Поиск:clutter

With I was born by the sea, Richie Culver brings to a close a period of intense introspection and emotional reckoning with a debut album that serves as both an optimistic statement of intent and a final glance back at the painful places it explores. Following recent work with Blackhaine and Pavel Milyakov, I was born by the sea picks up where Culver’s EP for Italian label Superpang, Post Traumatic Fantasy, leaves off, painting an unabashed portrait of contemporary malaise, detailing a life lived behind closed doors, pinned under the crushing weight of austerity, sapped of the strength to do anything other than gaze out to sea and all the grey possibilities it represents. Where Post Traumatic Fantasy saw Culver returning to his hometown of Hull after a period spent entangled in London’s relentless sprawl, his first full length project reaches further back to his formative years working in a caravan factory and going to raves in and among Hull’s outskirts. Unspooling like a fever dream, I was born by the sea is the anxious clutter of a racing mind spoken clearly, a stark reflection on how it feels to have too many ideas and too much time to act on them.

Though unquestionably a snapshot of a time of significant difficulty, Culver reflects on this period with tender empathy and pitch-black humour, stitching together unflinching observations from England’s neglected corners, ‘there’s more mobility scooter repair shops and bookies than there are bookshops,’ and devastating vignettes of everyday struggle, ‘tears on the tin foil’, with surreal depictions of industrial grit, ‘skimming stones in a small pond by the slaughterhouse’. His DIY approach to production stretches the rough sinew that connects these fragments of memory, a process he describes as using a paired back collection of synths and drum machines to the best of his ability, ‘but to the least of their capabilities,’ wringing out visceral sound with self-taught urgency. During the album’s most impressionistic passages it’s as though Culver has transposed past internal turmoil into powerfully resonant noise, the Sisyphean sonics of ‘Create A Lifestyle Around Your Problems’, which evokes in its concrète clatter and MRI machine barrage the sound of making the same mistake again and again, or the stuttered jumble of ‘Its Hard To Get To Know You,’ its garbled vocal modulation and frayed edges of distortion channeling the paranoia of somebody listening to muffled voices through thin plaster, climbing the walls of their bedroom with the curtains closed, a nervous breakdown in stereo.

In counterpoint to this glides the ever-present spirit of the dance floor, which haunts the record from the moment it is invoked in its first few seconds. Opening onto a sea wall of bright synthesis, the stuttering vocals and bass tone chops of ‘Nervous Energy’ dump us directly into post rave ecstasy, the echoing cry of a voice amplified by loudspeaker carrying the loose energy and surge of crowds moving in darkness. The incessant, dead phone line beep of ‘Pigeon Flesh’ builds to a pulse that suddenly swells into an anxious technoid surge, shapeshifting at lysergic speed into head shrinking audio hallucinations, a descent into the void of the present via machine music hypnosis. Even ‘Its Hard To Get To Know You’ summons the ego death drive of hardcore techno within its scorched textures, flickering indiscernibly between attritional noise and frazzled hardware stomp. Paying homage to both the parties of his youth and a countless succession of Sundays spent offering himself up within Berghain’s hallowed architecture, Culver’s experiments in addressing his formative relationship with rave provide an energetic glimpse at where he might take his sound next.

Between spikes of propulsive energy and grim mood pieces Culver returns to suspended passages of aching, glacial drift, the cold swell of the North Sea, accompanied by some of his heaviest testimonials. The gauzy ebb of ‘Daytime TV,’ its tumbling loops reminiscent of boats bobbing off a distant shore, sees the artist at his most checked out, slumped in front of his television, seven days a week. ‘I used to dream of doing something,’ he admits, ‘anything to get out of this town.’ ‘Love Like An Abscess’ pairs swirling currents of ambient shimmer with violent images of baseball bats lying next to beds and blood-stained mattresses, next to which Culver pleads in a desperate mumble, ‘let our love grow, like a broken abscess.’ Yet it’s with the album’s final word and title track that Culver reveals a glimmer of cautious optimism, a parting gesture of exposition and closure. ‘I knew I had to get away,’ he asserts, ‘so I did and I never looked back.’ What follows builds from a low throb, the flutter of a tiny heartbeat, to a resonant glow, embellished with unfurling synthetic burbles, oil rigs sparkling in the distance, golden light spilling across the sea. In reckoning with the place he had to escape, Richie Culver is now free to look towards the promise of something new, something hopeful.

Under The Sun is the follow-up to the astonishing Roots and contains yet more absolutely essential Nucleus material. Originally released on Vertigo in 1974, Under The Sun was never re-pressed and of course those original copies are now very tricky to score. Like all the Nucleus records, it’s aged ridiculously well and this Be With re-issue, re-mastered from the original analogue tapes, shows off just why this deserves to be back in press.

Genius trumpeter and visionary composer Ian Carr was one of the most respected British musicians of his era. He was a true pioneer and saw the potential in fusing the worlds of jazz with rock, just as Miles Davis and The Tony Williams Lifetime did in the US. In late 1969, following the demise of the Rendell-Carr quintet, and tiring of British jazz, Carr assembled the legendary Nucleus. Regarding music as a continuous process, Nucleus refused to “recognise rigid boundaries” and worked on delivering what they saw as a “total musical experience”. We can get behind that.

Under bandleader Carr, Nucleus existed as a fluid line-up of inventive, skilled musicians. This constant evolution and revolution was all part of the continuous musical exploration and discovery that took jazz to new levels. And the music has stayed relevant. To steal a line from a recent review of our re-issue of Roots, when it comes to anything Nucleus “it’s basically already hip-hop”.

Under The Sun opens with the crisp, medium tempo “In Procession”. It’s a typically inventive Carr track with layers of dramatic, riff-led themes and repeating brass blasts. Bryan Spring’s “The Addison Trip” is a moody funk piece, with Kieran White guesting on wordless vocals. Roger Sutton contributes some fine bass guitar on this track, particularly the great solo at around the two minute mark. The excellently-named cool, jazzy ballad “Pastoral Graffiti” paints bucolic pictures with its mellow sonics, plaintive horns and Bob Bertles’ flute.

Sutton’s superb, bass-driven “New Life” brings a different dynamic. Horns, guitar and electric piano swirl over the head-nod bass motif and a killer Ken Shaw guitar solo. A false fade out halfway through brings in a new bass riff that’s picked up by the whole ensemble as Carr wah-wah noodles over the top. It’s full-on. The gorgeous, laidback “A Taste of Sarsaparilla” is exactly that - closing out the first side with a cute blast of what is to come over on the killer flip.

The whole of Under The Sun’s second side is a suite of three “Themes” written by Ian Carr. The uptempo first theme “Sarsaparilla” is comfortably one of Nucleus’ best. What would’ve been a cluttered mess in the hands of most is instead an effortless lesson in clarity and zing. Between Geoff Castle’s electric piano solo, the relentless funky drumming and more wild wah-wah trumpet from Carr, Nucleus show you how it’s done.

The languid groove of second theme “Feast Alfresco” is much more typical of “classic” Nucleus and sounds like something that might’ve been on Roots. A Bertles baritone solo and a guitar solo from Shaw weave around the core, serpentine brass theme.

The darker “Rites of Man”, the third and final theme, is a slow build to a solid bass and electric piano riff, shored up by some tricky brass. Carr takes the theme even further and there’s still plenty of room for soloing from all corners of the Nucleus. As usual, the dynamic Sutton/Spring, bass/drums duo is holding down the rhythm for the rest to jam around.

This Be With edition of Under The Sun has been re-mastered from the original Vertigo master tapes, Simon Francis’ mastering working together with Pete Norman’s cut to weave their usual magic with these wonderful recordings. The bleak, rain-dappled cover matches the melancholic vibe of the record and has been restored as the finishing touch to this long overdue re-issue.

Available on vinyl for the first time in 10 years, with new cover design by Tim Rutilli Califone's earliest roots lie in the band Red Red Meat, from whence came Califone's founding members Tim Rutili and Ben Massarella and its longtime producer Brian Deck. The band's first release was a self-titled EP on Flydaddy in 1998, followed later by the full-length debut, Roomsound, in 2001 (later reissued on Thrill Jockey) and eventually the band's Thrill Jockey debut, Quicksand/ Cradlesnakes in 2003. After touring for the release of Roomsound, Califone had little time off to take in the impact of the music they were creating. In three years, they recorded four albums (two instrumental, two song-based including Heron King Blues) and toured heavily in between with Wilco, Modest Mouse, The Sea and Cake and others. After the tour for Heron King Blues in 2004, Califone finally took a breath and came back together in late 2005 to begin recordings. They worked on it in chunks at 4Deuces Studio in Chicago with Brian Deck, in Long Beach and Phoenix with Michael Krassner, and at home in Los Angeles and Chicago until May 2006. The time away and each member's individual work naturally brought new elements into the sound of Califone's music. Both Rutili's and Becker's soundtrack work are more atmospheric, however the challenge of enhancing a scene of film without cluttering it or overwhelming it informed their approach to the new recording. Similarly, the burglary of Califone's equipment during the band's last tour (including guitars, banjo, a 1917 violin, bells and more) altered the sound as they had to find new gear on a tight budget. The instruments are new partners, new sounds that forced them to stretch in new directions. Limitations, obstructions and darkness, and the new possibilities they illuminate; roots and crowns. "In that way", says Rutili, "this album is a conscious and resolved thing. It fully realizes ideas we touched on in the past and where we come from as a band, and takes us into our next phase of life."

Available on vinyl for the first time in 10 years, with new cover design by Tim Rutilli Califone's earliest roots lie in the band Red Red Meat, from whence came Califone's founding members Tim Rutili and Ben Massarella and its longtime producer Brian Deck. The band's first release was a self-titled EP on Flydaddy in 1998, followed later by the full-length debut, Roomsound, in 2001 (later reissued on Thrill Jockey) and eventually the band's Thrill Jockey debut, Quicksand/ Cradlesnakes in 2003. After touring for the release of Roomsound, Califone had little time off to take in the impact of the music they were creating. In three years, they recorded four albums (two instrumental, two song-based including Heron King Blues) and toured heavily in between with Wilco, Modest Mouse, The Sea and Cake and others. After the tour for Heron King Blues in 2004, Califone finally took a breath and came back together in late 2005 to begin recordings. They worked on it in chunks at 4Deuces Studio in Chicago with Brian Deck, in Long Beach and Phoenix with Michael Krassner, and at home in Los Angeles and Chicago until May 2006. The time away and each member's individual work naturally brought new elements into the sound of Califone's music. Both Rutili's and Becker's soundtrack work are more atmospheric, however the challenge of enhancing a scene of film without cluttering it or overwhelming it informed their approach to the new recording. Similarly, the burglary of Califone's equipment during the band's last tour (including guitars, banjo, a 1917 violin, bells and more) altered the sound as they had to find new gear on a tight budget. The instruments are new partners, new sounds that forced them to stretch in new directions. Limitations, obstructions and darkness, and the new possibilities they illuminate; roots and crowns. "In that way", says Rutili, "this album is a conscious and resolved thing. It fully realizes ideas we touched on in the past and where we come from as a band, and takes us into our next phase of life."

He might be vocalist in bands such as Brighton-based progressive act Diagonal and psychedelic outfit Baron, but when it comes to his solo work Alex Crispin has typically worked in more wordless fields. Last year the songwriter, vocalist and producer released a triptych of ambient albums, consisting of two older albums in 'Idle Worship' and 'Open Submission', as well as new meditative work in 'Resubmergency'. On his new self-titled album, however, Crispin re-emerges from the cavernous soundscapes to – for the first time – put his vocal and song writing stamp on a record under his own name. “I personally find it easier to create more guarded, moody music, but I was at a point where I wanted to embrace a more universal, intimate and open side to what I might say” Crispin says. “Over time I’d got over certain blocks or preoccupations and so wanted to create something accessible and open hearted, which became a big driver for this record.” Pointedly self-titled to reflect the newfound confidence in his song writing away from the collective of a band, the album’s nine tracks are a warm embrace amidst troubled times. Musically there’s nods to everything from tropicalia and Brazilian MPB, to 80’s dusk pop balladeers The Blue Nile and Paul Simon’s explorations into African music. Lyrically aware of the snowballing turbulence that surrounds us, Crispin in reaction tries to see hope and looks around at the relationships and connections in his life that provide him strength. He opens 'Invisible (To Us)' with the words “Before the world did end, there was just one moment when, everybody thought there might be time, to look around again, to laugh to cry to sing.” Elsewhere, 'Listen & Learn' strikes at the heart of other underlying themes of the record, of the rarity of people opening up, taking on new ideas and allowing change. It’s accompanied with a rich, maximal sound palette of flute and sax that play around each other as Crispin’s vocal chips in with gentle encouragement. “One of the main markers on the album that I was aware of from the start, was to let myself express joy and positivity in the music” he says. “I have come to greatly prize the power of accessibility and universality over artistic 'coolness or trend', much in the same way that so often for me, the greatest pieces of art humans make nowadays are things like Pixar movies, with their combination of undeniable human talent and craft, alongside genuinely moving and accessible themes.” Indeed, there is a cinematic feel to much of Crispin’s own music, something brought over from his ambient creations – although his self-titled album possesses a panorama all of its own. Something like 'When I Reach The Ocean' has a hazy, pastoral feel to it like something out of the Canterbury Folk scene; there’s space between the notes though, which in turn pushes the track out to a greater expanse than the comparatively soft-edged and modest sound palette used to create it. Similarly, the likes of 'Effert' revel in the space afforded to them - in the case of the aforementioned in particular, Crispin lets his voice take a back seat and creates an open wash of sound that he allows the guitar to probe and explore within. “In making any music I am definitely conscious of trying to put in only what is effective” Crispin says. “It is so easy to clutter tracks without realising it, just having the ability to add stuff can just become addictive as it’s so easy to do with recording setups now.” The album started coming together at the end of 2020, with Crispin getting most of the songs to a concrete state, before starting recording in May 2021 with Diagonal bandmates Luke Foster (drums) and Daniel Pomlett (Bass), who put down rhythm tracks. Jazz saxophonist Rob Milne then added parts which would become the glue that held the whole organic aesthetic of the album together. There’s no doubt that lockdown played a part in proceedings, with a kind of forced focus resulting in a need for joyful expression. However, Crispin and his partner also suffered a bereavement which led to her travelling for large periods of time. “It was a very intense and difficult time and I think some of the intensity of emotion of that situation coupled with being alone must have inevitably contributed to the work itself” he says. It's perhaps why when even in moments of sheer happiness, such as the 'Sabu’s' breezily euphoric opener, Crispin ponders: “No-one really cares beyond this moment, and even when it's here, it's never here”. It’s the first of several bittersweet moments on the record that give the album its weight. On this new LP, Crispin recognises that sadness doesn’t mean throwing out hope, and that even in moments of joy there’s still a path ahead of you to take.

Limited White Teal & Beige Vinyl. Spencer Zahn's second record for Cascine emerged from a series of piano sketches born of daily improvisations in Kingston, New York, where he relocated during the pandemic after 14 years in the buzz of Brooklyn. Inspired by the space and pace of upstate life, he explored a more restrained, resonant mode of playing, letting chords delay all the way to silence, until the seeds of songs took shape. Zahn accompanied himself on upright bass, finessing each piece without cluttering it, focusing on the notion of "the instrument in a room. Recruiting long-time collaborator Andy Highmore for piano duties, the duo booked time at Figure 8 Recording in Prospect Heights to craft the lulling, lyrical 12-track suite of Pale Horizon. The tonality of the instruments was central to Zahn's vision, fusing them to feel like a single entity, with upright bass blending in an elegant gradient with the low strings on the piano. An air of Keith Jarrett and Ryuichi Sakamoto hangs over the collection, acoustic and unhurried, stately but subdued, ruminative daydream melodies heard on the breeze in a quiet garden.

‘The Ultra Vivid Lament’ is the 14th studio album from Manic Street Preachers. It is both reflection and reaction - a record that gazes in isolation across a cluttered room, fogged by often painful memories, to focus on an open window framing a gleaming vista of land melting into sea and endless sky.

Musically ‘The Ultra Vivid Lament’ is inspired by a formative years record box (ABBA, post-Eno Roxy, the Bunnymen, Fables-era REM, Lodger) though the end result could only be the unique union of James Dean Bradfield, Nicky Wire and Sean Moore, collectively one of the UK’s most consistently brilliant rock’n’roll bands for over three decades.

Imbued with the grit of vintage country music and the grace of gospel, Leah Blevins’ debut album is a scrapbook of sorts, a collage of feelings and memories from a decade spent working in the big city of Nashville while missing the small town she left behind. “It’s a timestamp of my twenties,” says the Sandy Hook, Kentucky, native. “Here are all the stories and all the experiences from that decade. Here are all the mixed emotions I’ve felt about things I’ve gone through and people I’ve met along the way.” First Time Feeling turns tribulations into what Blevins calls “bundles of triumphs,” which lend weight to her well-observed lyrics and gravity to her soulful vocals. “It’s about coming into womanhood, but it’s more than just a coming-of-age story. It’s me discovering that I’m capable of writing a song on my own. I’m capable of staying sober. I’m capable of all these things that once felt so far out of reach. Within those walls these songs had to be unapologetically honest.” Or, as she puts it on the bluesy opener “Afraid,” “Have you ever been afraid, with nowhere to hide? Scared of nothing, but you’re running inside?”
. “I want people to find something relatable within these ten songs. But for me they’re a reminder that all the pain that I went through—which isn’t that different from the pain every human goes through—it’s all mine. By making this album, I’ve taken it, I’ve owned that pain, I’ve made it mine, and I’ve wrapped it up with a bow on top.”

Roman Flügel is a magician. This statement is far from being a hyperbole. Just put the needle down on any record – I mean any! – of his ( collaborations included) since the early nineties and see for yourself: none of them are without that special effect. The magic works instantly. And as the thing with magic goes: it’s challenging to explain it. But I guess that is what makes it magic.

Eating Darkness is the title of his newest spell. Affected by the fundamental shock that any system got in 2020 – but not the result thereof – it is an album that could absorb it – as its name might suggest. Music and nightlife work hand in hand as escapism and as anchors or as the undercoat of social interactions. They enable people to deal with hardships as well as the burden and the joy of life. That is the starting point and hope of Eating Darkness: the outlook and invitation to enrich each and everyone’s existence.

Bound to the single LP format and reminiscent of a time with format limitations, the nine tracks are testament to Flügel’s weakness for the art of pop music with the use of little and especially short motifs. Furthermore equipped with a clear instrumentation and without any camouflage, Eating Darkness corresponds to his idea of a virtual band.

As it happens, the opener is called The Magic Briefcase. That sits not only well with my first sentence, but pretty much embodies the album and Roman Flügel’s apparatus in an alternative title: Crystal clear sounds and melodies bounce on and off the dance floor, living room and club are pulled together and transcendental moments take turns with the tangibility of reality. After all, that is how a real magician allures you.

Pianist/composer Maria Kannegaard presents ‘Sand i en vik’, a rapid
follow-up to the album ‘Nadeslas’.
Where that latter album was an experimental and expressive affair, the former sees her return to more familiar musical pastures, although with a different viewpoint and attitude. Kannegaard’s piano playing remains immaculate, never cluttered or wasteful, always conveying the right mood or emotion, the perfectly balanced response to both the composition and the development of it.
The compositions carry their own moods and unique characteristics, their own internal tensions, sometimes haunting, sometimes exuberant, sometimes seeming stretched to a breaking point.
Plaintive ballads sit alongside riff-driven stompers, moments of abstract expressionism interweave with stop-start angular motifs, unexpected harmonizations, and moments that seem to be formless before revealing themselves to be details within a larger, clearer picture.
Frequently sounding like much more than a trio, the album is mixed and mastered by the award-winning Stefano Amerio at Artesuono recording studios.

“Easy rider, come and take me higher”. When the world seemingly crumbles around, music can provide an escape few other mediums can. For their debut self-titled LP, Velour effortlessly levitate you above the madness below, each track taking a new turn, cruising over hazy flecked skylines, bustling walkways and bleary eyed bedlam. A trajectory that takes in all of jazz’s vibrancies, blending elements of neo soul, broken beat and hip hop coupled with a much-needed sense of hope across nine deep, soul-searching tracks released via WOLF Music Recordings.

A style and sound taking influence from genres and moods, environments and experiences, Essen-based Velour stretch their legs for this, their first full length album. From the off, they nestle you under their wing with the rustling sax washes of opener ‘CLP’ before diving into an epic slo-mo burner, swooping down into the chaos as singer, Eva Czaya, wistfully narrates the scenes beneath.

Unafraid to shift pace within songs, the likes of ‘Pose’, sauntering from soulful summer groove into woozy late night affair, and ‘Tom's Garage’, that progresses from roadside recounting to grungy basement blowout, finished with a sample of jazz-tinged dusty beats, show that accomplished and adept heads rest on the shoulders of these relative newcomers.

WOLF Music mainstay Mr Fries continues to head up production for Velour, his trademark touch capturing the intimacy of Velour’s sound presenting it in a way that’s considered yet raw - nothing feeling rushed, nor cluttered. A separation and space that gives each element the room it deserves to breathe, with short interludes and skits providing the perfect bridge between tracks, guiding you through smokey jazz bars and twilight whisperings.

Moving through the album, Czaya at points wanders in a serene spoken dialogue, at others letting her voice loose, but always with an ethereal demeanour that comes off with natural ease. One of many highlights, ‘Anthony Davis’ shows off this celestial prowess whilst perfectly embodying Velour’s dream-like escapism. A pent up release of creativity, as moody bass tones mix with deft keys, rolling snares sit behind swirling saxophones.

The journey ends with ‘Luminate’, a transcendent closer laced with space-echoed vocals that reverberate around over-driven Rhodes and feverish drums. Cymbals crash, as modulated synths rise, building and building before easing you off into the night and on your way to a parallel universe.

As a body of work, ‘Velour’ is a shining example of the freedom, energy and enthusiasm of the new school of jazz that’s been captivating minds the world over. An instant on repeat staple - let go, feel the flow, it’s what we need in a time like this.

London duo Andy Clutterbuck and James Hatcher – better known as HONNE – have cultivated a huge and fiercely dedicated global fan base since the release of their critically-acclaimed debut LP, ‘Warm on a Cold Night’, in 2016. Boasting over 150 sold-out shows outside of the UK, collaborations with everyone from Tom Misch to BTS and over 1.4 billion global streams, their music is deeply emotive; from the glistening, sugar-coated highs of international hit ‘Day 1’, to the heartache and angst played out on ‘Sometimes’ – both standout cuts from 2018’s sophomore record, ‘Love Me / Love Me Not’. Laying themselves bare in their songs, HONNE are hyper-connected with fans both in the UK and all over the world – in 2018 alone, they played a sold-out Brixton Academy for the first time, embarked on an extensive, 26-date US headline tour and saw ‘Warm on a Cold Night’ officially certified as 6x Platinum in South Korea.

Techno boldness from the depths of Upstate New York. Mysterious L’estasi Dell’oro returns with eight mind-boggling machine songs. Twisted mechanical workouts, enchanted while driving hard like awakened nature recapturing unattended industrial structures. Circular melodies cut through the rectangular metallic clutter. This is the stuff to bring us back together. Following previous releases on Macro, Field, Flaneur Audio, Fifth Wall and Voodoo Down, Christopher Ernst leaves his Brooklyn phase behind and starts afresh with his first long-form release in five years.

Twelve years have passed since eedl released their masterpiece “Everse” spa.RK, 2007 and in that time the duo -formed by Miguel Ángel Martínez and Joan Duat- have shied away from the spotlight and stage. Despite this apparent lethargy, their previous two works - "Parallemped EP" spa.RK, 2003 and the aforementioned "Everse"- provided them with cult national scene status, while raising more than a few eyebrows among European “headz”. Both works continue to sound overwhelmingly modern and
undated, an obvious signal that eedl is a special breed of cutting edge electronic music.

Although creatively silent for a number of years they have remained musically active. As well as his career as a product designer, Miguel Ángel has applied his musical experience to the technology sector, and since 2016 has fully immersed himself in “modular”–Winter Modular, Plankton Electronics and Patching Panda–; Meanwhile, Joan, office programmer and classically trained pianist, has found his equilibrium with work and building a family life.

"Unstored" is their long awaited return to the fray and their second studio album. It is comprised of eight songs, some of which have been have been slow cooked since 2002, with others gestating more recently. Maybe such a long hiatus seems excessive, but the meticulousness nature and obsessive love for detail found in "Unstored" more than justifies the wait, which at times felt like a long goodbye.

This collection of songs navigates between perfectionist electronica, new generation electro, noisy harmonies, glitch and deconstructed rhythms; a sonic memoire with strong roots in British experimental electronic music -reminiscent of Autechre or Plaid-, another reason in understanding the longing produced by their extended absence.

It is therefore with great honour that in early January 2020, Lapsus will release the new album from the elusive eedl project in a luxury edition format.

After being blown away by a few tunes - probably just as you will be after listening to this - Samy Ben Redjeb travelled to the infamous capital city of Somalia in November of 2016, making Analog Africa the first music label to set foot in Mogadishu.

On his arrival in Somalia Samy began rifling through piles of cassettes and listening to reel-to-reel tapes in the dusty archives of Radio Mogadishu, looking for music that ‘swam against the current’.

The stars were aligned: an uncovered and unmarked pile
of discarded recordings was discovered in a cluttered corner of the building. Colonel Abshir - the senior employee and protector of Radio Mogadishu’s archives - clarified that the pile consisted mostly of music nobody had manage to identify, or music he described as being ‘mainly instrumental and strange music’.

At the words ‘strange music’ Samy was hooked, the return flight to Tunisia was cancelled. The pile turned out to be a cornucopia of different sounds: radio jingles, background music and interludes for radio programmes, television shows and theatre plays. There were also a good number of disco tunes, some had been stripped of their lyrics, the interesting parts had been recorded multiple times then cut, taped together and spliced into a long groovy instrumental loop.

Like everywhere in Africa during the 1970s, both men and women sported huge afros, bell-bottom trousers and platform shoes.
James Brown, Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye and The Temptations’ funk were the talk of the town. In 1977, Iftin Band were invited to perform at the Festac festival in Lagos where they represented Somalia at the Second World Black and African Festival of Arts and Culture.

Not only did they come back with an award but they also returned with Afrobeat. While Fela Kuti’s ‘Shakara’ had taken over the continent and was spreading like wildfire throughout Latin America, it was the track ‘Lady’ that would become the hit in Mogadishu.

Germany's rising newcomer DJ and producer Desroi will deliver his debut album on Semantica by early November. He has gained wide attention with his Dwell in Motion EP on Avian in 2018. Each artist has a special story to tell about their musicianship. Techno producer Desroi, who in every day life goes under the name Frederic Lindemann, has a relatively no-nonsense one. Observing from the outside, his production process seems to be one of tight structure and focus, holding great modernistic vision. Desroi studied Composition at Folkwang University of Arts - parallel to his already ongoing career as a DJ, producer and label owner - having graduated in 2018. His craftsmanship combined with a more theoretical academic view gives him a distinguished position on the scene. Desroi is curious about exploring the bridges between contemporary music and techno, and he recently said he is less interested in arrangement, melodies and harmony, and much rather focuses strongly on textures, rhythms and new sounds. Listening to his compositions these quotes makes nothing but sense; Desroi's techno is entrancing and layered but holds no unnecessary clutter.

Swedish composer and multimedia artist Marcus Fjellström's debut Miasmah release follows two critically acclaimed full length albums on Lampse (2006's 'Gebrauchsmusik' and 2005's 'Exercises In Estrangement'). In addition Marcus has had several commissioned works requested, leading to him working with, among others, the Swedish Royal Ballet, the Scottish Chamber Orchestra, numerous ensembles, soloists and filmmakers including 'Salad Fingers' creator David Firth. Currently based in Berlin, Fjellström's compositions often combine aspects of modern classical composition and arrangement and more avant forms of music, be that acoustic or electronic.

'Schattenspieler' (which translates as 'Shadowplayer') takes the form of eleven compositions which explore ambience and melody, texture and silence. Haunting synth and orchestral instrument-based audio constructions, flowing from one moment to the next - the fleeting ghosts of Fjellström's melodies rise, only to be buried under a claustrophobic clutter of percussion and creaking background noise. These pieces do indeed feel like you're listening to something more implied than obviously stated, as if Fjellström wants only to expose us to the shadow of the music - the implication being perhaps a more terrifying experience than to be confronted outright…listen to 'Schattenspieler' and you may find your mind starts to play tricks on you…

The undeniably Angelo Badalamenti-esque descending synth strings of opening track 'The Disjointed', lay the foundations for Fjellström's 'Schattenspieler' album; music resting somewhere between the unsettling horror soundtracks of Jerry Goldsmith, the elevating melodies of Cliff Martinez, and the subtle audio constructions of Miasmah label mates Kreng and Jacaszek. Marcus' wide ranging abilities in composition and his willingness to let go of accepted form and function makes 'Schattenspieler' a perfect choice of release for the Miasmah label. The suspense laden 'Antichrist Architechture Management', with its harrowing and tense undertones, weaving synth lines and a wash of static hiss and flicker, is a particular standout track. Despite it's a strangely oppressive sound, shafts of light grace 'Schattenspieler'; pieces such as 'Untitled 090616' find gorgeous melodies are boxed in by unsettling arrangements and sparse background ambience. There is a coldness to many of these compositions - not without emotion, but somehow remorseless. 'Schattenspieler' is, for the main part, a defiantly bleak journey.

Vinyl edition ltd. to 300 copies, purple vinyl, incl. 8-page 12" booklet with drawings by Marcus Fjellström.