Suche:body void

Atrocity Machine is the latest full-length album from the Vermont-based doom metal band, Body Void. The album, which was released on October 13, 2023, features six tracks of heavy, crushing, and atmospheric soundscapes that delve into themes of environmental collapse, societal decay, and the darker aspects of the human psyche. Atrocity Machine marks a further evolution of Body Void's sound, incorporating more complex song structures and a greater emphasis on dynamics. The album's lyrics are also particularly poignant, tackling issues such as climate change, social inequality, and the devastating consequences of industrialization.

Rhythmic Brutalism' is the title of this release, available as a two CD set or two separate LPs, the title is also a very apt description of the music itself. Romanian-born Alexandra Atnif was fascinated by the harsh, grey concrete beauty and minimally repetitive force of the brutalist post-war architecture of her homeland, and this fascination has given rise to the music here. Vol. 1 is an EM Records edition, compiled from an earlier self-released double CD featuring recordings from 2014-15. Vol. 2 consists of previously unreleased recordings from 2015 to 2017. Using elemental, inexpensive technology, Atnif' s music is heavy and harsh, stripped down to distressed skeletal frameworks, rhythmic noise, rusting metal and weathered concrete, a distorted DIY realization of her beautifully brutal vision. With a background in European modernist/avant-garde music, Atnif has been influenced by early rhythmic industrial music such as Throbbing Gristle, Esplendor Geometrico and Muslimgauze, as well as later practitioners of rhythm and noise including Pan Sonic, Autechre, Winterkälte, Prurient and Scorn. Across the relatively brief span of years contained within these two volumes, we hear the rhythmic structures begin to fracture and fray, and the outlines darken and become more obscure, with Antif's sensibility evident throughout.

First Contact features CROÍ, Lukey, KAIR, Sahm, and HVSN. Our first release is a compilation of tracks that we’ve been collecting and to seize all the styles and genres which we will deal with in the future.

‘First Contact’ is the first song of the VA, opening with an invitation with a combination of a nostalgic ambience followed by the drums that go along with the vocals pointing to the start for our journey. In Irish, the word "CROÍ" (pronounced KREE) means "heart". ‘Target Lock’ from Lukey, is a track that will definitely surprise you. This song is meant to push you back to the dance floor with a feeling which you don’t get very often from listening to these kinds of songs. Everything is cool with ‘Target Lock’, drums, nice trippy vibes, and how the bass fits there… You should be blown away by this song. In a real old school style! Lukey has previously caught the eye of industry labels like Hot Creations, also his release on Carpet & Snares Records, Into The Wizard's Sleeve, The Void Project was hammered by some of the great DJ’s in the world.

KAIR introduces himself to us in his own way with ‘Let's Get it!’ Because this bomb won’t fail to make you dance and feel good! It’s pure house and joyful music that makes you dance and get lost within the music. Also, ‘Let's Get it!’ is just a preview of the upcoming EP. ‘Rainbown’ is a track which shows us that Sahm knows how to come out with a brilliant house track. A groovy old school house with heavy percussion, comes from a young talented producer from Brazil! This will be the track that you’ll be playing years from now on. And ‘Bust This’, you will hear among the bass, the claps and drums, a high energy that will make you move your body. HVSN presents his vision of how to bring the right emotions of a dance floor full of energy and the connection between the bass, synth, drums and melody is back!

Enjoy, This Is Real Talks Records.

VA – First Contact RTR001 incl CROÍ, Lukey, KAIR, Sahm, HVSN

Utter presents Marshall Jefferson's previously unreleased meditation opus 'Yellow Meditation For The Dance Generation' alongside two remixes from French production maestro Joakim.

Marshall Jefferson: Chicago House music pioneer, creator of the anthemic ‘Move My Body’, an original collaborator of Adonis, Ce Ce Rogers and Roy Davis Jr., production mastermind of countless dancefloor classics such as Phuture’s ‘Acid Tracks’, Sterling Void’s ’It’s All Right’, Hercules’ ‘7 Ways’… and the soothing voice behind a 36 minute healing meditation guide. Yes, really.

But let’s rewind, slightly.

In 2017, Marshall was approached and encouraged by Ian ‘Snowy’ Snowball to write his autobiography and the pair set about putting Marshall’s account of the history of House music together. The book, ‘Marshall Jefferson: Diary of a DJ’ was published in 2019.

Following the book’s release, Ian and Marshall's collaboration continued and during the pandemic an outlandish idea arose to create a piece of music combining Ian's interest in meditation (he runs Club Chi specialising in Shibashi Qigong - a form of Tai Chi Qigong - which is a gentle form of movement therapy/exercise) and Marshall's willingness to experiment musically to see what might be possible.



The result is ‘Yellow Meditation For The Dance Generation’, where Marshall vocalises Ian’s lyrics in his instantly recognisable voice. The keen-eared out there may also recognise aspects of the music itself as a stripped back, lengthened and far mellower version of Marshall’s 1985 obscurity ‘Vibe’:

“I would take tapes to the Music Box and Ron Hardy would play my music. ‘Vibe’ was one of those tracks. I recorded ‘Vibe’ in 1985, but it became one of my tracks that I just forgot about until some guy on Facebook sent me a recording of it that was taken from a club. The only person who I ever gave a recording of ‘Vibe’ to was Ron Hardy. The other people I know who had copies of the track were Gene Hunt and Emanuel Pippin (DJ Spookie).

"The original version of ‘Vibe’ was made using a Roland 707, Roland JX-8P keyboard and a Roland 727 drum machine. I was still working at the Post Office at the time, and this was pre-‘Move Your Body (The House Music Anthem)’. ‘Vibe’ has the building blocks for ‘Move Your Body’ because it was using the instruments on the track that I discovered what I could do with the bass sound, to make a track like ‘Move Your Body’.”



Still, Ian’s initial intention for ‘Yellow Meditation’ was function and it was designed to be a ‘Sequential Relaxation Exercise’ focusing on the Solar Plexus. Bearing this in mind, Marshall took a bare-bones and hypnotic approach to this particular re-recording of ‘Vibe’ so that the voice takes centre stage and listeners (hopefully) find themselves on a meditative journey. In fact, this long-form track was always intended as a private tool purely for meditation at Club Chi rather than released to the public - after all, Marshall had also created and released a more drum heavy, ’traditional’ club-focused 'Vibe Three' instrumental version for that very purpose - but a chance airing of the full 36 minute version changed its path.



Much like those 1985 ‘Vibe’ cassettes, Marshall had sent the track to a few close contacts, one of whom was Kieran at Phonica Records who aired it over the shop’s basement soundsystem. Its unorthodox nature caught the ear of colleague Alex (of Utter) and the seeds of a physical release were planted.

Eventually, with the full-version carefully whittled down to a vinyl friendly length of 24 minutes, full track parts in hand and a b-side to fill, Alex sought out one of his favourite producers to take up the remix reigns: Joakim. The Tigersushi co-founder and Crowdspacer boss has a long history of boundary-pushing remixes that straddle both dancefloor functionality and experimentation. This time the original material resulted in Joakim coming up with a number of ideas and he finally delivered two versions - one club focused (‘Vertical’), the other more introspective and meditative (‘Horizontal’), both of which appear on the final 12”.

The limited edition 12” also includes a download code giving buyers access to all of the vinyl tracks plus an 18 minute extended version of Joakim’s ‘Horizontal’ remix, its instrumental counterpart (for those who can live without Marshall's voice) and full 12 minute acapella (for those who can't!)


Alex

a A1. Yellow Meditation For The Dance Generation (Edit) 24:00
b B1. Yellow Meditation For The Dance Generation (Joakim's Vertical Remix) 9:09
9:05

This is the story of an artist in search of sound and breath: an artist who dares to question the rhythm of silence—an invitation to rethink music, sound, and musical collaboration. This is the story of a journey that, after opening countless paths, has finally found its vessel—and its messengers. Three artists of profound musical truth and radical freedom, merging into an exceptional trio that crosses genres and transcends words in a journey toward pure emotion.

Le Rythme du Silence is the culmination of this long search. Yom delivers it here with violinist Théo Ceccaldi and cellist Valentin Ceccaldi—kindred spirits in sound. “I’ve been working on this idea of the ‘rhythm of silence’ for years,” Yom explains. “I first heard the phrase from a Sufi master, describing the foundation of meditation. It struck something deep in me. I’ve practiced meditation for a long time, and we often think of it as a kind of stillness—opposed to noise and life. But in truth, the rhythm of silence enables meditation. It means accepting that the world continues to move and live around you, even as you try to be still. I wanted to compose from that place. To imagine sound as vibratory matter—the primal substance of creation. That required letting go of fixed structures: forgetting melodies, abandoning the idea of a constructed solo. I needed to leave behind music as a system, and touch sound as a living, breathing entity. It took years. Many projects led me elsewhere. But with the Ceccaldi brothers, I finally found the right resonance. Working with them was simply obvious—it was indredibly powerful.”

Yom first rose to prominence reimagining Jewish traditional music with his 2008 debut New King of Klezmer Clarinet. Since then, his path has led through rock (With Love, 2011; You Will Never Die, 2018), electronic utopias (The Empire of Love, 2013), meditative and sacred soundscapes (Prière, 2018), and countless unclassifiable hybrids (Unue, 2009; Green Apocalypse, 2010). It was inevitable that he would eventually cross paths with the free-spirited Théo and Valentin Ceccaldi—two artists who also place collaboration and genre-blurring at the heart of their artistic development. Their projects are always bold, demanding, and full of life (Kutu, Tricollectif, ONJ, Velvet Revolution, Grand Orchestre du Tricot, Lagon Noir, Constantine, etc.). And so, when the three met within the iXi string quartet, something clicked.
“I was seated between the two of them in the quartet,” Yom recalls, “and I could feel their energy flowing from both sides—it was wild! They’re so tuned into each other, they don’t need words. It’s like they’re connected by musical Wi-Fi. The groove happens instantly. They’re precise when they want to be—thanks to their experience in pop-influenced projects —but they can also let go completely, diving into pure sound. That’s exactly what this project needed.”

Without a single rehearsal, the trio formed instinctively. They began performing Yom’s compositions live, unfolding them into a single continuous piece, where clarinet and strings stretch the limits of sound and breath.
Bowed, plucked, or prepared with clothespins, the Ceccaldi strings engage in a playful and intense dialogue with Yom’s custom B-flat clarinet. Through their imaginative listening and fearless invention, air and space open into a vast new soundscape—one that lies somewhere between meditation and healing music.

“When Yom shared the concept of the rhythm of silence, we were immediately drawn in,” says cellist Valentin Ceccaldi. “There’s a deep intensity and spiritual commitment in his music that really spoke to me. With this trio, we’re trying to dive into the core of sound—but also to create a kind of communion with the audience. It’s like gradually turning up the volume on silence, and realizing it’s made of countless tiny sounds—the music of particles in motion" This stripped-down intensity demands full presence—body and mind—of these three musicians, vibrationally connected in a state close to trance. With them, we enter a journey - not religious, but sacred nonetheless.
The Rhythm of Silence becomes an echo of our most intimate, most distant inner landscapes.
An album—and a trio—to return to without end.

AN ATLAS OF LOSS

Do minerals dream of becoming semiconductors? Do they yearn to carry charges, amplify, switch, and convert energy into emotions comprehensible to humans? And what if, from the darkness of the underground, they had been listening to us sing in caves before the emergence of the first flute? Could they have guided us, through the course of history, to find them, extract them, and create new sounds through sinusoidal waves, to form valves and bend circuits?

If so, minerals would transition from what philosopher Eugene Thacker defines as the ‘planet’—that virginal and unreachable realm for humans that we study through geology, paleontology, and environmental sciences—to the ‘world,’ the space we inhabit, interpret, and synthesise in our daily lives. Sadly, we only remember the world when it erupts violently, through climate catastrophes or when a new virus emerges. Sometimes a tsunami collides with a nuclear plant, or viruses are cultivated as biological weapons in high-security laboratories, provoking a deep biological anxiety, hard to quell, which we all feel beneath our skin.

There exists a third realm, disconnected from both the world and the planet: the ‘earth’, an immense, dense rock floating in space alongside other planets, situated in the cosmological dimension. Relating to the earth is so complex that we only do so through theoretical speculations of a scientific nature or through science fiction, interweaving until one becomes the prophecy of the other, in an infinite, pendular dance. Beyond the darkness of space and Lovecraft’s cosmic horror, the fantasy of human extinction is the most recurrent: to reach a collapse so devastating that we do not survive it, even though the earth does, without us.

In a world where we quantify everything through body sensors, financial algorithms, nanometre-scale robots, and surveillance drones—a world in which everything that can be domesticated and controlled can also be commodified—a superior artificial intelligence would survive the collapse of the species (some speculate it might even cause it) and learn from our mistakes, thanks to our obsessive gathering of data.

Long after our voices fade, minerals will persist in the darkness of screens, in the silicon of chips, and in their pure form, still unexploited underground. Over the millennia, this intelligence might piece together fragments of our reasoning, as if an alien civilization finally connected with one of our spacecrafts loaded with messages cast into the void. It would sort through endless streams of data, unable to grasp the depths of emotion behind what it quantified, recreating simulations of our past, stripped of the nuance that once defined us and conducting experiments in sandboxes.

Some remnants of our existence—faint echoes of forgotten beauty—would be pieced together in an atlas of loss, buried beneath layers of numbers, decayed bots, and corroded hard drives. What will follow? Perhaps bison will once again roam—trotting to the strange pulse of techno, their ancient forms framed by the ruins of our cities.

Buildings will crumble, slowly dissolving under the soft touch of ambient music, and a thousand flowers will bloom with that ancient music created through electrical signals and computation. 7 songs for a future both improbable and inevitable—a final message from a world lost to itself, from planet Earth to planet Earth.

Alfons Pich, 2025

Two years after releasing the acclaimed Crash Recoil, Anthony Child aka Surgeon returns to Tresor with new LP, Shell~Wave. Retaining the minimal equipment list and studio-version-of-live-show-sets approach of the previous album in order to focus on the work itself, Shell~Wave is a deeply personal document of both where Surgeon is and has been, converging three decades of experience with a continued curiosity in the untested.
“To make this project, I had to dig really deep in terms of what my relationship was to techno; I’ve been involved with it for a really long time and there’s a lot about it I feel dislocated from, so I had to really think hard about what techno is to me. I often get asked “what is techno to you?” but I can’t answer that with words; this album is the answer.” From the complex, twisting track Infinite Eye to the caustic Soul Fire, the eight tracks that make up the body of the album are single-take explorations of the vast, hard yet minimal techno Child is synonymous with.
Neatly dividing the record in two, the emotional centre of the record comes in the form of Dying, a vibrating, beatless piece that with a mantra-like vocal loop steeped in reverberating effects. Further echoes of dub production appear throughout the record as tracks like Divine Shadow, and Empty Cloud have an almost ever-present mist of reverberation, driven by the appearance of a new delay unit in the equipment list; while much of the philosophy of Crash Recoil’s creation is present, the process and the instruments have changed as Child again switches up his approach to studio work.
This insistence on trying novel techniques doesn’t preclude returning to old ones, as this use of modern digital machines with live, hands-on takes that are as inspired by 60s producer Joe Meek and 70s reggae as they are by this year’s synthesiser expos.
“For me, it’s an interesting experience returning to old techniques again after 30 years. I’m always exploring and finding myself back at the beginning. Connecting the present with the past.”
This philosophy of ‘time travel’ is inherent to the music itself as the synchronised loops repeat while the delay and effects branch out, forming unique eddies; distinct quantum moments within the circular whole; the future leaking through the spaces between the sounds. All of the concepts on the album are perfectly communicated through the painting by Taiwanese artist Jazz Szu-Ying Chen which suggests the movement of water, sound waves, and the chitinous shells of sea creatures.

Occult Vision; a new LP based imprint, offers a space for artists to share a more complete body of their work. We create windows into the deeper, alternative and often more authentic sounds of carefully selected artists. It's rare a producer in the underground house and techno scene has this type of platform and Occult Vision aims to fill the void. Our first album is from one of Frankfurt's finest producers, Frank Heinrich. Known to most as Reboot and sharing what will be his first solo LP since 2016, we have here an intricately crafted collection of music that was brought to life during the lockdown phase of the pandemic. This unique time had a resounding impact on Franks creativity in the studio, leading to a sound that strongly represents his emotions throughout that period. The tracks we have helped to curate for this release are often melancholic, yet hopeful with carefully placed textures and rhythms carrying a stripped back yet emotive energy throughout. This isn't your typical club music; it's more personal and meant as a listening experience. "On A Grind" presents the harshness and rawness of that period for so many of us and whilst you will hear Reboots style weaved into these tracks, Frank hopes that you will feel the passion and emotions put into this record accompanying you in your own moments of reflection.

After a long delay due to his previous powerhouse 'Hypnotised' blowing up the worldwide spot, German maestro Purple Disco Machine finally lets loose the next step in his world dance domination. Every superlative under the sun has been used for this man's talents and he does not disappoint with a return to his updated Italo disco stylings on new single 'Exotica'.

Purple Disco Machine remains at the forefront of world dance music, following a series of remixes for A-list icons Diplo, Dua Lipa, Mark Ronson, Foals, Calvin Harris, Fatboy Slim, Sir Elton John, whilst more recently delivering his stellar cuts of Duke Dumont’s ‘Ocean Drive’, and Lady Gaga and Adriana Grande’s international hit single ‘Rain On Me’.

He now unveils yet another side of his impressive production prowess with new single ‘Exotica’ featuring the Italian electro funk producer Mind Enterprises on vocals, creating an electric club record exploring and playing homage to '80s German and Italian euro disco records that he grew up with.

Based around a replayed sample of 80’s Italo disco classic ‘Void Vision’ by Cyber People, Purple Disco Machine creates a high energy dance-floor heater with a lively modulated vocal. ‘Exotica’ shares its name with the forthcoming studio album, which the artist confirms will feature his playful interpretation of the music of the decade that birthed the Purple Disco Machine sound; Synth Pop, Italo Disco, Electro Funk, Soul, R&B and Boogie.

Certified as one of the most prolific electronic artists of our generation, the Dresden born producer ranks #2 on Beatport’s all-time Top Artists, with his 2013 breakthrough hit ‘My House’ remaining as one of the platform’s best-sellers through to today. With an undeniable midas touch, Purple Disco Machine landed himself in the record books once again in 2018, whilst amassing a stunning 100 million streams across his original ‘Dished (Male Stripper)’, and remixes of Weiss’ ‘Feel My Needs’, and most notably his remix of the seminal ‘Praise You’ by industry icon Fatboy Slim. With a slew of varied releases including hit singles ‘In My Arms’, ‘Body Funk’ and ‘Devil In Me’, the producer’s status was propelled by his debut LP ‘Soulmatic’, earning him critical acclaim across the globe.

Laurel Halo returns with an album of original soundtrack music, composed for the film Midnight Zone by visual artist Julian Charrière. Following the path of a drifting Fresnel lighthouse lens as it descends through the Clarion-Clipperton Fracture Zone — a remote abyssal plain in the Pacific Ocean, rich in rare metals and increasingly targeted for deep-sea mining — the film traces a descent into one of Earth’s last untouched ecosystems.


Charrière’s film reveals the deep not as void, but as a luminous biome teeming with fragile life: bioluminescent creatures, swirling schools of fish, and elusive predators. The suspended lens becomes an abyssal campfire, attracting species caught in the tides of uncertainty, their futures hanging in the balance.


Echoing this tension, Halo’s compositions evoke a sensory freefall, where gravity falters and light and sound flicker in uncertain rhythms. Midnight Zone is a sonic drift through the space between what we seek to extract, fail to understand, and must protect.


Halo’s score evokes the life that exists beyond our physical airbound capacity. The material features long, subtle passages of electro-acoustic ambient, drone and sound design, slowly flowing and unfolding with rich detail. The music, composed largely on a Montage 8 synthesizer and Yamaha TransAcoustic piano at the Yamaha studios in New York City, possesses an uncanny quality: that of synthetic waveforms being amplified and sung through the stringboard of the physical body of the TransAcoustic piano. Combined with stacks of violin and viol da gamba, the music on Midnight Zone possesses trace elements of a human hand in an otherwise sunken landscape. Patient, submerged, and alive. The album will be the third on Halo’s imprint, Awe.


The film is central to Charrière’s current solo exhibition Midnight Zone. The exhibition engages with underwater ecologies, exploring the complexity of water as an elemental medium affected by anthropogenic degradation. Reflecting upon its flow and materiality, profundity and politics, its mundane and sacral dimensions, the solo show acts as a kaleidoscope, inviting us to dive deep.

2026 Repress

Flickering in ultraviolet, there is an elusive place where blue pill meets red, ups become downs, and day merges with night. Those liminal spaces where anything is possible is where you’ll find Nightbus and their hypnotic debut album Passenger. Doom, uncertainty, and opportunity lurk in the shadowy corners of their murky existence with stops at disassociation, co-dependency, and addiction before reaching its final destination - a glimmer of hope.

The in-between of Nightbus’ own Gotham lies where Manchester’s city pulse meets Stockport’s outer realm. An audio-visual entity formed among a musical family of friends, freaks, and foes in messy mills and after hours on dancefloors alike, their sound bleeds from tension where collective creative forces are bound together and collide with the fallout of being torn apart. Before even playing a show, their So Young released single ‘Mirrors’ – a knowing nod of respect to some well-known gloomy Northerners - may have made old school indie heads shimmy at shows in Salford’s The White Hotel but also signalled the duo’s knack for offering listeners a Bandersnatch approach to hitchhiking their own personal Nightbus in whatever direction they choose to take. “Everyone can have their moment with our songs; the music is our response to who we are as young people, living in the city full of this energy right now,” they say.

Whilst reverb hefty melodies and dread-filled loops embody isolation from writing at each of their home studio set-ups, magic happens in the ether across 90s trip-hop, indie sleaze and electronica; Jake’s production layers Olive’s pop sentimentality with drums and samples whilst tales of a cast of faceless characters place Olive as puppet master; her severed self’s perspective manipulating their stringed limbs at arm’s length to see how their stories play out when scenes reflecting her own lie close to the bone. “It’s a bit fucked; like having this out of body experience with a made-up movie running through my head,” she says. “As I write I can see they’re all from a similar world, but they allow me to explore different feelings without giving away part of myself.”

Recorded at The Nave in Leeds with producer-engineer Alex Greaves (Heavy Lungs, Working Men’s Club), surprise and danger lies in every crevice. Brooding whispers turn to chants on 6-minute opus ‘Host.’ Improvised when performed live, its immersive shift in tempo leads to hefty dub courtesy of Jake’s pedals. Even then, you won’t know shit’s hit the fan until its mid-point reveal when ominous bass blasts a thunderous soundtrack as its protagonist defiantly walks away after committing the perfect crime. “It makes you wait, and more songs should have sirens,” Olive grins.

Leaning deeper into alter-egos via the video game-psychological horror of a Silent Hill dystopia, the band’s Fight Club moment ‘Angles Mortz’ turns its literal translation of death angles on its head as it reflects upon kink and internalised shame reincarnated as pride. Elsewhere the ice cool ‘Landslide’ is a Requiem for a Dream about the addiction of being in a band; ‘The Void’ explores co-dependency and estranged relationships; and carefully selected samples revive house track ‘Just A Kid’ from the band’s early incarnation. Passenger’s every direction is to face challenges head on. “That is what’s so great about horror; you can see through predictable patterns so when the unexpected occurs it's more realistic and uncomfortable… I want to own the dark stuff!”

As for Passenger’s first single, the pulsating ‘Ascension’ is a spiralling deep dive into death, suicide, and legacy around who or what we leave behind. A noughties club banger by way of NYC beats - ergonomically designed for those who like to stay out a little too often and too late - it throbs like a house party’s partition wall as the literal levelling up undergoes a neon transformation; blue glitching to pink, diffusing the white construct of the Nightbus Matrix. “It really does feel like the end of something and was purposely written that way,” they say, “the ascension is like a firework going off!”

With wheels in motion, Nightbus has become a movement surpassing sonic realms. Between shows from Porto to Brighton taking in The Great Escape, Rotterdam’s Left Of The Dial and Paris’ Supersonic; DJing; remixing; guesting (BDRMM’s Microtonic album); and even enlisting talented like-minds to craft a 3-part queer coming-of-age music video series which ties in with a new ‘hyperpop’ phase in the evolution of their popular Nightbus Soundsystem club night, heads are now being turned from sports brands to high-end fashion designers. “There are things we can’t reveal just yet,” tells Olive, “but we’re excited about the direction this beast we’ve created is heading.” As the album philosophises and asks one ultimate question; what does it truly mean to be ‘Passenger’? Nightbus may not claim to offer a definitive answer, but it might make you feel a bit better about those demons.

Final LP of a productive year for Feral Child is an absolute cracker. The latest of a long line of superb full lengths from Stephen James Buckley's incendiary Polypores project. This one is arguably his most adventurous outing to date, the undeniably psychedelic “Hungry Vortex”. Four extended pieces exploring polyrhythmic fixations and cosmic jazz-prog freak-outs. Percussion-heavy opener ‘The Body Is The Spaceship’ is a fine example of the sort of seamless organic growth we tend to see in Polypores’ music, with slewed synth blips and rolling polyrhythms gradually twisting into unrecognisable strands of melody and unconventional groove before your very ears.

The prog-heavy ‘Wizards!’ sees Buckley’s trademarked playful use of time-signature changes, providing such a wealth of emotional and stylistic variance and immeasurable enjoyment without changing key once (honestly, who needs keys). It’s brilliantly evocative too and could indeed perfectly soundtrack a mushroom-trip wizard march. As we flip the record over, the flutey flourishes and minimalist clicks of the title track draw the listener into a trancelike state, repeated movements spiralling like myriad creatures crawling over a candy-coloured horizon, echoing forth into an inviting sonic oblivion. It’s ostensibly electronic, yet somehow more natural organism than machine, with little concern for the grid, or indeed, the rules. Finally, we end on something a little more subdued - the reassuring classicism of the beautiful ‘Void High’, with washes of warm noise and wobbly delay lines whirring and twinkling away, closing the record with an experience that is undeniably emotional, spiritual and as always, uniquely Polypores. This is a wonderful record with which to close the year out, it comes in a magnificent, spot varnished Jake Blanchard sleeve. A superb record released as a one time only vinyl pressing.

Nu-hardcore quintet, Bodyweb, are the sound of someone’s nervous system on the verge of breakdown—hyperactive, tormented and unflinchingly vulnerable. Born out of the Leeds hardcore scene, they’re a shape-shifting alloy of jagged emotion and precision chaos. What began as late-night jams between Louis Hardy (Higher Power, Big Cheese, Fate) and Ben Jones (Pest Control) eventually mutated into train_wreck_simulation, a debut EP filled with frantic breakdowns and nu-metal swag that felt like the soundtrack to a digital exorcism. The final piece of the puzzle came from Hardy’s estranged childhood friend, pq. His twisted samples and synthetic textures are haunted and disturbed, injecting cyberpunk soul into hardcore flesh. Contorting through several iterations in the following years, the band absorbed Luke Thompson (Stiff Meds) on drums, filmmaker Tom Hobson on guitar and Naomi Macleod (Empire State Bastard) on bass, and laid down their first collective offering. deadwired is due out on Flatspot Records later this year. Bodyweb's second EP is a violent thesis on connection and pain that sends Hardy’s unfiltered vocals through heaven and hell. Four overstimulating tracks run a gamut of styles and influences from Slipknot to Björk, constantly lane-switching between dizzying heaviness, ambient soundscapes and brain-burrowing hooks. Entirely self-produced, deadwired upgrades the sonic formula laid down on the last record and raises the question: what else could exist in Bodyweb’s twisted roadmap? Nothing seems impossible. What seems important, however, is retaining the rawness in a style that can often turn sterile. “We still wanted it to sound very human. It had to be well produced but not cold and lifeless.” shares Hardy. “We didn’t use a click track. All guitars were real amps with microphones. We tried to make everything as real and raw as possible, we recorded using all the same gear we use when playing live too to really capture the energy of how it feels when we jam together." ‘Deadwired’ is a snapshot of violent implosion. Four ADHD-fuelled transmissions from the edge of spiritual collapse. It drags metallic hardcore through glitched-out ambience to confront ego death, generational trauma, and the violence of being alive. On stage, Bodyweb don’t just perform, they purge. Raucous live electronics meld with digitally contorted guitars. Breakbeats meet breakdowns—no backing track in sight. Bodyweb enable a collective catharsis. Mosh, dance, dive, scream, heal. A physical therapy session screamed into the void.

The Australian master of the dark synth arts is back and – boy – he is out for blood.
We’ve been missing Marc Dwyer solo project Buzz Kull since his latest single Last In The Club from late 2019 and since back then we knew he was up to something. At first glimpse, the minimal wave days of We Were Lovers seem far away now that Marc has gone full Club Body Music with his upcoming new album, but there is a thread that binds Buzz Kull hits from the past such as Into The Void, Avoiding The Light and New Kind Of Cross with these ten new cuts: a thread of darkness proper to the most handsome man in the game and that’s here to stay.

Echoes of 90’s era Front 242 and Front Line Assembly will resonate from tracks like Fascination and Dead Inside; elements of early body music flirting with the dark side of British synthpop will rave from the grooves of Dancing with Machines and Man on the Beat, while late 80’s Belgian new beat cellar-like vibes rise from Do You See and Burn it to the Ground.

But Buzz Kull’s third full-length is not just about music subgenres we all know and love, it’s about a feeling that comes alive only with the dark and drives you through the small hours just to leave you drained and filled at once. The creature of the night is on the loose, the sticky dancefloor its natural habitat, its lust for the upside-down world of the club can’t be cured.

A special Japan connection for the next release on DJ Nobu's Bitta label. Osaka-based Erik Luebs joins the roster with an EP of iconic, tranceinfluenced techno melancholia. Having released most of his work through his own DIY channels, Luebs' sounds have reached many dancefloors worldwide. He now teams up with Bitta for something special. On Nontemporal Void, Luebs delivers four tracks that perfectly showcase his diverse sound palette. Each track hits a different box of energy--all while injecting a healthy dose of hypnotism. With a keen eye for detail, the EP moves from slowly built-up tension to eyes-closed techno grooves and synth-heavy euphoria, showcasing the many sides of a magnificent sound designer and creative artist.

Cross Record's new album, Crush Me, is steeped in the pressures and wonders of existence—a profound statement, especially coming from artist and death doula Emily Cross. A two-and-a-half-year gestation period offered challenges, disappointments, and joys reflected in the cramped space of the album, which explores how we handle the weights we carry. Emily Cross had held hundreds of Living Funerals and was as many episodes deep into her podcast, What I’m Looking At. She was five years into serving clients as a death doula and fresh off a tour with Loma, her band with Jonathan Meiburg (Shearwater) and Dan Duszynski, when she began work on her fourth album. After moving from Austin, TX to Dorset, UK, she established the Steady Waves Center for Contemplation (named after a track from her second record, Wabi-Sabi ), where she hosted Living Funerals, met clients, scheduled mindful tea sessions, and showcased experimental music nights. All the while, she was scribbling down song ideas. Cross’s Tascam four-track demos finally reached readiness, and she sent them to an interested major independent label. She was encouraged to push her imagination to the limits of what a record could be. So, unlike her usual process of recording as inexpensively as possible, she prepared a two-week recording session in Germany with a group of skilled musicians from around the world. True to her previous work, Cross left plenty of room in her demos for experimentation, collaboration, chance, improvisation, and complete obliteration, then resurrection when necessary. Comfort and traditional structure were eschewed in favor of unaccountable magic, prayers whispered into The Void. Cross is comfortable with the chaotic and unpredictable, a perspective demanded by her work and writing style. The Berlin Airbnb was packed with people, instruments and luggage. During a ride down in a tiny elevator to the studio, Cross realized how central the sense of being crushed was to the album. “I thought of it later and it dawned on me that ‘Crush Me’ perfectly embodied the record,” says Cross. Yes, the weight of a body laying limply atop yours, or the tight squeeze of a hug, can be pleasant. Go too far, and you’re in the hands of a cruel, adolescent god. Upon leaving Germany, the record was unfinished, and without a roadmap. As passages were recorded as isolated parts, Cross and musician Marcin Sulewski collaborated, facing a haphazard brick pile, waiting to be assembled. Work dipped in and out of view like a buoy bobbing in a violent sea over many months. During that time, the aforementioned interested label went radio silent, suddenly not seeming so sure of a thing. Collaborators disappeared, continuing the themes of abandonment, surrender, and disarray that followed the project. Cross physically felt her entire body go numb: In a twist of fate, the record was rescued by long-time friend and supporter Ben Goldberg at Ba Da Bing Records who was eager to help realize the project. Cross worked for months on the album, all the while nursing a pregnancy and continuing her full-time funeral work. The last minute participation of Seth Manchester of Machines with Magnets, who mixed and mastered, was an essential liferaft. He gave true final form to the abstracted songs. Crush Me has the effect of a spell being cast, with songs balancing heaviness and levity. Vocals, guitars, and keyboards float above, as drums and upright bass (often bowed) lurch beneath. On “Rolling Backwards” percussion wanders about while feedback squeals and persists in the distance. “Dorset Area Of Natural Beauty” starts with a thick, unhinged church organ progression punctuated by the disquieting sounds of laughter reaching the point of hysteria. “God Fax” is a slow-moving panic attack, with shallow breaths in and out framing a guttural cacophony like a wooden freighter encountering increasingly turbulent waters and vocals struck emotionless by autotune. The album ends with “Twisted Up Fence,” a reflection on life from outside the wall--wistful, warm, and comforting. Cross, likely with a smile on her face, sings: “You say it’s an endless abyss” “And I say the abyss is the best”

Enxin/Onyx, the duo of Nicky Mao/Hiro Kone and Tot Onyx (formerly group A), joins Other People with their debut album "In Rupture," capturing the same mesmerizing energy for which their live sets have become known.

“In Rupture” is not painless but in rupture lies possibility. The elasticity of this time pitching us across unknown terrain, revealing new potentialities, eclipsing static being. Whether in breach, collision,shimmer or severance, Enxin/Onyx explores these as occasions for transformation. Peeling back the layers through discord and harmony, exciting the inversion of expectation, towing the listener to depths and back up again to illuminate the senses. At times metallic and feral, at others murky and sharp, each song serves as an offering for all that is in rupture; body, spirit, land, ecosystem.
The opening track “A Void” calls to mind some mutation in its mechanical ecstasy, but for what purpose remains unknown. Even in the near moments of stillness, “Needle Pierces the Threshold” breathes a forceful disquietude. Tommi’s vocals pulling the listener down into some subterranean
madness, to unravel upwards from all sides, flooding the once parched landscape. In “Embers Kissthe Eye”, all of time emerges in one moment, compelling the subject’s gaze towards a new horizon.
The album follows its subjects through exile, exhumation and discovery. Through this process plates shift, fissures are revealed and what once appeared to be indomitable absolutes crack, pointing towards their inevitable collapse. To be in rupture is regeneration, to be in rupture is to return.

Having thrived throughout the underground realms for the last ten years, Question built a respectable body of work displaying a sound meeting constant progression, a vision sharpened and perfected with each output. Six years following the debut full-length recording, the Mexican quintet unleashes “Reflections of the Void”, a grand tome of sheer Death Metal might in eight tracks that take Question’s sonic traits and overall concept to a whole new level of magnitude. In perfect unison with the majestic Shoggoth Kinetics artwork that adorns the album’s cover, “Reflections of the Void” stands apart and invites the listener to a pathway beyond the horizon, a detailed journey on life and death and yonder. Such carefully threaded concept meets its aural accomplice as Question carries a cloud of impending doom, a dense and arrestive atmosphere on brilliantly crafted songs that drink from the fountain of the past yet blistering in its very own with a striking sense of dynamics which assuredly puts the group in the major leagues of Death Metal mastery. Obscure, threatening riffs blaze through the first moments of the record, trading somber licks and faster belligerent attacks, yet never failing to enter a redundant path, for a tempo change or a dissonant endeavor spells unexpectedly and takes the listener on an intense rollercoaster. Fiercely crafted, the pulsing bass impulses and organic drumming patterns exhale as the pounding heart of “Reflections of the Void”. Technical, precise, enter a scorching performance in taste and dexterity, never sounding dull or plastic but shining for its soulful presence, side by side with the dazzling production, utterly potent and vibrant, taking the defying arrangements to greater extents. In and above this sonic frenzy, a vociferated voice grunts the illusions of our existence with a resonating dark tone spawned directly from the imposing void. As this opus resumes into the boundless vacuum, we are left with a sense of distress and awe. Question crafted a work for the ages, one which with every listening reveals a further dimension, a hidden mystery, just like the classics in the unholy pantheon to which this opus will surely belong someday.

“Reflections of the Void” is released under the banner of Chaos Records.

To give you an idea of what the New Jersey, USA band Cowardice sound like, “Atavist” exists somewhere on the spectrum between the sombre strains of Bell Witch and the tormented tones of Body Void, with the first half of the album (“Suzerain”) erring more towards the bleakly melodic style of the former, while part two (“Sentinel”) shifts the focus towards a darker, dirgier approach; somewhere on the edges between melancholic doom and experimental sludge metal. Perhaps inevitably, it’s not quite that cut and dry - the gut-churning grind of “Unforgeable Key” for example, is just as nasty and gnarly as anything found on “Sentinel”, while the desolate disharmonies of “The Diminutive Principle” channel a similarly angst-ridden aura as much of “Suzerain” - but this distinction between the two halves, subtle as it may be, plays a big role in giving the whole album its sense of direction and progression.

And while it is always recommended to listen to the totality of “Atavist” so as to get the most out of it - especially if you’re a fan of the likes of Cavernlight and/or Chained To The Bottom Of The Ocean, both of whom also serve as useful touchstones for any prospective listener - also pay extra attention to the gorgeously gloomy slow-burn of opener “To The Hilt Of Humanity”, the haunting melodies and heaving grooves of the sludge-soaked “Clairvoyance Anxiety” and the morbid majesty of “Hall Of Mages”, as some of the record’s major highlights. Indeed, it’s this last track which will both test your resolve and prove, once and for all, that “Atavist” is more than worth every second you’ve invested into listening to it so far, with every crushing, cathartic chord and ringing, harmonic note… every tortured, suffering snarl and trembling, melancholy melody… coming together over the course of seventeen absolutely massive minutes to demonstrate that, despite its imposing size and intense sound, “Atavist” is nothing to be afraid of. Green and red coloured double vinyl edition.

On alene et, Michaela Turcerová, a Copenhagen-based, Slovakia born musician, takes minutiae — the tiniest scrapes and breathiest hums — and distorts them into sprawling, collaged webs that barely resemble the instrument in its natural state. Each shard, when pieced together, makes a rhythmic, undulating sound born from the subtlest motions.

Alene et marks Turcerová’s debut as a soloist, putting a spotlight on the exploratory approach she has developed on her own and across a variety of collaborations. She has long studied the quiet excavation of her instrument, pulling it apart to find a new vocabulary. To develop this language, she unearths shards of sound from the instrument, muting it or bringing out its scratchiness and grittiness. Primarily working with open-ended scores and improvisation, she is inspired by various percussive music, looking to deep sonic awareness to guide her. As a soloist, her music harkens to the abstracted electronics present across the Editions Mego catalog or the distorted ruminations of Nyege Nyege tapes. And no matter where she goes, she is constantly in the pursuit of the unknown — the hidden elements of music that come to life through experimentation and listening.

With alene et, Turcerová presents her singular language on the saxophone to the fullest. To make this music, she placed many microphones close to her instrument, zeroing in to each sound and examining it from multiple different angles. She emphasizes the percussive possibilities of her instrument, puzzle-piecing each note into pulsating webs. Each track highlights a different side of the saxophone — the bristling distortion and amplification of a column of air as it blows through her saxophone’s body, the trickling tapping of the keys as she places her fingers onto them.

At its core, alene et presents Turcerová’s curiosity. The saxophone lives many different lives within her hands, shapeshifting through the uncovering of its possibilities. She shows us how the instrument is an ever-changing entity, a distorted and blown out drone with a thousand shards poking out from inside of it. But more than just a showcase of an individual instrument, alene et feels like a statement of the act of exploration. Turcerová is an excavator, always looking for new worlds hidden within her saxophone, and leaving room for more to come alive with each listen.

lack Sabbath is, along with Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple, the most important british hard rock band of all time.

With its dark, mystical, obsessive atmosphere, Black Sabbath built an unique sound that has influenced countless bands since its emergence in the late ‘60s to these days. As usual in our series The Many Faces, we will enter the fantastic secret world of Black Sabbath, and we will enjoy their collaborations, side projects and their greatest hits. The Many Faces of Black Sabbath is a fantastic album, especially for those of you who considers yourself fans of hard rock.

Now, it’s part of our Many Faces collection on vinyl format.

The seeds of composer Rafael Anton Irisarri’s latest LP were first planted during his 2016 tour in Italy, months before that Autumn’s unexpected presidential election. The linguistic glitch of an innocuous diner in Milan named “il Mito Americano” – meant as “The American Dream” but translated literally to English as “The American Myth” – sparked a series of ideas, both conceptual and musical.

Amid the chaos of 2020, while exploring the stark world of brutalist architecture and inspired by the false fronts of Potemkin villages, a vision started to take shape: FAÇADISMS. Composed over three years, it’s a late capitalist lament of simmering electric despondency.

Irisarri’s obsession with repeating motifs mirrors the cyclical nature of our tumultuous political history. The album’s eight tracks heave and storm like a tempest being drained of its rage. This is the sound of majestic dissipation, of morning afters, fashioned from a mournful haze with cavernous guitars and granular twilight. A euphony of a receding tide as one sifts through the remnants of what remains: dust, delusion, and memory.

Opening with the somber gauze of “Broken Intensification," FAÇADISMS moves fluidly between moments of absence and abandon. Ashen swaths of electronics billow above smoldering embers of melody, guitar, and scattered streaks of processed strings and voice, as on the rapturous doom of “Control Your Soul's Desire for Freedom,” featuring Julia Kent on cello and Hannah Elizabeth Cox on vocals. "The impoverished peoples of the Americas have known all along that 'freedom' is a cruel illusion crafted by the elites, akin to Potemkin's fake villages designed to impress Catherine the Great," Irisarri indicates. "FAÇADISMS illustrates a twisted inversion where the rulers deceive their subjects with illusions of safety, democracy, and free speech to create a grotesque mirage of control over their own lives.”

Elsewhere, Irisarri leans into passages of hushed oblivion (“Hollow,” “Dispersion of Belief”), while ragged drones rumble and disintegrate into wind-battered ambient wreckage. One has the sense that it’s all too late. The hour of fury has passed. The beauty has come and gone. Irisarri’s muse has become the crack in the façade of the unraveling myth.

The record closes with a climax of grand departure. Co-written with Kenyan sound artist KMRU, “Red Moon Tide” surges from flickering elegy to celestial disquiet, roiling waves of hymnal descent, and bristling noise. The effect is unsettling and unmooring: a soundtrack for the soul leaving the body, only to discover a void. It’s the sound of the center not holding, of shared illusions being dissolved in a tunnel of white light.

The cover photograph captures a profound sense of desolation. Taken in the historic shanty town of La Perla, Puerto Rico, where Irisarri spent his childhood, brutal colonial mysteries are lost to time. A skeletal concrete structure decays against an expansive blue horizon. Only the shadow of its shell ripples on the empty sea.

Has the American myth finally run its course?

The seeds of composer Rafael Anton Irisarri’s latest LP were first planted during his 2016 tour in Italy, months before that Autumn’s unexpected presidential election. The linguistic glitch of an innocuous diner in Milan named “il Mito Americano” – meant as “The American Dream” but translated literally to English as “The American Myth” – sparked a series of ideas, both conceptual and musical.

Amid the chaos of 2020, while exploring the stark world of brutalist architecture and inspired by the false fronts of Potemkin villages, a vision started to take shape: FAÇADISMS. Composed over three years, it’s a late capitalist lament of simmering electric despondency.

Irisarri’s obsession with repeating motifs mirrors the cyclical nature of our tumultuous political history. The album’s eight tracks heave and storm like a tempest being drained of its rage. This is the sound of majestic dissipation, of morning afters, fashioned from a mournful haze with cavernous guitars and granular twilight. A euphony of a receding tide as one sifts through the remnants of what remains: dust, delusion, and memory.

Opening with the somber gauze of “Broken Intensification," FAÇADISMS moves fluidly between moments of absence and abandon. Ashen swaths of electronics billow above smoldering embers of melody, guitar, and scattered streaks of processed strings and voice, as on the rapturous doom of “Control Your Soul's Desire for Freedom,” featuring Julia Kent on cello and Hannah Elizabeth Cox on vocals. "The impoverished peoples of the Americas have known all along that 'freedom' is a cruel illusion crafted by the elites, akin to Potemkin's fake villages designed to impress Catherine the Great," Irisarri indicates. "FAÇADISMS illustrates a twisted inversion where the rulers deceive their subjects with illusions of safety, democracy, and free speech to create a grotesque mirage of control over their own lives.”

Elsewhere, Irisarri leans into passages of hushed oblivion (“Hollow,” “Dispersion of Belief”), while ragged drones rumble and disintegrate into wind-battered ambient wreckage. One has the sense that it’s all too late. The hour of fury has passed. The beauty has come and gone. Irisarri’s muse has become the crack in the façade of the unraveling myth.

The record closes with a climax of grand departure. Co-written with Kenyan sound artist KMRU, “Red Moon Tide” surges from flickering elegy to celestial disquiet, roiling waves of hymnal descent, and bristling noise. The effect is unsettling and unmooring: a soundtrack for the soul leaving the body, only to discover a void. It’s the sound of the center not holding, of shared illusions being dissolved in a tunnel of white light.

The cover photograph captures a profound sense of desolation. Taken in the historic shanty town of La Perla, Puerto Rico, where Irisarri spent his childhood, brutal colonial mysteries are lost to time. A skeletal concrete structure decays against an expansive blue horizon. Only the shadow of its shell ripples on the empty sea.

Has the American myth finally run its course?

The seeds of composer Rafael Anton Irisarri’s latest LP were first planted during his 2016 tour in Italy, months before that Autumn’s unexpected presidential election. The linguistic glitch of an innocuous diner in Milan named “il Mito Americano” – meant as “The American Dream” but translated literally to English as “The American Myth” – sparked a series of ideas, both conceptual and musical.

Amid the chaos of 2020, while exploring the stark world of brutalist architecture and inspired by the false fronts of Potemkin villages, a vision started to take shape: FAÇADISMS. Composed over three years, it’s a late capitalist lament of simmering electric despondency.

Irisarri’s obsession with repeating motifs mirrors the cyclical nature of our tumultuous political history. The album’s eight tracks heave and storm like a tempest being drained of its rage. This is the sound of majestic dissipation, of morning afters, fashioned from a mournful haze with cavernous guitars and granular twilight. A euphony of a receding tide as one sifts through the remnants of what remains: dust, delusion, and memory.

Opening with the somber gauze of “Broken Intensification," FAÇADISMS moves fluidly between moments of absence and abandon. Ashen swaths of electronics billow above smoldering embers of melody, guitar, and scattered streaks of processed strings and voice, as on the rapturous doom of “Control Your Soul's Desire for Freedom,” featuring Julia Kent on cello and Hannah Elizabeth Cox on vocals. "The impoverished peoples of the Americas have known all along that 'freedom' is a cruel illusion crafted by the elites, akin to Potemkin's fake villages designed to impress Catherine the Great," Irisarri indicates. "FAÇADISMS illustrates a twisted inversion where the rulers deceive their subjects with illusions of safety, democracy, and free speech to create a grotesque mirage of control over their own lives.”

Elsewhere, Irisarri leans into passages of hushed oblivion (“Hollow,” “Dispersion of Belief”), while ragged drones rumble and disintegrate into wind-battered ambient wreckage. One has the sense that it’s all too late. The hour of fury has passed. The beauty has come and gone. Irisarri’s muse has become the crack in the façade of the unraveling myth.

The record closes with a climax of grand departure. Co-written with Kenyan sound artist KMRU, “Red Moon Tide” surges from flickering elegy to celestial disquiet, roiling waves of hymnal descent, and bristling noise. The effect is unsettling and unmooring: a soundtrack for the soul leaving the body, only to discover a void. It’s the sound of the center not holding, of shared illusions being dissolved in a tunnel of white light.

The cover photograph captures a profound sense of desolation. Taken in the historic shanty town of La Perla, Puerto Rico, where Irisarri spent his childhood, brutal colonial mysteries are lost to time. A skeletal concrete structure decays against an expansive blue horizon. Only the shadow of its shell ripples on the empty sea.

Has the American myth finally run its course?

Originally released on tape by SicSic in 2014, Aprilnacht commemorates a decade of music from Brannten Schnüre and marked the spring in a tetralogy of albums about the four seasons when it came out. Back then the Würzburg-based project consisted solely of Christian Schoppik, who later welcomed Katie Rich to take over the vocals. He used to perform as Agnes Beil, but dropped the name when, while making this album realized his music was becoming "much gentler and more fragile". Aprilnacht already captured the particular musical ideas that Schoppik would thoroughly keep exploring, delving deeper and deeper into the use and manipulation of samplers from sources so diverging as to wander between the five continents to post-war German family television and cult cinema. Heir of the ritualistic intensity of Coil, of the intricate sampler assemblies of Ghédalia Tazartès', and of the dusty, dismal old ballads from around the world, Brannten Schnüre manages to make these paths cross in a territory that is as inherent as it is uncanny; sieged by the past and intimate as a hearth. An organic approach to folk, ambient, and sound collage, where ethereal yet thoroughly textured pieces coalesce in enthralling, delicate, and innermost musical rituals.

The album cover paintings reveal the temper: dreary old towns where shadows come to dim the slow passage of crepuscular colors, a soft area of reanimation where wind and light come close and foresee the night of spring. Aprilnacht was inspired by the stories of German philosopher and writer Friedrich Alfred Schmid Noerr, whose work exhaustively examines the conflict between paganism and Christianity, safeguarding myth in a way that Schoppik describes as boldly modern, humorous and unpredictable in its variations of the Germanic folklore motifs. "I wanted to do the same with the music," he states, and the music here could as well be suitable for a night when household deities welcome wandering will-o'-the-wisps, water nymphs, and gyrovagues to discuss Perchta's leadership of The Wild Hunt, but this album is not a folk tale, it's not an elegy to worlds already gone, hidden in years; it's an intersection of routes that open mysteriously before our ears like a congregation of vapors. Aprilnacht is a gathering of voices; "There are too many children, and none of them keeps quiet," reads the last verse of «Requiem für eine Ringelnatter.»

Sensuality drips over the music to celebrate both the voluptuousness and tragic quality of nature; "It's raining on me, urine from your flowers," Schoppik sings in «Urin deiner Blüten» and later on, faced with a snake's erotic features, as if he wanted to be embraced by it: "Your quick, sharp tongue and your warm venom; that's what the pond is missing." Orality is where this profusion of contents thrives. When the voices get closer and condense, the words reveal the saliva employed to pronounce them; we feel the mouth and the tongue, but when breath envelops them in sorrow and softens their edges, they sound distant, diffused in the atmosphere, letting go of the body that held them. These two vocal facets oscillate permanently and interact naturally with the fertile assembly of samplers and instruments that develop throughout the album, which condense and disperse impersonating each other, interweaving to search for a specific syntax. Tangled whisperings of enigmatic phrases, timid voices that stick out to check the scene but hide away quickly, shivering trance chants and monastic ambiances, distant screams and clamors in between chaos and warfare swirl until bursting into subtle songs where even Mother Mary comes forth softly. Soothed by foggy atmospheres and crackling punctuations, these voices shape a vulnerable crowd, an occasion of fragility. Along this swarm of songs thrown into thin air, accordions sound like heavy-breathing lungs; clarinets sigh like curtains shaking; violin solos wander around like bees; Gjallarhorns cries distend like fleeing cattle; glockenspiels evoke remote music boxes and inherited toys; backward emanations emerge like slender waves retreating. On the banks of stretching loops and ember textures is where the songs slowly nest, collecting the words to find their tone.

A poem by Jorge Teillier says, "To talk with the dead you have to choose words that they recognize as easily as their hands recognized the fur of their dogs in the dark. To talk with the dead you have to know how to wait: they are fearful like the first steps of a child. But if we are patient one day they will answer us with a flame that suddenly revives in the fireplace." This may be Brannten Schnüre's main purpose: To find the voice to speak to those of whom we were a vision. Not in mourning, but acknowledging the obscure and volatile nature of spring's regenerative force, searching for the treasure of balance, as evidenced in the lyrics of «Requiem für ein Schwalbennest,» "Its nest was destroyed so many times before it was finished, and despite that, the shallow builds as if it is infatuated." The same idea is here in the words of Schmid Noerr, who made poetry an act of resistance to the horror of Nazism; "Since having seen the ability of a brilliant spirit to die, with a calm mouth that everyone saw, health is true again and we affirm it, even if rivers of blood flow." And as we call for the dusk's kindness, waiting to return home and eat with our kin by the stove, our ears become used to the games of the night. We feel like we're rowing on wetlands, while the "moon musick" keeps us vigilant against the slightest movement of water or sweet moan because eeriness here is imperative for survival. Do not succumb to the insipid howl of death, for nothing may last but mutability. You see, the rock has moved a little during the night; the rest is just wind fleeing from the void.

ACxDC—full name Antichrist Demoncore—are anything but subtle. So to make sure that their message is heard loud and clear, they take things a step further, smashing these ambiguous, sophisticated, and abstract notions into a pulp and shoving them down throats. What’s left are sharp, caustic, and unabashedly vicious bits of truth and poisonous tongue-in-cheek propelled by bursts of powerviolence, metallized hardcore, and grindcore. Over the seventeen short songs, the music closely follows these themes.

With time, we come to understand the way the joy of connection is mirrored by the void of loss, how the constancy of love is matched only by the impermanence of life, the simple idea that we could not create light if we did not risk the dark - we'd never need to. So it is with METZ, a band once known for blowing out eardrums with songs of joyous rage who have, over their past few records, begun exploring ways to turn abrasiveness into atmospherics, the evolution of their sound not only a reflection of the maturing of the band themselves but also of a changed world that demands nuance and compassion to comprehend and to survive. It was a journey already underway on 2020's Atlas Vending, but one that reaches new heights on Up On Gravity Hill, where the Canadian trio creates a kaleidoscopic sonic world as tender as it is dark, aided once again by engineer Seth Manchester (Mdou Moctar, Lingua Ignota, Battles, The Body). Deep, detailed, and unyieldingly personal, it is not only METZ's most powerful record to date but also their most beautiful. Still three punks from Ontario at heart, guitarist and vocalist Alex Edkins, drummer Hayden Menzies, and bassist Chris Slorach waste no time as opener "No Reservation/Love Comes Crashing" sweeps in like a wave, sonically and thematically setting the scene for the record to come. A dynamic song about feeling suspended in stasis, layers of dissonance melt into a restlessly heady outro marked by escalating crescendos of shimmering noise that reach for the stars - and is that a violin quivering brightly beneath those elegant swells of guitar, those charging drum fills, those intricate bass lines? It is indeed, courtesy of composer Owen Pallett; his presence an immediate indicator that METZ are thinking more cinematically than ever before. The change is partially inspired by Edkins' work as a scorer for film and television and his pop-leaning solo project, Weird Nightmare, where, he says, he learned to write more intuitively, letting his emotions lead the way. But make no mistake: Up On Gravity Hill is a total band effort, the work of three musicians who have been playing together for over a decade, with all the trust that entails. For those who believe in the power of the rock band to exemplify the highest resonance of human connection, there is much on Up On Gravity Hill to lift the spirit, a puzzle worth repeated listening to unlock or just to get lost in again and again. Rather than the music being flattened into a single plane, the band explores "the space above the cymbals," resulting in some of the most spacious, sympathetic, and accessible songs - could we call them pop? - of their career. If this seems contradictory, well, METZ has always been something of a contradiction. "We've never been heavy enough for metal or hardcore purists, but we're way too heavy for indie rock. We just don't have a lane - and that's okay. We exist outside the lines of delineation. I think this record is even more like that," says Edkins.

This is long overdue. I mean, looooooonnnnnng overdue. A solo album by Jim. The trap kit - so straightforward, so mysterious. What"s inside those things? Air and light - from which century? Which continent? Which planet? Depending on how and when you hit them it can be a vibration sent through a prehistoric breath, particles of Saturn"s atmosphere, the dead, wet leaves you walked through on the way to the first day of school. These are the memories of the drums on this record. Infinite and personal. Editing each other as they muscle to the front or soft shoe to the shadow. Cymbals can override/cancel everything out - wipe your memory clear or make the memory clearer. Drums are the instrument where you can feel the presence of the player the most - the full body - and sense the thoughts of the player the most. The instrument with the most choices to be made sends out the most brainwaves. A bouquet of brainwaves is on this LP. Jim oversees it all, surveys from the lost place we"re in, the void - the drumless song. We trust. We trust, Jim. His big green eyes search for the right tool (mallet, brush, etc), eyes that search you like you"re a song he wants to join, wants to see if he can add to or understand. Before humans, drums were playing - these drums. Genesis was a solo drum piece. After humans, these drums, this album. Someone - the last man - is out in a spaceship at the edge of space. He plays a single chord on a synth to set time free from its bind and then lets go. This album sets time free, lets it frolic, lets it graze, lets it remember. This is a record of thoughts, memories, surgery. A deft surgical operation you may not even realize is happening as it"s happening but you"re back on your feet when it"s over. Memories refreshed. Did you really even listen to it? -Bill Callahan, November 2023

This is long overdue. I mean, looooooonnnnnng overdue. A solo album by Jim. The trap kit - so straightforward, so mysterious. What"s inside those things? Air and light - from which century? Which continent? Which planet? Depending on how and when you hit them it can be a vibration sent through a prehistoric breath, particles of Saturn"s atmosphere, the dead, wet leaves you walked through on the way to the first day of school. These are the memories of the drums on this record. Infinite and personal. Editing each other as they muscle to the front or soft shoe to the shadow. Cymbals can override/cancel everything out - wipe your memory clear or make the memory clearer. Drums are the instrument where you can feel the presence of the player the most - the full body - and sense the thoughts of the player the most. The instrument with the most choices to be made sends out the most brainwaves. A bouquet of brainwaves is on this LP. Jim oversees it all, surveys from the lost place we"re in, the void - the drumless song. We trust. We trust, Jim. His big green eyes search for the right tool (mallet, brush, etc), eyes that search you like you"re a song he wants to join, wants to see if he can add to or understand. Before humans, drums were playing - these drums. Genesis was a solo drum piece. After humans, these drums, this album. Someone - the last man - is out in a spaceship at the edge of space. He plays a single chord on a synth to set time free from its bind and then lets go. This album sets time free, lets it frolic, lets it graze, lets it remember. This is a record of thoughts, memories, surgery. A deft surgical operation you may not even realize is happening as it"s happening but you"re back on your feet when it"s over. Memories refreshed. Did you really even listen to it? -Bill Callahan, November 2023

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

Brand new album from the Seattle cult band. Filth is Eternal's Find Out is the triumphant reawakening of one of Seattle's most energetic and committed bands. The new testimony whips forward with the force of a breakthrough and is a clear commitment to their own genesis with a deep awareness of themselves, their audience and the shared history
between them. The basic rules of the band: the immediacy must be in the foreground. The songs should have the power to ignite a pit in less than thirty seconds

Brand new album from the Seattle cult band. Filth is Eternal's Find Out is the triumphant reawakening of one of Seattle's most energetic and committed bands. The new testimony whips forward with the force of a breakthrough and is a clear commitment to their own genesis with a deep awareness of themselves, their audience and the shared history
between them. The basic rules of the band: the immediacy must be in the foreground. The songs should have the power to ignite a pit in less than thirty seconds

Brand new album from the Seattle cult band. Filth is Eternal's Find Out is the triumphant reawakening of one of Seattle's most energetic and committed bands. The new testimony whips forward with the force of a breakthrough and is a clear commitment to their own genesis with a deep awareness of themselves, their audience and the shared history
between them. The basic rules of the band: the immediacy must be in the foreground. The songs should have the power to ignite a pit in less than thirty seconds

Brand new album from the Seattle cult band. Filth is Eternal's Find Out is the triumphant reawakening of one of Seattle's most energetic and committed bands. The new testimony whips forward with the force of a breakthrough and is a clear commitment to their own genesis with a deep awareness of themselves, their audience and the shared history
between them. The basic rules of the band: the immediacy must be in the foreground. The songs should have the power to ignite a pit in less than thirty seconds

Remixes from Erika's second album "Anevite Void". "Anevite Void Remixed" showcases some of the many diverse influences on Erika's critically acclaimed second solo album "Anevite Void". Here her ambient album closer "Wandering Mountain" transforms into two faces of techno, first the monolithic hypnotic slab of sound from Mike Parker then to a powerful peak time melodic banger from Wata Igarashi. The other side features a totally different take on her influences, with Eris Drew delivering her "Body Rock Remix" fusing a number of styles to push the highlight of Erika's album to new heights, and Whodat discovering a deeper side to "Tomorrow's Fires". Pressed at Archer Records, Detroit.