conversation with Jovan way back, Sal set out to make that vision manifest into a reality and thus emerged this dope compilation titled Banger "Make My Body Shake" "Make the Speakers Shake"

A great idea which brings together an interesting mix that includes highly sought out and respected veteran producers in the scene, such as Timmy Regisford, Ron Trent, Dj Jovonn, and Joe Claussell. Alongside with up and coming DJ producers who are garnering their own adulation of fans, in the likes of Vick Lavender, Mark Francis, Conway Kasey, and DJ Punch. With valuable directional contributions from friend Joe Claussell, this, to say the least, has become far more than just a seriously dope compilation that consists of a unique coming together of serious dance music. More than the aforementioned, Sal Carmona has manifested a dream into a game changing music scripture that is one of a kind, especially in this day and age where it seems where things are thrown together hoping for something to stick. On the contrary, this is well planned and thought out dopeness at A higher level consisting of all new house music that hasn't been brought together like this in a very long time and probably not for a while afterwards.

A tribute to one of the greatest songwriters & artists of our time! Features newly recorded covers from Keith Richards, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, Rufus Wainwright, Lucinda Williams, Maxim Ludwig & Angel Olsen, Rickie Lee Jones, Mary Gauthier, Bobby Rush, Automatic, The Afghan Whigs, and Rosanne Cash. Special Record Store Day Edition pressed on Silver Nugget vinyl and housed in a silver laminated jacket Booklet features liner notes by compilation producer & former Lou Reed publicist Bill Bentley, featuring photos by Mick Rock and Timothy Greenfield-Sanders. "To me, Lou stood out. The real deal! Something important to American music and to ALL MUSIC! I miss him and his dog." - Keith Richards "Lou seemed fearless to me, like he'd rather die than be a people-pleaser. I took inspiration from that." - Rosanne Cash "Lou Reed is my earliest influence, my introduction to punk rock, and the soundtrack to the beginning of my romance with Maxim." - Angel Olsen "Lou Reed has been gone now for many years. He's one of the few people whom I miss as much now as when he left. There are so many instances where I wonder what he would say or what he would think. His general aura would always lend something really unique to the room. Thank God he left his great music and recordings. His personality is sorely missed. Love you, Lou." - Rufus Wainwright // It goes without saying that the legendary Lou Reed was a true rock 'n' roll pioneer. From The Velvet Underground's debut in 1967 all the way through the end of his days, Reed sang truth from his heart. He lived life to the limit-and then some. The Power of the Heart is a tribute to Reed's freedom of expression with covers spanning his ground-breaking years with the Velvets into his majestic solo career. Each track is a glorious extension of the Rock 'n' Roll Animal's soul, ever adventurous and avant-garde. The Power of the Heart: A Tribute to Lou Reed kicks off with a legend in his own right, Keith Richards, reimagining the Velvets' classic, "I'm Waiting for the Man." Richards' rendition instantly invites you on board this unforgettable ride. In stark contrast, "Perfect Day" is somehow even more melancholy than the original given the Rufus Wainwright treatment, featuring sparse fingerpicking and gentle harmonies. Joan Jett and the Blackhearts deliver a version of "I'm So Free" that would have even Lou rockin' in his grave. It's thrilling to hear these songs reinterpreted and sung by such heavyweights; you can even hear as Lucinda Williams channels the spirit of Lou with her take on "Legendary Hearts." Other notable tracks include a punk-drunk, loved-up duet by real-life lovers Angel Olsen & Maxim Ludwig with "I Can't Stand It," and Rickie Lee Jones' reimagining of "Walk on the Wild Side," both whimsical and enticing with her whispery vocals, stripped-down percussion, and a piano fit for a late-night lounge. This tribute album truly defies genre, but its throughline, in the end, is its heart: a deeply thoughtful collection of songs that shaped a generation, each paying homage to a man whose body of work still sings.

Zweimal Gimp Fist! Die Alben "UNIFICATION" und "ISOLATION"! Jeweils 15 Songs auf jedem Album und wie nicht anders zu erwarten, liefert die North-East Oi! Division wie gewohnt Songs der Extraklasse ab! Den klassischen UK Skinhead & Punk Sound mit abwechslungsreichen Mischung aus straight forward Punkrock-Hymnen, druckvollen Singalongs und mitreißenden Oi!-Shoutern beherrschen die drei Engländer bis zur Perfektion! Abgerundet durch das ausgeklügelte Songwriting und treffsichere Lyrics von Sänger Jonny Robson hat sich die Band seit 2005 weltweit eine riesige Fangemeinde erspielt. Nicht umsonst sind Gimp Fist auf dem Rebellion-Festival in Blackpool jedes Jahr einer der Headliner und von Craig Charles in seiner BBC Radio 6-Sendung fast in den Punk-Adel erhoben worden. Limitiertes rotes Vinyl mit blauen Spritzern!

2010 release from the New York Hardcore outfit. With a career spanning 20 years and hundreds of thousands of albums sold worldwide, Based On A True Story adds an exhilarating new chapter to the Sick Of It All legend. Doubtlessly the band's hardest hitting effort to date, Based On A True Story easily meets the high quality of its predecessor and offers tons of soon-to-be-classic Hardcore hymns like 'Dominated', 'Long As She's Standing', 'The Divide' and 'Lowest Common Denominator. It features the most catchy and powerful material the band has ever written. The album was recorded with Tue Madsen, this time at Starstruck Studios in Copenhagen, Denmark, resulting in a massive metallic heaviness.

From the mid-90s to 2005, Sweden’s Defleshed churned out a white hot blend of thrash, death metal, and grindcore, marking themselves as one of the most vital bands in all three of those genres. Having run out of inspiration and wanting to try other things they called it a day the same year they released their fifth album Reclaim The Beat, and ever since fans have hollered for their reunion. In 2021 they got what they were asking for when the band’s core lineup - guitarist Lars Löfven, drummer Matte Modin and bassist/vocalist Gustaf Jorde - got back together. None of the members took any convincing to reform or to push ahead with the full-length, starting to seriously write in Autumn 2021, and there was no masterplan guiding them. “We just wanted to see what we sounded like today, with new perspectives on things. We knew it had to be fast and furious yet diverse.” The result is an album “filled to its maximum with power and energy”, this made clear by opener “Bent Out Of Shape”, which is perhaps the greatest start to any of their records. They do not take it easy on the listener from there on, with the likes of the thrashy “Dear Devil” and groove-laden “Unburdened By Genius” taking very different tactics in the damage they wreak, the band making a point of not repeating themselves while staying true to that classic Defleshed sound.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2LP Gatefold (featuring liner notes). Limited Edition. Artwork by Meeuw.

A collection of personal recordings made on various synthesisers between 1989 and 2017, by Telesoniek Atelier. Huge Tip on this one!

Early feedback:

"Fascinating improvs. I loved 'Gruesse'. " Suzanne Ciani (Atmospheric)

"Beautiful music with real subtlety and depth” Anthony Child (Surgeon, Transcendence Orchestra)

"Lovely, pure synth music." Mark Pritchard (Warp Records)

"Chateuroux is mighty... A proper zoner. Flung on earth." John T. Gast

"This is a great release by Telesoniek Atelier - a musician unknown to me before now. I've been thoroughly enjoying playing this double vinyl release since i got it. Both discs are filled with amazing music that moves between abstract electronic experiments to melodic, DMT bent sounding, classical contemporary music and futuristic soundtracks from non-existing Sci Fi movies you'll wish you could see. It time-warps you from here to there then freezes the moment. It all sounds like its been taken straight from the ancient room .. you know, that one where the spirits of the great teachers live. This is very focused, unpretentious and highly emotive music . A wonderful and dreamy sound garden coming from what I imagine to be a beautiful mind . These discs will be camping out on my turntables for a while."
Tako Reyenga (Music From Memory)

"A deep sense of the symphonic permeates this record. While synthesizers form the basis of its sound, Hans Kulk shapes their timbre into uncanny acoustics and weaves them together like an orchestra. Just when you think you have understood what is happening, another layer reveals itself. Yet it keeps a floating sense of lightness throughout. A truly rewarding listening experience."
Hainbach

Underground rock festered and splintered as it spread through the U.S. in the mid-’90s, the alternative boom giving rise to microcosmic regional scenes singularly focused on feral powerviolence or screamo songs about breakfast. Boston’s Karate emerged as a force that could grip a national youth movement whose disparate tastes still commingled in the inky pages of fanzines overflowing with florid prose and on concert calendars for volunteer-run DIY spaces, community centers, and bowling alleys. In this world, Karate’s music was an enigma, one equally inviting to sneering punks and highfalutin indie-rock aficionados.Their 1996 self-titled debut, issued on Southern Records, set the standard.

Lasooing together white-knuckle posthardcore tension, sharply focused slowcore serenity, and resplendent jazz complexity, Karate eschewed settling in any one definiable style. But they certainly used the language of punk to get their point across; occasionally, guitarist Geoff Farina abandons his warm, hushed cadences for a hoarse shout that made him sound ragged, intensifying an aggression that burst out with every snaggletoothed guitar riff or drum snap that went off like canonfire.

Few followed their path—but who could keep up? Karate could make pensive moods blossom into feverish rollicking (“What Is Sleep?”), gracefully tip-toe around aggressive punk explosions without getting bent out of shape (“Bodies”), and stretch out

slowcore’s quietest reveries till their reflective notes sound ripped from an improvisational jazz session (“Caffeine or Me?”). Karate formally introduced the trio as a vital part of an independent U.S. punk scene stubbornly flowering in the face of the major labels’ ’90s harvest.

BACK IN 2001, when Detroit exploded all over the airwaves, the Dirtbombs’ released this album.. it flew out.. and here it is again on glorious vinyl format. Mick Collins and his merry band of Dirtbombs (which, this time around, features Bantam Rooster's Tom Potter and Detroit studio wiz Jim Diamond) bring the soul on their sophomore album Ultraglide In Black, named after Ultraglide in Blue, a cool late-nite flick from your youth. All the influences that helped shaped his sonic psyche are in the forefront here - Sly & the Family Stone, Marvin Gaye, Curtis Mayfield, Stevie Wonder, Parliament, the Miracles and host of others too obscure to mention all have their presence felt. If the Temptations owned fuzz pedals and read too many comic books they might've sounded something like this. There are a lot of young bands claiming to be creating "soul" music and "testifying" (we won't name names) but this here is the authentic item - accept no substitutes. "The Dirtbombs' combination of squealing feedback-driven guitar, dual drumming and walloping bass presence rivals that of the Velvet Underground. Imagine the Velvets, Gories and Oblivians battling to the death inside a tuna fish can, their raw and ultra crude instrumentation blazing away with hell-bent fury. Led by Mick Collins (who spent time fronting the Gories and the rockabilly grunge outfit Blacktop), the Dirtbombs' distinctive Motown howl and wicked axe slingin' escapades shred like one of Dolemite's rapid-fire, X-rated monologues.… Collins executes some snarling, self-professed "cyclone" guitar riffs underneath the stomping, mummified mayhem. These Detroit cavemen have found their place in a fuzz-drenched, garage band sound reminiscent of Question Mark and the Mysterians fused with the sonic annihilation of the Stooges." -Tucson Weekly
Every shop /home NEEDS THIS ALBUM.

Following the stellar trip through Woo’s Arcturian Corridor , Quindi Records continues to explore intimate, inviting sounds with an experimental bent by facilitating the return of overlooked Italian duo Cabaret du Ciel.
Initially formed in 1986, Cabaret du Ciel’s debut album Skies In The Mirror was a low-key and extremely rare cassette release of spellbinding electro-acoustic ambient music created by Gian Luigi Morosin and Andrea Desiderà. A reissue on Hybride Sentimento in 2018 brought renewed attention to the startling music contained within this unique project.
The Breath Of Infinity is an album comprised of new works recorded over the past year, either as new pieces or reworked from old ideas with the assistance of Giorgio Ricci. Morosin and Desiderà’s natural instincts as multi-instrumentalists shine through across the record as they did on Skies in the Mirror , although these tracks were in fact composed as raw live takes using electronic workstations (with a little additional fretless bass provided by a close friend Giampaolo Diacci on “Different Suns” and “Climatic Variations”).
There is a crisp, digital timbre to the worlds Cabaret du Ciel shape out on The Breath Of Infinity – utopian pastureswith an air of optimism similarly expressed in the first waves of ambient electronica. Folk traditions exert a guiding influence on the sparkling, ethereal melodies and full-frequency harmonisation, but this is music enamoured with timeless plateaus rather than hackneyed interpretations of the past, present or future.
It’s also an album of variety. “Different Suns” tumbles with a pastoral, elemental earthiness thanks to the interwoven rhythmic murmuring of percussion and live bass, while “Lakota” pivots in sharply rendered bio-mechanical formations.
There’s a widescreen bombast to “Theatre Azure” which calls to mind mid-90s US electronica, while “Meredith” reclines in a blissful bath of plush 80s FM synthesis. “Sunset Parade March” has a distinct sense of propulsion thanks to its overdriven, broken techno rhythm and “Highlands” skips with an infectious energy despite not using any formal
kind of percussion, but even in these more kinetic moments a preference for mellow musicality maintains the dreamlike mood.
Consider The Breath of Infinity like an archipelago, where each track functions as its own distinct island of ideas while being intrinsically interconnected to the others. In a similar fashion to acts such as Ultramarine (who appeared as remixers on Quindi 001), Cabaret du Ciel emphasise the musicality in their electronic music, shaping out an
evocative, imaginative environment to idly glide through or attentively explore.

When 'Push Comes To Shove' is the seventh studio album by Artist 'Soft Riot', he's the stylised musical alter-ego of Glasgow-based Canadian artist JJD.

Resonating with references from all corners of the synthpop’s origins (DAF, Fad Gadget and John Foxx to name a few), Soft Riot’s latest release nonetheless manages to retain its own individual voice, melding and reinterpreting its antecedents with a personal twist and an impressive demonstration of synth-craft and programming. Following on from 2018’s The Outsider in the Mirrors, these eight tracks represent a change in themes and an evolution in production and sound.

The forthcoming single and album opener “Taking The Edge Off” sets out the Soft Riot manifesto, a propulsive future-synth tale of forging ever-forwards in an increasingly noisy world.
“It’s No Laughing Matter” is a hedonistic yet propulsive dance-floor slammer — shades of minimal synth and metallic Belgian new beat condense in side one closer “Fate’s Got A Bone To Pick With You” and the dizzying italo-matic muscle workout “Don’t Get Yourself Bent Out Of Shape” is the ultimate self-help smack down.

The outcome has been a sideways step into more new wave pop aesthetics, and a looser sound (underpinned by the warmth of the production). This overall makes the album groove into a more dance-floor orientated full sound, thawing some of the cold-wave angularity The Outsider In The Mirrors.

Soft Riot has previously released six studio albums, including a wide range of remixes for other artists including Lebanon Hanover, Keluar, Celebration and Attrition.
He is also regularly touring the European underground synth/wave/post-punk circuit and sometimes beyond -

(Possession Records with UPC 'PSSN04').

FETISH features legendary POISON IDEA members Steve “Thee Slayer Hippy” Hanford and Eric “Vegetable” Olson, and later-era Poison Idea guitarist Brandon Bentley.
Engineered by legendary producer Billy Anderson (Melvins, Neurosis, Cattle Decapitation, Sick of it All, High on Fire, etc.)
It also includes 3 of the members of the Portland punk rock machine that is LONG KNIFE, Colin Jarrell, Scott Goto, and Chris Reid.
With a single already out and a vicious onslaught of new material put together, we here at Blackhouse are honored to be putting out their debut full length album, “WORLD EATER” in its entirety in physical form.

Tiago's wonderful INTERZONA13 storms into 2019 with a huge double A from STASERA !!

A duo of high intensity workouts constructed from strands of pure Disco DNA
The A transports us to a place where Nile Rodgers presses record on a jam session out in Nigeria, while on the B, a completely dismantled Donna Summer staple is bent into irresistible new shapes - both 100% guaranteeing hedonistic communion at high volume
As always, one limited pressing

Lucrecia Dalt's Anticlines is a volume of bodily and geological substrates within poetic theory and sound. It is a place where skins and minerals dissolve and commingle, where gaseous subterranean leaks inflate lungs, where brain cavities echo interplanetary waves bent from passing through atmospheres.

A former geotechnical engineer from Colombia currently residing in Berlin, Dalt's concern with boundaries and edges shape the lyrics and music of Anticlines, her sixth album. Paying careful attention to pace, breath, and texture, Dalt microtonally shifts the distance between speech and song while using traditional South American rhythms to support her contemporary electronic composition.

Lucrecia arrived at the atmosphere of Anticlines after several months of studying and creating new patches for the Clavia Nord Modular, forming a rhythmic feedback flow with it, a Moogerfooger MuRF, and her voice. The overall effect of cavernous space backdroping Dalt's intimate vocal phrasing rewards contemplation, supported in the physical formats of Anticlines by a lyric booklet documenting Lucrecia's collaboration with Australian artist Henry Andersen.

The album opens with Edge,' bordering on a pathological circlusion of self upon other. The lyrics depart from the Colombian myth of El Boraro, an Amazonian monster who turns its victims insides to pulp before sucking them dry and inflating their bodies like balloons to lifelessly float away. Tar' ponders human dependence on earth at the boundary of the heliopause, where to inhale might be like breathing tar. Dalt's distant and obscured vocals end with, we touched only as atmospheres touch.'

The sonic rise and fall of Analogue Mountains' is inspired by martian traces found in Antarctica embedded by meteorite ALH84001, suggesting that we might well be living in mountains transferred from Mars.' The steadily winding music on Concentric Nothings' descends with the lyrical exercise of dissolution let my touch be indistinct and instinctive.'

Interspersed with the lyrical pieces of Anticlines are instrumental interstitials that demonstrate preceding concepts — as if to say, this is what antiforms sound like, and this is what the universe's indifference sounds like.' Dalt's ongoing experiments with visual artist Regina de Miguel support these ideas, their practice allowing the objects of their attention to slip in and out of being.

Mystic of matter, Lucrecia Dalt has previously performed and worked with Julia Holter and Gudrun Gut, her slippery spoken word and performative nature recalling the work of Laurie Anderson, Robert Ashley, Asmus Tietchens, or Lena Platonos. While touching stones, The Thing by Dylan Trigg, Cascade Experiment by Alice Fulton, and Wretched of the Screen by Hito Steyerl are but a few formative scripts that support Dalt's exploration of the betwixt and between.

In preparing a live set for Anticlines, Dalt plans to stage an uninterrupted configuration, like a kind of alienated lecture, aiming for gestures that create tensions with non-existent objects.' Dalt intends to provide meaning and a place for the listener to meditate or relate to the concerns and ideas' she presents.

- Lucrecia Dalt is a Colombian recording artist, songwriter, and producer.
- After studying civil engineering in Colombia, Dalt worked at a geo-technical company for two years and has since lived in Barcelona and Berlin, where she currently resides.
- She has released five solo albums and has collaborated with musicians Julia Holter, Laurel Halo and Rashad Becker, to name a few.
- Dalt has composed for sound design installations and performance pieces for institutions such as the Santa Monica Art Centre, Reina Sofia Museum and the Maisterravalbuena gallery of Madrid, in collaboration with visual artist Regina de Miguel.
- Anticlines is Dalt's sixth solo record, and her first on RVNG Intl., following the release of 2015's Ou.
- Anticlines explores the boundaries and limitations of human consciousness. The album's poetic lyrics were written collaboratively between Dalt and Henry Andersen during a weekend in Brussels, Belgium.

Panther Veil is the debut release on Dublin based Apartment Records. Over the 3 tracks London producer NCW explores various avenues of house music in a stripped back, unique fashion. Opening with the slowburning, Detroit-tinged swing of Veil, the flip serves up the bent out of shape jack of My Braindead Acid, while Panther's relentless late night groove rounds things off in a blurry haze.