quête:bluster

Neue EP des Londoner Produzenten Wordcolour mit seinem verspielten 2021er Track 'Bluster' plus drei nagelneuen Remixes vom New Yorker DJ Python, dem britischen Klangzauberer Djrum und einer Hälfte von Matmos, The Soft Pink Truth. 'One to watch' - The Guardian

Ethan Fawkes is an oldskool rave techno and EBM DJ and producer based in Tilff, Belgium. He’s known for his charismatic presence and combat ready style on stage, comfortably playing anywhere from raves to clubs or shows and festival stages with his signature sound which is a masterclass in unmistakably powerful and personal tracks. His unique vision and tireless work ethic are evidenced by a growing catalogue of original EPs, LPs and remixes for top international labels, winning the respect of his peers, the adoration of fans and the full attention of DJs and clubbers worldwide.

‘Dancefloor EBM’ is an energetic sensation of a release with all tracks having a distinctly unique sound of their own which encapsulates the industrial post punk, EBM and techno vibe of the label. Along-with the original version of Ethan’s track, which is an event all unto its own, the EP also comes with three stunning remixes.

The 1st is from legendary Italian producer Adriano Canzian who subtly smashes out a rusty snaking baseline version that’s on a journey of foreboding discovery. That’s followed by Columbian industrial EBM nutter Delectro who comes blustering in with a full on forceful driving session of a remix that leads impeccably into label owner Paulitical’s rearrangement that’s a 135 bpm ‘monster from the deep’ infused version with synths aplenty to round the release off in orchestrated style.

Un-easy listening from »anti-singer« and improviser Sofia Jernberg, a celebration of the voice in its rawest, most malleable form. Jernberg was born in Ethiopia and grew up in Vietnam and Sweden, so one can only imagine these diverse languages opened up a wealth of phonetic possibilities before she entered academia to study jazz and composition. If you dive into her catalogue you’ll clock her startling range – working as a jazz soprano and as an improviser, collaborating with everyone from Stefan Schneider to Mats Gustafsson, as well as appearances on the stage and screen, most notably in Matthew Barney, Erna Ómarsdóttir, and Valdimar Jóhannsson’s »Union of the North«.

On »Voice«, Jernberg provides a ground-level entry point to her work, meticulously running through a litany of unconventional techniques (non-verbal vocalisation, split tones, toneless singing, and distortion) without any effects, just pure batshit sonics designed to show off the voice’s scope as an experimental instrument. On »Mouth Synthesizer« she purses her lips to make ratcheting pops like some analog oscillator, hoarsely mimicking the sort of blustery, Merzbow-coded distortions you might get if you patched a RAT pedal into a broken guitar amp. It isn’t an act of caricature, it’s Jernberg’s way of demonstrating that expensive modular rigs aren’t an essential tool for experimental music, before throwing a side-eye to the field recording industrial complex on »Birds«, transforming her vocal chords into a nightmare aviary. But it’s Jernberg’s startling »multiphonic« experiments that hit hardest. The album opens on »Multiphonic I«, and it’s difficult to tell that you’re listening to a human voice at first – you could just as well be on Colin Stetson’s overblown sax airstreams. Jernberg creates a captivating spiral of crooked, phased tones and hoarse, guttural croaks that she develops over three movements. On »Multiphonic II«, her voice is turned into a storm of pained shrieks, and on the third and final segment, it almost resembles Arve Henriksen or Jon Hassell’s muted brass curlicues. Each track pulls a different musical muscle, whether it’s »One Pitch« with its unsettling yodel-like quivering drones or »Gurgle«, sounding like a close mic-ed recording of a small pot gently simmering.

Supergroups existed before Emerson, Lake & Palmer formed in 1970. And, as we all know well, many came after. But few, if any, matched the English trio’s chemistry and its elevated combination of virtuosity, vision, and verve. Having influenced a multitude of followers, ELP’s prowess was obvious from the start. The band’s self-titled debut stands as a towering statement of creative imagination, execution, and discipline more than five decades after its original release.

Mastered at MoFi’s California studio, housed in a Stoughton jacket, and pressed at Fidelity Record Pressing, Mobile Fidelity’s numbered-edition 180g 33RPM LP of Emerson, Lake & Palmer presents the benchmark album in audiophile sound. Clear, dynamic, and balanced, this collectible edition honors the perfectionist approaches that both informed the playing and recording of the record.

Distinguished with black backgrounds, this reissue brings to light the epic scope, tonal depth, and mind-bending degrees of musicianship on display. Aspects — textures, nuances, effects, melodies, tempo changes — that go hand-in-hand with the trio’s compositions and interplay are rendered amid broad soundstages and delivered with pinpoint detail. Whether you’ve owned multiple copies of this touchstone or seeking out your first version, you’ll relish the presence, separation, imaging, and crispness that help make every song come across as if the group has set up shop in your listening space.

Opening the door to the seemingly infinite possibilities of progressive rock while steering clear of excess, Emerson, Lake & Palmer achieved a rare feat in that its complex, cerebral music didn’t prevent it from attaining mainstream success. The gold-certified effort launched the career of a band that would sell tens of millions of records. It also landed a Top 50 single in the form of the ballad “Lucky Man,” whose vocal harmonies, folksy strumming, multi-tracked instrumentation, and breakthrough Moog solo almost feel quaint in the face of the other fare on the album.

Comprised of genre-defying originals and hybrid arrangements of two classical pieces, the album Rolling Stone originally and rightly said is “best heard as a whole” matches outrageous ambition with the otherworldly skills of three musicians who remain among the finest to ever pick up their respective instruments. While Emerson soon drew the lion’s share of headlines for his ability on keys — clavinet, Moog, piano, Hammond organ, and pipe organ included — Greg Lake’s aptitude on guitar and bass, along with well as Carl Palmer’s monster talents behind the kit, created a three-headed hydra that devoured everything in front of it.

That extends to the radical reinterpretation of Bela Bartok’s “The Barbarian” that begins the LP, a performance that in less than four-and-a-half minutes runs the gamut from distorted to churchy to angular and blustery. More classical flourishes, keyboard wizardry, hard-rock heaviness, and gothic signatures emerge throughout “Knife-Edge,” which reimagines music by Leos Janacek and J.S. Bach — and ultimately invites you to explore a cathedral of sound teeming with separate bursts of keys and percussion.

And did someone say “drumming”? Check out Palmer’s monster salvo on “Tank,” a rhythmic showcase that marches out with knee-bent notes and mirror-reflected passages. Or dive into the mythological suite “The Three Fates.” Replete with three parts and Emerson playing the pipe organ at Royal Festival Hall, it shoots off sonic fireworks via sophisticated arpeggios, jazz improvisations, dancing counter-meters, sizzling chords, and a few explosions. Please don’t hold anyone at MoFi responsible if your system cannot handle it; this is heady stuff.

Indeed, everything on Emerson, Lake & Palmer is there for a purpose. Whether you aim to attempt to dissect all of the notes, shifts, and polyrhythmic bluster or just want to absorb this album as one living, breathing organism, this version invites you to do both as many times as you desire.

Voal — Vand and Shoal — reveal five more cuts on their home label Isotoop, taken from the pair’s time living together in Utrecht. Whereas the debut EP, ‘Saffron’, dropped the listener into psychedelic aesthetics and atypical rhythmic structures, the sequel ‘Jinx’ has a more crystal-cut vision of club music, made for no less exploratory dancefloors.

Possessing a natural progression almost as fluid as a contiguous live set, with imagination each track can form the basis of the next through the fingerprints of a barely-perceptible ghost leaving a piecemeal narrative impression, an exposure in negative that develops over repeated exposure to the five versatile tracks.

Relative to Saffron’s sidestepping repertoire, this latest EP goes for the jugular with insistent club dynamics from the get-go. Summoning steps on air, a self-contained package of breezy dancefloor initiation and escalation, all-in-one, and from the foothold of this thermal vortex Crosswind ups the drama with storm-hued dynamics and blustery club debris.

The knife of aesthetics is freshly sharpened for the flip: Jinx takes the record out of earthbound atmospheres and deep into sci-fi territory. A jigsawwing bassline seems to drill ever-deeper into an expanding landscape, as it does so uncovering small sonic treasures locked in the bedrock. A mirror to this scene, The Chain digresses with bubbling verve and psychedelic strut, a combo-finishing left hook that simultaneously holds playfulness alongside dour dramatics, a duality shared by vinyl-exclusive closing track Ouah, which blows out the lights with a smirk, and premium hallucinatory dub psychosis.

It’s safe to assume no one in the audience at Carnegie Hall on March 30, 1974 anticipated what Miles Davis would play at the concert documented on Dark Magus: Live at Carnegie Hall. Recorded near the tail end of his electric period, the double album remains the darkest, most ferocious statement of Davis’ career — a visionary effort that foresaw developments in jungle, noise-rock, funk, and drum ‘n’ bass.

Initially issued in Japan in 1977, Dark Magus waited two decades for U.S. release. Now, more than 50 years after Davis and his ensemble blew minds at the famous New York venue, it gets its first-ever domestic issue on vinyl — and on a definitive-sounding pressing at that.

Mastered at Mobile Fidelity's California studio, housed in a Stoughton gatefold jacket, and pressed at Fidelity Record Pressing, this numbered-edition 180g 33RPM 2LP set of Dark Magus invites you to pull up a seat and wrap your head around an exhilarating performance that simultaneously functions as an audition, experiment, release, and magnificent explosion of jazz-rock fusion. We hope your turntable and speakers are up to the challenge.

This collectible reissue presents the improvisational magic that unfolded onstage — the skronking tonalities, wah-wah-pedal bluster, acid-washed effects, furious drumming, run-the-voodoo-down grooves, menacing riffs, crashing cymbals —with incredible detail, color, and pace. It also captures the band’s unbelievable energy, rendering both instruments and on-the-fly changes with revealing depth, definition, and dynamics. At its core, MoFi’s audiophile set takes you deep into the boundless mystery, promise, and uncertainty of Davis and company’s efforts like never before.

The story behind Dark Magus is nearly as unbelievable as the spur-of-the-moment compositions that resulted when Davis brought drummer Al Foster, bassist Michael Henderson, percussionist James Mtume, horn virtuoso Dave Liebman, and guitarists Pete Cosey and Reggie Lucas together, and, in a new twist for the concert’s second half, added guitarist Dominique Gaumont and tenor saxophonist Azar Lawrence to mix. That the latter two instrumentalists had never seen each other until that night adds to Davis’ legend — and penchant for bold, unorthodox moves.

Ditto Davis’ own actions that spring evening, which reportedly included showing up to the show an hour late and taking the stage with his back facing the crowd. The strategy worked. Davis inspired the group to play in a bold manner that few, if any, had heard before. Dark Magus is a rhythmic bonanza. Rooted in Afro-centrist techniques, avante-garde sensibilities, and exploratory moods, the songs eschew set arrangements and solos, and, for the most part, melodic devices.

For Davis, Dark Magus represented a personal triumph amid a period marked by health issues, addictions, and critical decline. The latter slight would be corrected, but not until decades later when Dark Magus saw Stateside release in 1997 via a CD reissue. Of course, the free-form patterns, unpredictable passages, dense structures, and distorted blues that course through the songs — titled after Swahili numerals — are not for everyone. And certainly not for the fainthearted. Though Dark Magus contains majestic moments marked by quiet restraint and something on the level of balladry, its rich and radical concoction of tormented thwacks, thumps, cracks, clatters, wails, bleeps, burbles, stomps, and enigmatic beats remains its adventurous heart and soul.

Primal and enigmatic, fierce and jagged, forceful and revolutionary, jolting and terrifying, Dark Magus seemingly attacks from any and all directions. Turn it up loud and let the prophetic brilliance of this inimitable and relentlessly funky album wash over you.

The intrepid composer and field recordist Jacob Kirkegaard is no stranger to perilous and hostile regions of the world. His 4 Rooms invoked the radioactive decay through the amplification of architectural resonance in Chernobyl, Ukraine; and he has ventured to the arctic environments of Greenland on a number of occasions to document that barren, icy territory. His recurrent use of shadow and mystery through his work both as metaphor and as extended sonic technique reflects the complex, existential conditions that cross-contaminate what we consider civilization and what we consider wilderness. Waste disposal, firearms, the decomposition of dead bodies, the eerie stillness of morgues. These have also been the source material in Kirkegaard's formidable work.

With Snowblind, Kirkegaard turns to history, and a poetic, failed attempt for a team of Swedish explorers to reach the North Pole by balloon in the late 19th Century. Perhaps driven by blind adventurism, perhaps consumed by his own delusions, S.A. Andrée launched this ill-fated flight in July 1897, registering only two days in the air before crashing into the ice and ultimately failing to navigate the frigid waters and ice floes. Yet documentation of their expedition - photographic, scientific, and diaristic - survived, to be discovered some thirty years after their deaths.

"I wanted to created a cold and hostile album, where there is no escape, no warmth and no happy ending," as Kirkegaard explains about Snowblind. "Yet, I wanted to leave out any immediate drama. It is the creeping shock, the icy feeling from realizing what has been lost and that there's no escape."

Yes, Snowblind is a very bleak album, but one that eschews the isolationist, long-form drone of conceptually similar works by Thomas Köner, Lustmord, Werkbund, and Lull with interconnected constellations of cryptic tone, thrumming reverberation, arctic bluster, and a plethora of harrowing sonic proclamations.

Producer, designer, publisher, filmmaker, all-round scene phenom - Lasse Marhaug returns with his first album since relocating from Oslo to the Arctic Circle, surveying his 35-year career for a set of grizzled, doom-pocked rhythms and foghorn drones pulled from the aether. Expansive and hard to categorise, it's a precision-tooled set of ice-cold tonal productions that heavily lean into Mika Vainio’s rhythm experiments, with extra levels of growling bass and curious noises to send us deep into the uncanny.

Lasse Marhaug has put his mark on literally hundreds of albums - working with artists like Jenny Hval, Merzbow, Jim O'Rourke, Kevin Drumm, Hilary Woods - so many others - yet he still regards himself as a primarily visual artist who got diverted into an occasionally different path. If his last album 'Context' was a kiss goodbye to decades of life in Oslo, 'Provoke' turns a new page, but one that draws heavily from memories of the distant past, reflecting on the way the topographies of Norway's frozen north helped shape his creative worldview. Weaving electronics into environmental recordings captured in the bleak Arctic winter, the album was mixed during the Polar night season, when, for two straight months, the sun never rose past the horizon. Somehow, even at its bleakest, Marhaug avoids the usual aesthetic signifiers for this kinda thing, finding elements of queered beauty in all the severity, juxtaposing elements that shine a bright light on all the odd spaces in-between.

A consideration of noise music's place in 2024, and whether it can still be a tool for subversion when its aesthetics have been so commodified, ‘Provoke’ also refernces an experimental '70s Japanese art magazine that attempted to define a new language for photography. Operating somewhere between these two guiding poles, Lasse feels his way through a subtly altered mode of expression, a new approach to familiar concepts. Album opener ‘Plates’, for example, gives it the full Ø treatment, like some exceptional ‘Oleva’-outtake, but , eventually, shards of interference start to exhale like horses blowing, creating uncanny sensations that hit through ambiguous feeling rather than sheer noise terror. Ritualistic, corporeal - hard to know what you’re listening to and why it makes you feel that certain way - so much more than just machine cycles optimised for their ultimately hollow brutalist aesthetic.

Marhaug paints vivid pictures from a carefully chosen palette, drawing us into a soundworld that's rich with contradictions and contrasts. Even the relatively deafening 'New Topographics' offsets its wall of distortion with a muffled, perforating kick drum, cutting into the noise like a knife through butter. And all of this preparation makes the album's lengthy centrepiece 'Monochrome Head' even more impactful; hinging on a Pan Sonic-like alloy of bass and drums, the track snowballs through tempered feedback and improv scrapes and whistles that pick up into an orchestral din. Marhaug accents the bluster with rhythmic hums that gather in momentum until they're almost oppressively heavy, as if everything's about to collapse.

A masterclass in quietly subversive world-building, 'Provoke' invites us to peer at an expansive sonic landscape and marvel at its intricacies, but this time around there's a Lovecraftian behemoth lurking somewhere beneath its icy surface.

The opening track to the Alan Parsons Project’s Eye in the Sky remains the most recognized instrumental in sports—fanfare inseparably tied with introducing NBA legend Michael Jordan and his six-time world-champion Chicago Bulls mates before games, and still used by many teams as an energy-raising prelude. Indeed, the subdued grandiosity, cosmic bluster, and lights-out wonder of “Sirius” sets the table for the band’s smash 1982 album, whose hallmark smoothness, lushness, and balance extend to the music’s exquisite song writing, dreamy emotions, and underlying orchestral scope. Credit for the record’s craft, cohesiveness, and accessibility also falls to Alan Parsons and creative partner Eric Woolfson’s knack for recruiting session pros that translate their visions with unquestioned feeling—particularly, vocalists who include former Zombie leader Colin Blunstone and soul singer Lenny Zakatek.

Mastered from the original master tapes, Mobile Fidelity’s RTI pressed 180g 45RPM 2LP version of Eye in the Sky features succulent warmth, magnificent balance, low-end heft, and see-through transparency that take you into the studio with Parsons at Abbey Road Studios. Each note seems perfectly placed, every sequence painstakingly considered. Boasting front-to- back depth, concert-hall-level separation, realistic presence, and bang-on accuracy. This release will test the capabilities of the world’s finest stereo systems. There’s more information, more texture, more nuance— more of everything to be experienced. British progressive rock would never again sound so sophisticated, suave, or steady.

Volume 3 of a set of collaborations between the prolific Argentine polymaths Reynols and the inescapable Acid Mothers Temple. Recorded in Buenos Aries on AMT’s 2017 South American Tour, the music has identifiable sonic elements from both groups but ends up sounding like neither, with a surprising weightlessness that keeps things jammy and psychedelic until the final track’s blustering rock. Taking up most of side 1, “Kicking Air Bricks” has a loose Gong/’70s Euro-classic vibe, with Satoshima Nani getting to swing on the drums in a way that isn’t always part of AMT’s steamroller, while the rest of the gang layers in abstract piano, percussion, glissando guitar, etc. “Multiverse Turtle Reflex” closes the side with a thick drone coda. Side two starts with Miguel Tomasin’s gentle vocal and organ accompaniment on “Smelling Oneiric Asado” before the group gradually gathers momentum with Wolf’s thick bass anchoring layers of clean and loose guitar interplay. “Lemurian Tsunami Inside A Hat” is a thriteen-minute heavy rock epic, with the Reynols’ guitars going head to head with Makota Kawabata’s easily recognized interjections, ramping up into a riffy crescendo.

The inaugural release on KMRU's own fledgling OFNOT imprint, 'Dissolution Grip' is an ambitious project that emerged from his studies at Berlin's prestigious UDK. The Kenyan composer and sound artist is best known for his field recording work, and as he traveled across Europe and the wider world for regular live performances, he made a point to snapshot each city. But the more he studied and the more he examined his practice, the more KMRU began to wonder what the purpose of these recordings were, and what bearing they might actually have on his self-expression. Simultaneously, he'd begun to dive more wholeheartedly into the world of synthesis. In a way, synthesis is the most basic form of sound, and KMRU started to wonder not just how he could harness these sounds but how he might be able to more dynamically combine them with field recordings.

Guided by Jasmine Guffond at Berlin's Universität der Künste (better known as UDK), KMRU looked at waveforms - the visual representation of sound itself - and embarked on a process where he would write scores from the shapes, gradually turning the scores into raw synth sounds. Considering the spaces he was inspired by and shuttled through, KMRU decided that instead of using environmental recordings as an aesthetic marker, he would use these captured moments to guide the waveforms. So each sound is birthed from a field recording, but none of those recordings are audible in their original form. For example, on the digital bonus track 'Along A Wall', KMRU recorded in an old shack on his family's compound in Nairobi, where wind was shaking the building to its foundations. Listening to the finished piece, we can hear subtle electronic tones that rub and vibrate against each other, slowly saturating and mimicking the erratic motion of the wind. The original recording has been removed, but the feeling remains.

The album's opening side 'Till Hurricane Bisect' is a 15-minute epic that evolves at its own glacial pace, carefully transforming blustering wind sounds into gasping drones, glassy oscillations and choked distortion. Cosmic and meditative, it's a testament to KMRU's skill as a sound engineer and patience as a composer, combining the gentle world building of his acclaimed Editions Mego album 'Peel' with the rumbling energy of 'Limen', last year's collaboration with Aho Ssan. On the title track, KMRU takes the opportunity to flex his orchestral muscle, conducting a cast of warbling synth tones into a durational symphony. Starting as quietly as a whisper, 'Dissolution Grip' expands at its own pace until it's a dense wall of harmony, powerful but never completely overwhelming. It's music embedded with a rich sense of place that informs us of KMRU's past and present, and signals where his musical philosophy might take us in the future.

The Horace Silver Quintet of 1959 was a hard bop juggernaut featuring the pianist with trumpeter Blue Mitchell, saxophonist Junior Cook, bassist Gene Taylor & drummer Louis Hayes. Timeless originals like ‘Sister Sadie’, ‘Peace’, and the blustery title track make Blowin’ The Blues Away one of the finest entries in Silver’s formidable discography.

This Blue Note Classic Vinyl Edition is stereo, all-analog, mastered by Kevin Gray from the original master tapes, and pressed on 180g vinyl at Optimal.

Vienna impact on RFR! PELETRONIC blesses us with his own unique blueprint of abstract house.

„Riddim & Bassline“ are the main ingredients for the opener of his
„Honey Badger EP“. A rumbling, buzzing and funk loaden predator digs his way into our ear canal.

„Sry I’m dazed AF“ - words we‘d sometimes like to address our supervisor with, especially after a serious weekend night out. A grating, distorted Miami Bass variant on a Deep House bouquet that lives up to his title.

„True Brew“ also starts wonderfully imperfect. Blustering beats and scruffy hi hats are being perfectly paired with a piano harmony. Bring us another two or twenty of this special drink!

Last but not least we got a remix by none other than DMX Krew, who provides a bubbly finish to „Riddim & Bassline“. There is not much left to say, cos if you got Ed DMX on your record, really everything has been said.

Rund 20 Jahre sind Dub Spencer & Trance Hill im Musikbusiness unterwegs und nach wie vor hungrig wie eine Raupe im Blätterwald. Vermeintlich dominierte dabei stets die Dub-Komponente, egal, ob sie humorvoll-intelligent mit Weihnachtsliedern, Spoken Words oder Italo Western vermischt wurde. Doch spielte immer auch das Elektronische, Psychedelische, der "Trance" eine wichtige Rolle im Schaffen der europaweit bekannten Schweizer Band. Nun endlich erhält diese Facette ihren gebührenden Platz auf dem neuen, zwölften Longplayer des Quartetts: "Imago Cells" heißt das Album und markiert eine Metamorphose. Aus dem Alten entsteht also das Neue, und so verschmilzt der Dub mit Elektronischer Tanzmusik oder besser: "Trancemusik"? Die Tracks stehen klar im Zeichen des Up-Tempos und laden zum Raven ein. Weiter ist auch das Klangbild noch bassiger und psychedelischer geworden, ohne jedoch den organischen Touch zu verlieren. So blubbern, echoen und grooven denn die acht Songs tierisch gut, klingen unverkennbar nach Dub Spencer & Trance Hill und zugleich versteht man, dass der einzige Weg das Neue ist. Ein wahrhaft magischer Augenblick, wie die Geburt des Schmetterlings.

The WAEVE - composed of Graham Coxon and
Rose Elinor Dougall – release their eponymous
debut album on Transgressive Records.
Produced by The WAEVE and James Ford (Arctic
Monkeys, Florence & The Machine, Foals, HAIM)
and recorded in London earlier this year, ‘The
WAEVE’ is a collection of 10 new tracks from
songwriters Graham Coxon and Rose Elinor
Dougall.
Joining creative forces in The WAEVE gave the
duo the opportunity to push past their instrumental
comfort zones. Many tracks feature Graham on
saxophone, one of the first instruments he played
as a young musician back in the 80s.
First single, ‘Can I Call You’, starts as a ballad then
morphs into a Krautrock-style motorik number with
a sprawling Coxon guitar solo. ‘All Along’ features
Graham on cittern, a medieval folk lute. Rose plays
piano and an ARP 2000 modular synth.
The heavy weather all over ‘The WAEVE’ recalls
the blustery folk rock of Sandy Denny or John &
Beverly Martyn, while tracks such as ‘Kill Me
Again‘ and ‘Over and Over’ recall the 70s rock of
Kevin Ayers or Van der Graaf Generator, almost
industrial in places.

Marking his second for Northern Electronics, Rune Bagge's new album, Grab a Star, narrates a melancholic thread through a brilliantly luminous astral-electro scene. Carving an achingly delicate relief through six tracks, there's a neon hinge to the emotive mechanisms at work, offsetting the meditative armature with sheer torque and a blustered spirit.

The trashed hotel room and communal living depicted on the cover of the J. Geils Band's sophomore album tell you all you need know about the music, spirit, and energy spilling from within The Morning After. Shot through with raw, lean rock n' roll sparked by juke-joint blues and loose rhythms, the 1971 set comes on like the most fun, party-still-raging hangover any group in the 70s enjoyed. And now it rolls with an abandon that takes you inside the sweaty, smoky roadhouses and wall-to-wall-packed clubs the group dominated in its heyday.

Mastered from the original master tapes, pressed at RTI, and limited to 3,000 numbered copies, Mobile Fidelity's 180g vinyl LP achieves a sonic acumen that brings you face-to-face with the sextet's white-hot instrumental prowess and magnetic personalities. It's always been difficult to single out just one member of the band given the cohesive bluster the ensemble achieves as a whole, but this collectible audiophile edition allows you to do just that if you so choose, by way of superb imaging and separation. As for the band's trademark dynamics? Here, they feel like they're on the verge of exploding.

So go ahead. Twist the volume knob to the right as much as you want. You'll lose none of the focus, detail, placement, or presence no matter how high the decibels climb. The Morning After spills forth with previously unheard tonalities, ranging from the distinctive swells of Seth Justman's slow-burn organ to the live-wire spark of Geils' own downed-power-line-jumpy guitar work to the mooring hi-hat/cymbal/snare combinations of arrangement-steadying drummer Steven Bladd. Friends, this is raw rhythm n' blues, this is how it should feel, and, man, this is how it should sound.

Not for nothing did the Massachusetts-based collective name the album The Morning After. The music within doesn't abide by rules, ignores speed limits, flips the bird at curfews, and digs deep down into America's blues roots to yield organic material at once fresh, exciting, traditional, and original. The back-porch punch provided by the combination of "Magic Dick" Salwitz's searing, melodic, snake-like harmonica and vocalist Peter Wolf's animated, barely controlled deliveries is alone enough to make anyone with a faint pulse to stomp their feet, climb atop a kitchen table, and kick their boot heels until the neighbors call the cops.

Just witness the deceptive smoothness of the snake-like "So Sharp" or Maxwell Street zest of the aptly titled Magic Dick showcase "Whammer Jammer," which will leave you gasping for breath before it even ends. J. Geils Band also knew its way around deep-cut soul. The ensemble's Top 40, howling, adrenaline-to-the-heart rendition of the Valentinos' "Looking for a Love" and swirling, romantic take on Don Covay's "The Usual Place" seamlessly balance drive and emotion. Coupled with rafter-shaking originals such as "Floyd's Hotel" and the riff-propelled "I Don't Need You No More," sent up with typical Wolf vocal flair, and the record parks the band's all-night festivities and go-for-broke attitudes right on your front lawn.

One last word of warning to the uninitiated: The Morning After is not the slick-pop J. Geils Band of "Centerfold." And that is a very good thing.

Hot on the heels of the sold-out limited ep Was It Ever Real?, The Soft Pink Truth releases a super catchy, sexy contemporary disco banger Is It Going To Get Any Deeper Than This?, Throughout the ten songs of the album, the provocation to go "deeper" prompts promiscuous moves across the genres of disco, minimalism, ambient, and jazz, sliding onto and off of the dancefloor, sweeping higher and lower on the scale of frequencies, engaging both philosophical texts re-set as pop lyrics and wordless glossolalia. Throughout, Is It Going To Get Any Deeper Than This? aims for a kind of psychedelic poolside take on disco, using the steady 120 bpm rhythmic chassis of the music as a launchpad for reverie rather than big room EDM bluster. Sidestepping retro kitsch but paying homage to highly personal interpretations of disco such as Arthur Russell, Don Ray, Dr. Buzzard"s Original Savannah Band, and Mandré, or the jazz-funk of Creed Taylor and CTI Records. Its emphasis on slowly morphing deep house grooves will also appeal to fans of DJ Sprinkles, Moodymann, and Theo Parrish. At once catchy and spacey, poppy and perverse, Is It Going To Get Any Deeper Than This? shows a restless musician trying to square the circle of dance music and meditation, repetition, and change.

Hot on the heels of the sold-out limited ep Was It Ever Real?, The Soft Pink Truth releases a super catchy, sexy contemporary disco banger Is It Going To Get Any Deeper Than This?, Throughout the ten songs of the album, the provocation to go "deeper" prompts promiscuous moves across the genres of disco, minimalism, ambient, and jazz, sliding onto and off of the dancefloor, sweeping higher and lower on the scale of frequencies, engaging both philosophical texts re-set as pop lyrics and wordless glossolalia. Throughout, Is It Going To Get Any Deeper Than This? aims for a kind of psychedelic poolside take on disco, using the steady 120 bpm rhythmic chassis of the music as a launchpad for reverie rather than big room EDM bluster. Sidestepping retro kitsch but paying homage to highly personal interpretations of disco such as Arthur Russell, Don Ray, Dr. Buzzard"s Original Savannah Band, and Mandré, or the jazz-funk of Creed Taylor and CTI Records. Its emphasis on slowly morphing deep house grooves will also appeal to fans of DJ Sprinkles, Moodymann, and Theo Parrish. At once catchy and spacey, poppy and perverse, Is It Going To Get Any Deeper Than This? shows a restless musician trying to square the circle of dance music and meditation, repetition, and change.

Freedom is both an integral and multi-layered topic for improvised music, describing its mechanics, aesthetics, and values and often an underlying political dimension as well. In the case of free jazz specifically, the word carries additional weight given the music's deep connection to the black liberation movement of the 1960's and 70's.

The passionate and unclassifiable work of Calgary-based improviser Jairus Sharif embraces each of these definitions of freedom and others, albeit strictly on its own personal and idiosyncratic terms. Since early 2020, the 34 year-old autodidact has been generating a steady stream of homespun solo recordings that forge unprecedented connections between hip-hop abstraction, cosmic skronk, outsider jazz, and staunch post-punk DIY ethos.

Leading up to the pandemic, Sharif's immersion in spiritual and exploratory jazz had culminated in him deciding to purchase an alto saxophone. Unbeknownst to him this instrument would be a catalyst for him to discover his own ardently individualistic artistic voice.

Prior to that point, he had always been somewhat of a solitary musical traveler. In 2002, he acquired his first instrument—a pair of Technics 1200s — but struggled to find local collaborators that had equal investment in hip hop culture. Ultimately, Sharif picked up the guitar, turning to the resilient local punk community, that had also nurtured both of his mothers some time earlier.

As Black Lives Matter gained momentum in the wake of George Floyd's murder, Sharif was suddenly flooded with an acute awareness of his own identity. It compelled him to zealously plunge headlong into open-ended spontaneous solo creation. Water & Tools, his strange and stirring debut for Toronto's Telephone Explosion Records (home to full-lengths from the likes of Brodie West's Eucalyptus, Mas Aya, and Joseph Shabason), offers a glimpse into this ongoing hermetic journey.

As Sharif dedicated himself to uncovering his own deeper musical truths, he assembled a home studio in his basement, cobbling together a drum kit from bits his bandmate had left at his house pre-pandemic, chaining effects together and outfitting the entire space with microphones. Somewhere between the chaos of child's treehouse and the tidy import of a shrine, this space (pictured on the album's back cover) consecrated his own imagination. He laid it out to maximize access to any and every tool in his arsenal, providing him a freedom to explore that he had never permitted himself to consummate before.

Within this cozy private universe, his recent purchase—the saxophone—assumed new meaning. It furnished a tangible connection to the black radicalism that mobilized free jazz, but also something far more personal. From a technical standpoint, the instrument was completely unfamiliar to him, yet rather than this being a hindrance to Sharif, his inexperience opened fruitful path forward, unencumbered by preconceptions. Resolving to shirk formal training, convention, and build his own understanding of it from scratch, allowed him to access his most raw, fundamental creative impulses. The Saxophone's inseverable bond with breath compounded this effect, echoing revelatory discoveries he had been making about breathing through yoga, research, and psychotherapy. Of course, the parallels with BLM's harrowing rallying cry—“I can't breathe”—were not lost on him either.

Water & Tools is a dense, contradictory statement with a blustery surface that shelters a soulful heart. It's generous music, exuding profound vulnerability—grappling with the loss of one his mothers, Lisa—all the while brimming with electric wide-eyed wonder. Almost every one of the nine pieces seems to carry some semblance of a groove, while remaining completely untethered from pulse. For Sharif, this collection is an expression of newfound lucidity, however for the listener his sonic concoctions act as powerful psychotropics. At points, there's a timelessness that's conveyed through the music's processional, ritualistic tenor, and yet there's an endless amount of wild, futuristic detail waiting to unspool at any given moment. Similarly, while this recording emerges from Sharif's private pilgrimage and personal emancipation, he also leaves room for collaboration. Woven throughout Sharif's one-man-ensemble textures, one finds Maxmilian Turnbull (of Badge Epoque, U.S. Girls, and Cosmic Range infamy) providing sundry keyboards and treatments, as well as his mixing skills.

Whether conjuring effusive psychedelia or plumbing introspective depths, the music that Jairus Sharif produces is singular, visceral, and wondrously unpredictable. Water & Tools sketches a raw, firsthand account of his nascent explorations within his own unbridled imagination.

As a duo they embrace both sides of the coin, drums and guitar, chaos and order, male and female, ying and yang, the angel and the devil. They are more than the sum of both counterparts though, making for a maximalist auditory experience. PIKA brings her skills of mystifying performance to the table, all free-drum bluster and vocals veering between shrine maiden and wild spirit. Kawabata's guitar-work moves from a roar to a whisper, a yell to a sob, he's working on the same canvas of extremes. The aim of their unity is to write truly celestial hymns for the outer world and odes of love for the inner cosmic context.
 
No strangers to one another, the pair have not only gigged together with their respective bands but also recorded together, when these two outfits temporarily fused in 2005 to become Acid Mothers Afrirampo (releasing an album of the same name). Two years later they distilled their collaboration, all other players being stripped away to leave the core of Pikacyu's manic drums and pop vocal, and Makoto's schizoid guitar conjurings. In 2011 they spent five weeks touring the US and their first album, 'OM Sweet Home: We Are Shining Stars From Darkside', which was released by the esteemed UK label of all things heavy and brilliant, Riot Season. Last year they spent two weeks touring through Europe whilst writing a new album suffused with the outreaching sound and message of their impulsive live performances. This new album is entitled 'Galaxilympics' and will be released by Upset The Rhythm on August 4th on LP and CD.
'Galaxilympics' is an album of contrasts, so much colour, so much shade! 'Space Sumo' kicks off the record in explosive style. Pikacyu's drums jitter, crash and stumble, but steadfastly refuse to groove. Makoto attacks his guitar, cloaking himself in reverb to produce a wall-of-sound, alternating between melody and noise. 'Funifunikonefuni' follows with it's frenzied take on pop music, bubbling with energy and PIKA's multiple vocal layers. 'I'll Forgive' is chant-like in its devotion to following the tumbling melody line of the song even to absurd and unpredictable dimensions. 'Pika Mako Hall' is a more serene affair, with whispered echoes and guitar drones swirling amongst bursts of rapid sequencer ambience. 'Castle Of Sand' picks up on this more spacious approach with slowly developing programmed electronics, before the title track erupts with gurgling synths, soaring guitar trails and PIKA's most searching vocal yet.
 
The album concludes in reflective manner with the suitably titled 'Sayonownara', a song as much in the present as it is in the act of saying farewell. It's positively elegiac with washes of cymbal and deep acres of guitar drone for the first five minutes before PIKA's drums take things up a gear and into more psychedelic out-rock terrain. This insurgence eventually peaks and the album melts away to silence. PIKACYU-MAKOTO have made an album that takes you on a trip into your very soul before emerging once more at the edge of another galaxy. 'Galaxilympics' is a triumph of opposites united, it enjoys walking out into the unknown, but it's also a portal into the very real world of two musicians who find peace and semblance through their interaction. Hymns and odes to one side, this is a giant album of future-facing song and noise, where better to find harmony enthroned

"The anger and depression got to me, and I couldn't hold it in anymore
So, I got into a room with my demons and we just hit record," shares indie singersongwriter Leslie Mendelson. The resulting album, playfully titled, ' If You Can't
Say Anything Nice' ,' is viscerally themed, imaginatively arranged, cinematically
dynamic and textured, oozing raw elegance. " I deal with depression and anxiety,
and I've never really sang about it before. It also felt like what was going on with
society was also affecting me, in terms of gun violence, the opioid crisis, and the
all hatred in the news and media. It felt like it was time to speak out," Leslie
explains. Leslie has released two prior albums, including her Grammy Awardnominated debut, 'Swan Feathers,' one EP, and three singles. Her first album
exhibited a production sheen she opted to strip away on her sophomore album, '
Love & Murder.' Her latest, ' If You Can't Say Anything Nice ' ,' is a gutsy album that
splits the difference between her previous albums in terms of production, but
also features some garage- rock bluster. " The best time to make a rock n' roll
record is when you're broke and pissed off, " she says, with a good-natured laugh.
For the album, Leslie worked with longtime co-writer and guitarist Steve McEwan
who co-produced the album alongside bassist and engineer Lorenzo Wolff.

Second Sub Pop album by acclaimed UK act TV Priest finds them building on the
post-punk of their early material and maturing into a powerhouse of tense, politically
caustic, and thoughtful rock music.
Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made
their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were
established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their
political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy
on its wearer’s shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. “A lot of it did feel
like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length,” says vocalist Charlie
Drinkwater. “I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take
a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the
opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest.”
Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued
press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous
outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single ‘House of York’
followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to
Sub Pop for their debut album. When ‘Uppers’ arrived in the height of a global
pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its “dystopian doublespeak,”
but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic
Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of
tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the
personal and professional landmark of its release felt “both colossal and minuscule”
dampened by the inability to share it live. “It was a real gratification and really
cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental
health,” admits Drinkwater. “I wasn’t prepared, and I hadn’t necessarily expected it to
reach as many people as it did.”
As such, ‘My Other People’ maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking
advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using ‘Saintless’ (the closing
song from ‘Uppers’) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting
lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as
a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health.
“Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would
say, particularly well,” he says. “There was a lot of things that had happened to
myself and my family that were quite troubling moments. Despite that I do think the
record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders
for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in.”
“It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something
that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful,” agrees Bueth. “Brutality and frustration are
only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the
time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening.”
This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and
an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to ‘My Other People’, a
record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you’re
welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is
a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or
any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy on its wearer's shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. "A lot of it did feel like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length," says vocalist Charlie Drinkwater. "I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest." Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single "House of York" followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to Sub Pop for their debut album. When Uppers arrived in the height of a global pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its "dystopian doublespeak," but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the personal and professional landmark of its release felt "both colossal and minuscule" dampened by the inability to share it live. "It was a real gratification and really cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental health" admits Drinkwater. "I wasn't prepared, and I hadn't necessarily expected it to reach as many people as it did." As such, My Other People maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using "Saintless" (the closing song from Uppers) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health. "Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would say, particularly well," he says. "There was a lot of things that had happened to myself and my family that were quite troubling moments.Despite that I do think the record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in." "It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful," agrees Bueth. "Brutality and frustration are only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening." This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to My Other People, a record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you're welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy on its wearer's shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. "A lot of it did feel like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length," says vocalist Charlie Drinkwater. "I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest." Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single "House of York" followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to Sub Pop for their debut album. When Uppers arrived in the height of a global pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its "dystopian doublespeak," but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the personal and professional landmark of its release felt "both colossal and minuscule" dampened by the inability to share it live. "It was a real gratification and really cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental health" admits Drinkwater. "I wasn't prepared, and I hadn't necessarily expected it to reach as many people as it did." As such, My Other People maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using "Saintless" (the closing song from Uppers) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health. "Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would say, particularly well," he says. "There was a lot of things that had happened to myself and my family that were quite troubling moments.Despite that I do think the record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in." "It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful," agrees Bueth. "Brutality and frustration are only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening." This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to My Other People, a record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you're welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

Dirk Dresselhaus (Die Angel, Schneider TM), John Duncan, Ilpo Väisänen (Die Angel, Pan Sonic), Zappi (Faust) LP + CD released by Improved Sequence. Strange attractors. Zappi's subtle tribal rhythms. Powerdrone electronics by Dresselhaus and Väisänen. Duncan's lyrics and vocals. Sublime and daunting. Tanzcandid stumbling wobbling shuffling muddling wallowing careening blundering toppling faltering unravelling bungling entangled snarling blustering bullying wrecking butchering mangling

Etui welcomes Tim Kossmann. With Lockdown Loops the Westfalia dub techno mastermind presents a very personal EP with 3 deep, loop based tunes recorded in extreme isolation during lockdown. The situation created a feeling of lonesome remoteness and uncertainty, transcended by putting in more man hours in the studio.

The EP starts with Loop A, a dreamy dub techno riddim that has nice distant echoes and mint chords. The 2nd track Loop B has a more noisy, warped chord progression topped with atmospheric piano riffs.

Loop C on the b-side consists probably of the most heavenly sounding melancholic chord loop he has recorded so far. Expect a tune composed of atmospheric bluster combined with a banging deep mono bass and different layers of noise. It is simply an epic lofi sound anthem.

Tim Kossmann is a Germany based producer who focuses mainly on dub techno and ambient. Since 2016 he has been releasing on a constant basis on labels like Telrae, Greyscale and Superordinate Dub Waves among many others.

He loves to explore the deep side of techno, with the aim of creating deep, lush chords and soundscapes filled with echo and spaced out delays, where deeply banging bass and moving whitenoise are combined with sophisticated harmonics in order to push the boundaries of the genre.

Since the demise of his previous band, Ultimate
Painting, Jack Cooper - under his Modern Nature
guise - has never stopped looking ahead,
exploring and reaching for something further.
Since 2019, he’s released an EP, mini album
‘Annual’, one full length LP, one 7” and three live
cassettes - in the process mapping out astonishing
new terrain. ‘Island Of Noise’ presents an obvious
new peak in his discography.
 180g recycled vinyl in 3mm spined sleeve printed
on recycled board.
 “Mesmerising... A treasure trove of interesting
musical ideas, as well as a source of restorative
solace.” - The Guardian (****)
 “On ‘Island Of Noise’ Modern Nature’s Jack
Cooper folds together much of what he’s already
done - illuminated pop, exploratory improvisations,
post-Canterbury prog - and locates a common
thread, expanding outwards with the help of freemusic pioneers saxophonist Evan Parker and
bassist John Edwards.” - Uncut (9/10)
 “Jack Cooper captures a sense of mystery and
magic on his second album as Modern Nature,
using gentle folk rock as the base for a subtle
evocation of peacefulness.” - The Times (****)

A true psychedelic masterpiece!
Black vinyl LP in black and white jacket with miniature two color booklet. Limited second pressing.
Blind Owl Wilson was a truly great guitarist and vocalist whose deep well of psychedelic blues songs were buried amongst the catalog of major label rockin’ blues band Canned Heat. Blind Owl served as Canned Heat’s guitarist and would chip in a song here and there as a front man. A couple of those songs became huge hits in the 60’s – “Going Up The Country” and “On The Road Again”.
Blind Owl’s songs for Canned Heat stood in stark contrast to the bands blustery blues rock – his was a gentle and nuanced voice and the themes of his song were all about personal heartbreak, grasp- ing for cosmic understanding, and ecological justice.
Here we have an LP of Blind Owl’s songs from Canned Heat’s records – left to sit alone and take you somewhere unexpected. Blind Owl’s personal vision quest can be heard throughout these songs. “Poor Moon’ tells the tale of Alan’s heartbreak as he watches the moon being misguidedly bombed by man, ‘My time ain’t long’ confronts death, “Parthenogen in 3 Blind Owls’ and ‘Parthenogen childs end’ take you to the psychedelic limits, and oh yes, we have the hit tunes on here too. Co-release with Sutro Park records.

Thalia Zedek is an artist of immutable stature and
unceasing vitality. The legendary songwriter’s fiery voice
and frank lyricism give her songs emotional potency and
stark beauty. Zedek is able to distill complex events into
simple, clear and, at times, monumentally weighty
moments with a singular grace. Through ballads or bluster,
Zedek imbues her music with unguarded honesty. ‘Perfect
Vision’ examines the anxiety and pain of rising divisions
between people both physical and ideological. Zedek
transmutes fervour and resilience into sobering laments,
while her lush arrangements wrap the listener in an often
complex emotional message.
‘Perfect Vision’ follows the 2018 ‘Fighting Season’, created
in the midst of growing tensions across the US. On
‘Fighting Season’ Zedek sought resistance, where on
‘Perfect Vision’ she searches for clarity during a time of
exponential isolation and doubt. Every challenge and
sadness Zedek forces us to see is met in equal measure
by her defiant guitar and dissenting voice, a torch
illuminating a path for the listener to navigate through the
darkness.
Features Winston Braman, Gavin McCarthy (E, Karate)
and guests Brian Carpenter (Beat Circus, Ghost Train
Orchestra), Alison Chesley (Helen Money), David Michael
Curry (Boxhead Ensemble, Dinosaur Annex Music
Ensemble, Willard Grant Conspiracy), Mel Lederman
(Victory at Sea) and Karen Sarkisian.
CD in gatefold packaging with lyrics. LP in full colour jacket
and inner sleeve with lyrics. Vinyl packaged with digital
download card.

Granny13 opens with Nicola Ratti's 'Odd Doubt'. With the use of a modular system and tape loops, a broken rhythm is obtained by parallelism between single sound signals as LFO one or processed tapes.On the second side, Giovanni Lami's 'Johnny Leech' is made with a small bunch of equipment, just a chaotic hand-made synth (cacophonator) and a memoryman, working mainly on static electricity and leakage current in the synth used without any kind of power supply.

Reviews

The Wire
''Two Italian mucisians share a split single of glitchy fun and everyone goes some happy. Lami s piece uses a defective unplugged synthesizer to make huzzing chitters that have a kind of rhythm in spots. Ratti s contribution is a bit more structured it sounds like a record of accordion miniatures broken into pieces, then glued back together with little pieces of felt stuck onto it. Which would definitely be a pretty hep thing to hear.''

Textura
''Some releases qualify as art objects as much as musical collections, a case in point this recent seven-inch vinyl outing featuring material by Nicola Ratti on one side and Giovanni Lami on the other. That shouldn't be interpreted to mean that the musical content isn't worthy of one's time, as it assuredly is, but more to emphasize how striking the sleeve artwork by Opora is and how effectively it complements the musical content.Mastered by Giuseppe Ielasi and issued in an edition of 150 copies, the release opens with Odd Doubt, a concise experimental setting by the Milan-born Ratti, who's issued material on labels such as Anticipate, Preservation, Die Schachtel, and Entr'acte and who's presently working with Ielasi in the project Bellows, with Attila Faravelli as Faravelliratti, and with Enrico Malatesta and Faravelli in ~Tilde. Though Ratti started out as a guitar player, his current focus is more on beat-analog experimentation and sound installation. In Odd Doubt, Ratti's modular system and tape loops generate broken rhythms that varyingly call to mind dub-techno, even if dub-techno of an extremely wonky variety. Off-beat chords, crackle, and snare strikes add to the dubwise flavour of the material, though ultimately it registers as more of an experimental exploration than straight-up dub exercise.The flip side features Johnny Leech by Lami, a one-time photographer now known as both a field recordist and a musician focusing on soundscaping and sound-ecology. In his contribution to the seven-inch, Lami's chaotic hand-made synth (cacophonator) and memoryman give birth to blustery smears of static electricity that ultimately mutate into an Oval-like array of ripples and scratches. Johnny Leech is so removed from anything conventionally musical, it makes Odd Doubt sound like a Top 40 pop song. Like Ratti's piece, Lami's is short, so short, in fact, it gives the impression of being an excerpt from a larger sound art work. Here's a release where the abstract nature of the musical content matches its visual presentation.December 2014''

Vital Weekly 951
''Granny Records is from Greece, but the two musicians here are from Italy, of which I don't I heard from Giovanni Lami before. His piece is called 'Johnny Leech' and he uses a hand-made synth known as the cacophonator and a memory man (a delay machine), 'working mainly on static electricity and leakage current in the synth used without any kind of power supply'. It makes up for a nice piece of chaotic lo-fi sound, which is put forward through methods of improvisation. Quite a nice piece and it fits the format very well. The crackling of vinyl surely adds an extra layer. Nicola Ratti uses a modular synth and tape loops, of what seems to be percussive material, but the rhythm is broken down and the whole thing has a nice gentle feel to it, even when it bumps, clicks and glides, but the synth makes it more subtle. Here too one could say this perfect for a 7": one doesn't have the idea that this is cut from a longer part as is not unusual with this kind music. Especially Ratti seems to have worked out his music as a composition, which is very nice. (FdW)''Vital Weekly 951''Granny Records is from Greece, but the two musicians here are from Italy, of which I don't I heard from Giovanni Lami before. His piece is called 'Johnny Leech' and he uses a hand-made synth known as the cacophonator and a memory man (a delay machine), 'working mainly on static electricity and leakage current in the synth used without any kind of power supply'. It makes up for a nice piece of chaotic lo-fi sound, which is put forward through methods of improvisation. Quite a nice piece and it fits the format very well. The crackling of vinyl surely adds an extra layer. Nicola Ratti uses a modular synth and tape loops, of what seems to be percussive material, but the rhythm is broken down and the whole thing has a nice gentle feel to it, even when it bumps, clicks and glides, but the synth makes it more subtle. Here too one could say this perfect for a 7": one doesn't have the idea that this is cut from a longer part as is not unusual with this kind music. Especially Ratti seems to have worked out his music as a composition, which is very nice. (FdW)''Vital Weekly 951''Granny Records is from Greece, but the two musicians here are from Italy, of which I don't I heard from Giovanni Lami before. His piece is called 'Johnny Leech' and he uses a hand-made synth known as the cacophonator and a memory man (a delay machine), 'working mainly on static electricity and leakage current in the synth used without any kind of power supply'. It makes up for a nice piece of chaotic lo-fi sound, which is put forward through methods of improvisation. Quite a nice piece and it fits the format very well. The crackling of vinyl surely adds an extra layer. Nicola Ratti uses a modular synth and tape loops, of what seems to be percussive material, but the rhythm is broken down and the whole thing has a nice gentle feel to it, even when it bumps, clicks and glides, but the synth makes it more subtle. Here too one could say this perfect for a 7": one doesn't have the idea that this is cut from a longer part as is not unusual with this kind music. Especially Ratti seems to have worked out his music as a composition, which is very nice. (FdW)''

Following some ear-catching manoeuvres across releases like last year's self-released 'Only' and 'Lagata', which gained her early fans like Bjork and Dev Hynes (who she supported in the USA), 'Tommy' marks Klein's deepest plunge yet into the deep, dark ocean' of her musical imagination on her Hyperdub debut. On 'Tommy' her vocals play with Fifties-esque melodies before switching to familiar tones akin to Brandy and Rodney Jerkins, her live voice and live piano playing filtered through hyper-glitchy and looped production with a loose, internal logic, cutting from angular atonality to pockets of skewered harmony. 'Tommy' also steps things up in conceptual terms. Its eight tracks are broken down into acts that are rooted in themes of vulnerability, sisterhood and death, threading the chaotic sonics with modern operatic undertones and a Shakespearean sense of tragedy. There's a lot of bluster about originality in contemporary UK music and what rises from the noise here is a creative voice who, by her very nature, plays with the construct of what pop is. This is Klein's world ... it's on us to get with it.