Suche:dreams come true

2025 Repress

First release from the Portuguese vinyl only label, Dreams Come True. Born from the childhood dream of his mentor Ostinato, DCT aim to reflect his passion for vinyl records and electronic music. For this first release, nothing better than bring together friendship, passion and talent. In the last couple of years Floog and Ostinato became close friends and crafted this release togheter.

The original tracks from Floog reflect all his versatility fusing minimal with some spicy and tasty vocals, following a different path of the classic rominimal sound. The remixes are the reflection of the label owners personal taste.

Antraum (Traumer and Anton) did a huge remix with an infectious groove, a huge bassline, and certain sound complexity that makes you dance from the first to the last beat. Ted Amber its for sure one of the bastions of the classical Rominimal sound. This remix shows all his talent to build unique vibes in each release he does. Dreams Come True is now unleashed, and we ll keep sharing them with you.

Amazing Deep! Introspective textures with rolling rhythms. Romanian producer RQZ lands on Dreams Come True with a hypnotic slice of microhouse finesse. Known for his precision-cut grooves and subtle yet infectious energy, RQZ delivers a sophisticated trip that floats between deep minimalism and understated warmth. Adding his signature touch, NTFO steps in on remix duties, twisting the original into a deeper, more dancefloor-driven interpretation - fluid, heady, and perfectly in tune with the late-night hours.

A release that connects introspective textures with rolling rhythms - made for both thoughtful listening and immersive club moments.

HiNRG masterpiece and often heard anthem in Mexico's Sonidos movement parties. Originally released in '89 at the tail-end of the HiNRG epoch as “house music” was starting to stake its territory in the charts, this production remained an underground hit by Los Angeles based duo Tyrants in Therapy (aka Dreams Come True). The melodic themes and lyric nuances explored in Sweet Magic make it a unique and unforgettable hymn you'll be humming when you wake up after a night at Patrick Miller. Faithfully remastered from the original master tapes which we managed to find and digitize in Los Angeles. Featuring a new stripped down extended mix by Castro using the original stems from the master tapes.

Vintage George Benson vocals on vinyl & CD, float over orchestral reimagining of beloved American Standards & Soul Classics in this incredible collaboration with renowned composer and conductor, Robert Farnon.

The brand new 10-track collection, once thought to be lost to history, was recently discovered in Benson's personal vaults and remastered to their original glory.

With this new release, Benson marks a musical return to the Warner Family --a Homecoming to the place where he had his most profound commercial success.

The - here & Now Ep' Is The Second Instalment Of A Three-ep-series Coming Up In 2018. Christophe Salin Is Taking Us On His Musical Journey And Paves The Way For Cooperation With Future Artists On His Very Own Imprint - salin Records' That He Runs With His Wife Daria Salin As A Platform For Electronic Music And Art.

No Intro Needed As - dreams Sometimes Come True' Instantly Takes Us On The Groove Line. - astra Perle' Keeps The Groove Alive With Some Heavy Jazz Samples. You Maybe Remember Sitting In Your First Car (christophe's First Car Was Named - purple Pearl' And Was An - opel Astra ) And Just Cruising Thru The City. Imagine To Be Suddenly Overwhelmed By A Creative Hole, - ohh No, Not You ... Turn Over To - can You Pay My Bills' The Journey Continues With More Jazzy Vibes To End Up With A Downtempo Lounge-dub-work Which Is Indeed - different But Sweet .

Schmitz is a cool guy. He dreams of meeting the ruler of the universe. One day, his dream comes true: he meets the electro goddess Irma. The compilation is a kind of audiobook in 13 acts, danceable and cool, fast and loud, an homage to all space cats. The LP comes with a booklet introducing the bands and telling the story.

Imagine it’s 1987.

The neon is glowing, the lasers are cutting through the smoke, and space synth is ruling the dancefloors. Laserdance just dropped their groundbreaking album “Future Generation.” Tracks like “Power Run” and “Humanoid Invasion” are setting clubs on fire, and every bedroom producer dreams of reaching that cosmic perfection.

And in this athmosphere Spacehawk appears shining like an alien spaceship.

Behind the name Spacehawk stands Swedish producer Anton Eriksson, a modern-day craftsman of analog dreams. In his vast studio, packed with vintage synths and drum machines, Anton creates electronic masterpieces so authentic, so rich in melody and power, that even Michiel van der Kuy himself, the godfather of the genre, decided to collaborate with him.

The result? “Space Patrol” – a landmark single that bridges generations of synth lovers.

On the A-side, you’ll find Anton’s stunning original version, pulsating, melodic, and bursting with energy. Flip it over, and you get a remix by Michiel van der Kuy that feels like a time warp straight back to the golden age of Italo-space glory.

“Space Patrol” has it all: soaring melodies, driving basslines, hypnotic rhythm, and that unmistakable intergalactic energy that makes you feel like you’re racing through the stars.

Fans of Laserdance, Rygar, Koto, Syntech, and all things van der Kuy will instantly recognize the DNA of true space synth excellence here.

To top it all off the single comes on a bright yellow vinyl, housed in a stunning retro-futuristic sleeve that looks like it beamed in straight from 1980s sci-fi.

It’s not just a release. It’s a revival.

And if space synth runs through your veins, this is one you simply can’t ignore.

Astropolis Records, the label born from the legendary Brest festival, marks a decade of electronic passion with a sprawling, heartfelt anniversary compilation — slightly delayed, but still delivered with flair.
It comes in two EPs, spotlighting the many facets of the Astropolis universe: in-house artists, long-time festival collaborators, and rising stars from France’s ever-bubbling scene. Eighteen artists guide us through a sonic journey where rave heritage, electronic dreamscapes, and collective fervor converge — true to a festival whose DNA has never recognized borders.


The second EP dives into darker territories, spanning original electro, multifaceted techno, and sunlit vibes toward the close.
Astropolis has always thrived on happy collisions, and this EP is a perfect demonstration.


For synth lovers, Legowelt & Cuften revive the spirit of early electroclash on Liar, a carnal fusion of analog synths and DIY attitude.
Zaatar & Trunkline inject raw energy on Come Into The Light, a sweaty, visceral banger bridging techno, dark disco, and EBM.
French scene stalwarts Scan X & Electric Rescue deliver a masterclass in elegant techno on Lost In Time.


When Manu Le Malin meets Kmyle, the result is as sharp as it is cinematic: Little Big Man builds dramatic tension, balancing raw emotion with contained fury.


On a more contemplative note, we’re thrilled to unveil one of the first productions from our dear Célélé with Théo Muller: the subtle Drum and Drift, threaded with dubby vibrations and sun-drenched bursts.
This anniversary compilation reaffirms the label’s openness to new generations and recent sonic hybrids while honoring the techno scene that shaped its beginnings. Like the festival itself, it embodies the same sincerity and collective energy: a small manifesto connecting generations, aesthetics, and territories — celebrating roots without nostalgia, and the future without bending to trends.

Astropolis Records, the label born from the legendary Brest festival, marks a decade of electronic devotion with a sprawling, heartfelt anniversary compilation — slightly belated, but executed with undeniable flair.
It also comes in two EPs, showcasing the many facets of the Astropolis universe: in-house artists, long-time festival collaborators, and fresh talent from France’s ever-bubbling scene. Eighteen artists guide us through a sonic journey where rave heritage, electronic dreamscapes, and collective fervor intertwine — true to the spirit of a festival that has never recognized borders



The first EP bathes in warm tones across electronica, house, g-tech, old-school rave, and melodic techno.
It opens with grace and magic via Rone, whose electronic touch conjures the intimate and the infinite. Between electronica and downtempo, The Dolphin Ambassador delivers luminous melancholy, offering a gentle calm before the storm.


The unlikely pairing of Mézigue and Swooh catapults house into a g-tech vortex with the unrestrained Broken Roll To Venice, a compact fusion of groove, hybrid sounds, and playful inventiveness.
Belaria & Madben continue this alchemical thread on Into The Void, an incendiary anthem where 90s rave, EBM, and modern intensity collide in hypnotic trance.


For old-school dancefloor loyalists, KiNK finally resurrects a cult live set staple: Give Me, a bona fide banger merging breakbeat and vintage house, engineered for late-night sweat sessions.
Oniris & Benjamin Rippert revisit the melodic techno roots of the label on Sonate, demonstrating a masterful command of harmony.



This anniversary compilation underscores the label’s openness to new generations and recent sonic hybrids, while paying homage to the techno scene that shaped its early days. Much like the festival itself, it embodies the same sincerity and collective energy: a small manifesto connecting generations, aesthetics, and territories — celebrating roots without nostalgia, and the future without bowing to trends.

When billy woods released Today, I Wrote Nothing ten years ago, it was an unexpected departure from a rapper who was just starting to make waves in the indie rap scene. After spending the earlier part of his career in the wilderness, woods had managed to crawl out of obscurity with the minor success of 2012’s History Will Absolve Me. Dour Candy, 2013’s collaboration with underground legend Blockhead drew accolades, which only increased with Armand Hammer’s debut Race Music.

Then, woods dropped out of sight for two years before returning with Today, I Wrote Nothing, a record that deviated significantly from what had come before. Where Dour Candy had been concise and focused, TIWN was a sprawling 24 tracks. Where History Will Absolve Me was anchored by hard-hitting beats, anthemic songs, and a couple high powered features, TIWN was comprised of short vignettes, quietly eclectic production, and the only guests were his Backwoodz label-mates. Only one video was released; the claustrophobic “Flatlands”, shot on a shoestring budget in a Brooklyn housing project. Reviewers didn’t know quite what to make of the record, and in many cases, neither did fans.

As is often the case for woods’ albums, many perspectives shifted as the years passed. Listeners came to see the sad, quiet beauty of Today, I Wrote Nothing; a road trip album that doubles as a meditation on life’s journeys and death’s hiding places. The album’s power is in it’s intimacy, it’s insistence on holding your hand through the darkness. Now, TIWN is considered one of the more unique and vital records in woods catalogue. The dynamic woods created with TIWN vis-a-vis History Will Absolve Me and Dour Candy is one that would come to define his ouerve; constant experimentation, a refusal to be pigeonholed, and an unwavering search for the emotional heart of his subject. For us at Backwoodz, being able to repress this album on it’s ten year anniversary is especially sweet, because we remember how long it took us to sell that original run of 500. To everyone who copped one of those and helped us keep the lights on, this is for you too, we couldn’t have gotten here otherwise.

Limited Vinyl Box Set including 6x olive 12” vinyl & download code

Cocoon Recordings presents: Cocoon Compilation V

Back for the summer season, Cocoon Recordings proudly unveils the next chapter in its iconic compilation series. With its 22nd edition, Cocoon Compilation V once again bridges past and future, showcasing the essence of electronic music’s constant evolution. True to the spirit of the label, this handpicked collection delivers a diverse, emotional, and forward-thinking selection that drifts through shimmering currents, pulsating machinery, and moments of pure release.

Delenz & Zeitstill set the tone with “Place To Be”, a smooth and warm opener that invites the listener into a meditative microcosm. What starts as dreamy minimalism steadily unfolds into deep, shimmering depth. A sublime invitation to get lost in sound. Superpitcher takes us further into the mist with “Dream B”, an ethereal and cinematic dreamscape that floats between melancholy and magic. Its stretched textures and hypnotic pacing form a gentle passage into inner space.

The energy intensifies with Patrice Bäumel’s “Nat”, a sophisticated tension-builder with a subtle pulse and haunting atmospheres. Sound waves that breathe, evolve, and subtly command movement. Sawlin switches gears with “Der Jasager”, a deep technoid beast that hits with low-end pressure, modulated percussions, and gritty textures and spooky features. Raw, physical, and unrelenting.

A bright contrast comes from DC Salas and his track “Escapism.” Psychedelic, synth-heavy, and effortlessly groovy, it channels the playful side of electronic storytelling. It channels a trancy 90s flair with its vibrant energy, brilliant use of choir bits, and irresistible vibe that transports you back to a golden era. With Tal Fussman’s “Eyes”, we’re taken into euphoric territory. This stomper is a conversation between piano and strings, rising above crisp grooves, weaving emotion and momentum with finesse.

On the second half of the journey, legendary Ken Ishii teams up with Yuada to deliver “Split Second,” a bold, wild and crazy techno excursion full of mechanical grace and Japanese precision. An ode to organized chaos. Marcel Fengler’s “Aura” follows, powerful and deep, pushing air like an engine through tunnels of tension and light. The blend of rhythm and sentiments is a masterclass in functional elegance and states of mind.

Impérieux brings us “Kala,” a track both twisted and beautiful. Its detuned hypnotic melodies and skewed harmonics are unsettling in the best way while the unconventional rhythms cloak the entire track in a mysterious aura. It creaks and twists toward transcendence, underscored by primordial flute sounds. A fractured lullaby for the club. Joe Metzenmacher injects wildness and attitude into the mix with “Da Freak.” Fuzzy, distorted synths collide with a funky bassline, sharp guitar stabs, and mad bleep effects, bringing the raw groove and dancefloor chaos of a bygone funk era into a futuristic setting.

Joseph Capriati debuts on Cocoon with “Cosmopop” and surprises with an unexpected stylistic shift. Capriati explores a more melodic, emotionally driven sound. Subtle harmonies meet a warm, rolling groove. It’s a bold and personal statement, showing a new side of an artist who continues to evolve beyond expectations. To close, Matthias Schildger offers “Distorter,” a raw and emotional cut that leaves room to breathe while keeping the mind spinning. It begins with beautiful pads, before distorted kicks drop in, yet the track retains a certain tenderness, like the feeling of sitting at a tranquil, untouched nature spot, surrounded by the beauty of the world. A grand finale to a compilation that refuses to settle.

From sunrise moments to peak-time madness, Cocoon Compilation V captures the full spectrum of what dance music can be. Transcendent, visceral and endlessly evolving. This isn’t just a collection of tracks. It’s a curated experience for the body, the mind and the soul.

*all original recordings from mid 90s Estonian released cassettes. Fascinating interpretations of the UK breakbeat and Jungle sounds recorded when the world felt like a much bigger place.

Since hearing the first breakbeats via the Finnish radio nightly shows introducing the burgeoning UK scene, Virko Veskoja, later head figure of Lu:k, was completely swept away by this new technological language that sounded like machines trying to initiate contact with people. The fluttering rhythm patterns, strings and vocal lines haunting the pathways of the infinite network. Like hip hop taken over by Skynet.

Reimagining it all in mid-90’s Estonia, a fresh and dirt-poor republic newly welcomed to the family of sovereign states on the outskirts of Eastern Europe, was challenging, to say the least. Finally, with the help of entry level music programs, custom-made soundcards and self-built computers by the other Lu:k-head Tõnis Valk, Lu:k took the first tentative steps in the history of Estonian jungle.

Eight Lu:k cuts have been compiled into a handy selection, a true sign of the times when uncertainty came with certain hope and optimism – new territories to chart, new frontiers to conquer. A time of innocence captured so sublimely in Lu:k’s music.

The compilation starts with menacing orchestration that sounds like the birth of a civilization, like in „2001: A Space Odyssey“, or the arrival of Godzilla, only to give way to sweeeet strings and the inimitable Minnie Riperton in “Lovin U”, combining all the essential elements of Lu:k in a track that has remained uncorroded by time since its inception in 1994.

The following “Demo 3” is its antithesis – fast and nervous, a harbinger of the darker days of neurofunk and techstep ahead. More in line with the social realities of the time, when something (or someone) could materialise out of thin air and attack you just as violently as those beats here.

“La:v” was Lu:k’s signature track throughout their brief career that went on only for a few years, 1994-1997. Lifted to heaven’s by Petula Clarks’s wonderful vocals, it perfectly captures the pure essence of creation. “I made it in my bedroom. Something like that just came out. Sorry”, says Virko apologetically.

From the themes of love we are led towards darker scenarios again with “Drunk-Drive”, a more vengeful cut reminiscent of early Ram Records’ nocturnal dangers, skylines shaped by basslines. Previously only available on the uber-rare “Raadiomaja valvelauas” CD compilation from 2005.

“In the Limelight” is lifted from their second album “Dreams in Drums” from 1996 (only released on cassette), and if it’s meant to address their new-found underground celebrity status in Estonia, there is surprisingly little elation here – the track rather consists of introspective strings and beats that sound almost melancholic.

Out of the remaining three tracks, “Proov2mix” and “Kadunud leitud” are the result of a treasure hunt amongst the old, obsolete harddrives – little nuggets that were condemned to obscurity until now. Between them, another vocal-led cut “010”, a non-album track only featured on two comps until now, is a strong reminder of Lu:k’s prodigious ability to handle vocal lines and morph them together with their own weaving synthetic melodies, strong pads and commanding beats.

Lu:k’s music has been largely unavailable for the better part of this century, with original tapes and CD’s changing hands for a small fortune. This vinyl release couldn’t come at a better time, bringing a seminal chapter of Estonian dance music’s mythical history to light again, both for the old-school acolytes and new converts.

All music by Virko Veskoja

After his furious comeback, STARTER frontman Francis Foss has fallen in love. In “True Love”, one of the two new tracks on the upcoming maxi-single, he sings about the most overwhelming of all feelings. “Love is and always will be the most beautiful thing in the world,” says the young-at-heart Francis with conviction.

But when you turn the orange record over, you quickly realize: “Vision on My Mind” sounds more melancholic, darker. “Being in love has its mysterious side,” Francis explains. “Dreams and reality often go hand in hand. Especially when the full moon rises over New York.

Behind this production is once again the Swiss duo VISION, who brought STARTER back to life with “Future Shock”. For “True Love” they were able to use a demo tape by Reto Keller, alias “Gary Gray”, who was active for STARTER from 1985-1989. The result is an exciting mix of genres in the experimental style of the 80s.

The 12″ double A-side maxi single “True Love/Vision on My Mind” by STARTER is strictly limited to 300 copies and is pressed on orange transparent vinyl. It comes in a disco sleeve (opening at the top) and is protected by a sturdy plastic cover.

AI-28 arrives as a double-12” reissue of an album titled “Lucid Dreams”. Formerly released in 1996 as a CD on the now defunct UK imprint em:t, the album now becomes available for the first time on vinyl. Produced collaboratively by Chris Allen, David Thompson (both co-founders of em:t), plus label affiliates Tom Smyth and Will Joss, the record features outlier academic and philosopher Celia Green narrating passages of her classic book “Lucid Dreams” (published in 1968), seamlessly embellished with atmospheric soundscapes throughout. 

Brooding amorphously on the cusp of the unknown, the music captures the quintessentially mysterious quality of dreams and dreaming. Layer by layer, the listener is submerged deep into the subconscious stream. The record curls and unwinds with bewildering influence whilst exploring key themes of Green’s studies, with topics covering hallucinatory states, apparitions, out of body experiences, and extrasensory perception. The collaborative handling of samples and sound material comes together powerfully to create a piece that is both artistically theatrical in flavour and sumptuously immersive – a true documentary for the ears and imagination.

Astropolis Records — the label born from the legendary electronic French festival — celebrates a decade of electronic devotion with a generous and deeply emotional anniversary compilation - a bit late, but never short on flair.

This double vinyl gathers the many faces of the Astropolis galaxy: in-house artists, long-time companions of the festival, and rising voices from a perpetually vibrant French scene. Across 18 artists, listeners are invited on a sonic journey where rave legacy, electronic dreamscapes, and collective fervor intertwine — true to the DNA of a festival that’s never known boundaries.



The record opens with grace and wonder courtesy of Rone, whose electronic touch channels both the intimate and the infinite. Between electronica and downtempo, The Dolphin Ambassador bathes in luminous melancholy, offering a moment of calm before the storm. In the same contemplative vein, we’re proud to unveil one of the first productions from Célélé alongside Théo Muller: Drum and Drift, a subtle blend of dubby vibrations and sunlit textures.


Astropolis has always thrived on happy collisions — and this compilation is proof of it. The unlikely meeting between Mézigue and Swooh sends house spiraling into a g-tech vortex on Broken Roll To Venice, a playful burst of groove, hybrid energy, and cheeky mischief. The same spirit of alchemy fuels Belaria & Madben, whose Into The Void burns bright as a 90s rave-meets-EBM anthem wrapped in hypnotic trance. Zaatar & Trunkline bring raw intensity to Come Into The Light, a sweaty, visceral banger at the crossroads of techno, dark disco, and EBM.


French techno pillars Scan X & Electric Rescue deliver a masterclass in elegant machine soul on Lost In Time. When Manu Le Malin teams up with Kmyle, the result is as sharp as it is cinematic: Little Big Man pulses with dramatic tension, balancing raw emotion and restrained fury. Elsewhere, Oniris & Benjamin Rippert reconnect with the melodic techno spirit of the label’s early days on Sonate, guided by a craftsman’s sense of harmony.
For the machine lovers, Legowelt & Cuften resurrect the spirit of early electroclash on Liar, a carnal fusion of analog synths and DIY attitude. And for the diehard dancefloor devotees, KiNK finally releases a cult track from his live sets: Give Me, a breakbeat-meets-vintage-house stormer tailor-made for those late-night sweats.

This anniversary compilation reaffirms the label’s openness to new generations and hybrid sounds, while paying tribute to the techno roots that shaped its foundation. Like the festival itself, it embodies sincerity and collective energy — a small manifesto linking generations, aesthetics, and territories, celebrating roots without nostalgia and the future without bending to trends.

From 1968 through to the mid 1970’s the reggae beat began to slow down,some say due to the extreme heat hitting down onto Kingston Town and its surrounding enclaves. People needed something less strenuous to dance to. The Ska and Rocksteady Sounds (see 101 Orange Street KS007) that rocked Jamaica previously, had now found a slower tempo and become more ‘Dread’ lyrically to suit the times. Reggae music has always moved within the social climate it found itself in and this set here, as we ‘Return To Orange Street’ was ROOTS ROCK REGGAE TIME....

The Rastafarian message that runs through this collection of ‘Reality’, sometimes labelled ‘Sufferers’ music,is strong and works on many levels. It can come across on a heavy rhythm and vocal cut. Its example represented here by Prince Jazzbo’s ‘Dread in a Earth’ and ‘I Roy’s ‘Roots Man Time’, moving through to the popular new sounds of the DJ’s working over an old rhythm and alongside its existing vocal. As with Busty Brown working with Delroy Wilson's ‘Know Your Friend’ and Mr Jah Stitch working over Johnny Clarke’s ‘Roots Natty Roots’ to produce an even more dreader ‘True Born African’. The heartfelt lyric can also convey this message as we can see when Horace Andy laments ‘Where is the Love’ and Delroy Wilson again shows us on his ‘Who Cares’ cut. The great Twinkle Brothers also put the message across on their two cuts we have here, ’Too Late’ one of their lost classics if ever there was one and the thoughtful ‘It’s Not Who You Know’,being another prime example.

Orange Street itself is always at the heart of all reggae's musical changes and some singers also ride these waves as Mr Cornell Campbell shows us here with two cuts. The mournful ‘Too Be Loved’ and his uplifting ‘Girl of My Dreams’, which uses the same rhythm as our previously mentioned Prince Jazzbo’s 'Dread in a Earth’. Showing us that firstly you can’t keep a good rhythm down and secondly that two if not more great songs can work from the same source point. The light hearted ‘Vengeful’ lyric also worked in this period when artists spared off to each other on records to vent their frustrations. As we can hear here with Mr Lee Perry’s ‘You Funny Boy’. The song snipping back at a previous employer over what he felt were his misdoings to an under appreciated Mr Perry. We have culled these tracks together to show that the Dread Roots feel of the 1970’s came across in many guises and even in earlier songs these sentiments were also prevalent. As represented in Slim Smith’s almost bluesy feel in ‘Trying To Find a Home’, never a truer statement in Kingston's ghetto areas.

Well we hope you enjoy this musical journey and make a connection with messages portrayed here, as Mr Monty Morris points out on his contribution to this collection ‘Times Are Dread’.... Dread indeed.....

Swim Inside The Moon is a delicate, confident, quiet singer songwriter record by 24 year old Angelo De Augustine. Angelo’s setup was simple: a Shure SM57 microphone next to the wall of the shower and a cable back to an analogue reel-to-reel in his nearby bathroom. For some songs, he played his mother’s 100-year old piano in the living room and on others he added synth and electric guitar. Listeners might hear Nick Drake’s intricate arpeggiated guitar parts, Elliott Smith’s pure vocals or, at times, a likeness to the soulfulness of artists such as Robert Johnson, Vashti Bunyan and Judee Sill.

On April 4th, Brighton-based Australian vocalist, producer, and multi-instrumentalist Penelope Trappes will release her fifth full-length album ‘A Requiem’. It comes alongside news of her signing to London imprint, One Little Independent Records. ‘A Requiem’ collects ten haunting, ambient soundscapes - incantations of dreams and nightmares, of death and grief, as well as power and autonomy. Carnal, transcendent cello drones are used to exorcise historical and generational traumas in an evocative and macabre piece of gothic experimentalism.

Seeking solitude for what she knew would be an intense and cathartic writing experience, Trappes travelled to Scotland and isolated completely. Amidst meditative and psychedelic states, she channeled demons and accessed parts of herself she’d long desired to cleanse. During candle-lit recording sessions she found herself drawn to cello, an instrument she has no formal training in, she explains, “I always felt an affinity toward the cello, I embraced it, held it, and became one with it as a way to accompany my voice. The nerve-like strings of the cello became external chords of my vocal folds… I scratched on them, leaned into them, and conjured all of the textures I could muster”.

‘A Requiem’ is a musical service in honour of the dead, a sanctuary Trappes built for herself to explore familial chaos and history. “I was looking for an equilibrium between a ‘heaven' and a ‘hell’” she explains, “screaming out to the wisdom of our foremothers - surfacing and leading me into true strength and beauty. I listened to the sorrow closely. Death is a part of our reality. Inevitable. Omnipresent. But nightmares can be beautiful”.

She continues, “This album is my personal requiem for my parents, my ties to the land where I was born, along with all of my epigenetically connected ancestors before them. The songs helped me summon up the strength to move through my own awareness of mortality, death, and impending loss. This album is a living funeral. It’s a ceremonial collection of music. It’s an externalising of the power and strength to fight the generations of abuse and darkness that my parents self-admittedly played out in their parenting and to keep it away from my own social patterns and my psyche. It’s not an uncommon thing in the world and this lamented warcry goes out to everyone to help exorcise patriarchal, political, and religious systems of abuses of power”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a 30-year interstellar silence, the enigmatic producer Alien Signal—pioneering alias of Italian electronic composer Alex Silvi—reemerges with Whispers from Distant Suns, a transcendent odyssey that bridges retro-futurism and modern electronica. Hailed as a magnum opus, this album transcends genre boundaries, captivating ambient purists, downtempo aficionados, and even experimental listeners with its hypnotic fusion of analog warmth and digital precision.

Cosmic Tapestry of Sound
Drawing comparisons to Vangelis’ Antarctica and Alpha—but reimagined through a 21stcentury lens—Whispers from Distant Suns marries nostalgic synth textures with cuttingedge production. Silvi’s mastery of melody shines through in tracks like “Stardust
Memories” and “Fragile Eden” where shimmering arpeggios and celestial pads drift over robotic, glitch-infused drum patterns and sparse, meditative percussion. The result is a paradox: a retro-futuristic soundscape that feels simultaneously ancient and alien, familiar yet unexplored.

Listener Testimonials
Fans and critics have flooded forums with praise:

“An auditory revelation! It’s like Vangelis met Jon Hopkins in a nebula—vintage soul with a futuristic heartbeat.”
“The textures are gorgeously cinematic. Closing your eyes, you’re adrift in a Tarkovsky film scored for the Andromeda galaxy.”

The Vinyl Experience
Pressed on heavyweight vinyl, the album’s physical release amplifies its immersive qualities. The gatefold sleeve, adorned with surrealist astrophotography and metallic
foiling, mirrors the music’s cosmic ethos. Side A leans into Balearic serenity, with sundappled grooves and aquatic synth ripples, while Side B delves into darker, more
experimental terrain—think Aphex Twin’s Selected Ambient Works colliding with the organic rhythms of Jon Hopkins.

Maturity in Motion
This album is a testament to Silvi’s evolution. Tracks like “Seeds Of Light” and “Message from Andromeda Galaxy” showcase his refined ear for dynamics, balancing silence and sound with surgical precision. Vintage drum machines spar with glitches, while field recordings of crashing waves and interstellar static blur the line between Earth and cosmos. The closing track, “The Star Charts We Shared” crescendos into a 6-minute ambient requiem, leaving listeners suspended in a state of weightless awe.

Final Transmission
Whispers from Distant Suns is more than an album—it’s a transcendent odyssey. Spanning time, space, and the artist’s own creative evolution, this immersive work invites listeners to lose themselves in its ebb and flow. Designed for moments both intimate and expansive, its balearic-tinged atmospheres resonate equally through dawnlit Mediterranean terraces or the solitary glow of headphones in darkness. These are compositions that pulse, morph, and haunt the air long after the final note fades. A living soundscape meant to accompany life’s quiet revelations and clandestine joys—a soundtrack to your most personal moments, crafted as what the artist calls ‘private dance music.’

Tailored for the Discerning Listener
Whispers from Distant Suns is designed with the true connoisseur in mind. This album is a must-have for:

Vinyl Collectors & Audiophiles: Those who value the warmth and tactile experience of heavyweight, limited edition pressings
Electronic Ambient and Downtempo Fans: Listeners who appreciate immersive soundscapes that merge retro analog charm with modern digital innovation.
Retro-Futurism Enthusiasts: Fans of pioneering artists like Vangelis, Boards of Canada, and early Warp Records who seek music that bridges nostalgic synth textures with futuristic experimentation.
Experimental Music Explorers: Individuals drawn to sonic narratives that invite deep, contemplative listening—perfect for both introspective moments and immersive listening sessions.
This release is not just an album; it’s a curated experience for those who desire music as a multidimensional art form, merging the vintage allure of analog sound with a contemporary, cosmic vision.

For fans of: Vangelis, Biosphere, Jon Hopkins, early Warp Records.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Austin, TX-based singer-songwriter—whose decades-long career has seen six full-length studio albums, three EPs, countless collaborations, and an illustrious supergroup project in Glorietta—spent a season of rest away from his focus on writing songs. In the wake of the end of a long relationship, he wanted to prioritize processing his grief as a human, not as an artist bleeding on the page. “I love all the records I’ve made in the past. But in making them, there was always the thought in the back of my mind of where and what it could get me. I made both creative and business decisions with a goal in mind... a goal that often never came. This time it was all about just the joy of making it, about having fun with it.”

In 2016 an internet user discovered Panchiko’s discarded 2000 demo CD, D>E>A>T>H>M>E>T>A>L, in a Nottingham charity shop and posted it to 4chan to intrigue and fanfare. It took four years for Panchiko’s legions of dedicated fans to find the people behind the music as millions of curious listeners were swaying to the band’s adolescent creations. Upon discovering their own virality, the band reformed with original members Andy Wright (keyboardist and producer), Owain Davies (vocalist and guitarist), and Shaun Ferreday (bassist) alongside new members Robert Harris (guitarist) and John Schofield (drummer), toured the world and wrote, recorded, and released their first album in 20+ years, 2023’s Failed At Maths. But after the thrill of the whirlwind came a new question. What comes next when your dreams come true? The answer is Ginkgo, a 13-track project that finds the band making some of their most introspective, cinematic, and moving music yet. “The whole production has gone up ten-fold,” says Wright of the new album.“ Standout track "Shandy in the Graveyard" feat. rapper billy woods sees the band channeling their youth and tapping into the typical audience at Panchiko shows. That youthful spirit can be felt in the song’s sonic world, as its production genre-shifts between trip hop and orchestral folk, creating a fresh juxtaposition of soundscapes. The same wrenching honesty that attracted legions of fans to their teenage demos is the same truthful ethos that keeps them listening to new material like title track, “Ginkgo.” On it, Davies sings “You command the leaves to fall/The Ginkgo bends at will.” A rumination on the limits of control, collaboration, and fate, the song is an apt meditation for a band whose resurgence came about through a mix of luck, artistry, and then clear-eyed energy.

Free jazz poetry by a spry, 85 year old Joe McPhee, adapting his renowned improvised practice to words - juxtaposed with Mats Gustafson’s sparing brass and electric gestures. It’s an utterly timeless and transfixing salvo, another shiny notch for Smalltown Supersound’s Le Jazz Non Series.

As a common ligature to the OG free jazz scene of ‘60s NYC, with formative binds to its European offshoots and the experimental avant garde, Joe McPhee is a true force of nature who has represented jazz at its freest over a remarkable lifetime. In duo with Swedish free jazz and noise standard bearer Mats Gustafson, he upends expectations with an astonishingly vivid and upfront example of his enduring contribution to freely improvised music. In 11 parts he variously reflects on everything from the neon sleaze and scuzz of NYC to contemporary US politicians and laugh out loud imitations of his previous sparring partners such as Peter Brötzmann, with a head-slapping immediacy that leaves you reeling, spellbound.

McPhee’s flow of rare, organic cadence, ranging from urgent to contemplative and dreamlike, is blessed with a unique turn-of-phrase that surely mirrors his decades of instrumental work. Gustafsson, meanwhile, dextrously takes up the mantle with a multi-instrumental spectrum of sounds, leaving McPhee unbound and able to float and sting on the mic. There’s obvious wisdom in his perceptively penetrative observations, as derived from a rich cultural life well spent, but also a playful naivety and levity in his ability to veer from almost melodic speech to explosive aggression and a knowing, bathetic wit. It’s perhaps hard to believe that McPhee only started incorporating and performing spoken word in his work in the past ten years, a half century since his declaration of “What Time Is It‽” announced his arrival on a legendary debut ‘Nation Time’ (1971), ushering in one of free jazz’s most singular characters in the process.

Oscillating between discordant reflections on life as a touring musician, set to Gustafsson’s skronk and culminating in a snort-worthy imitation of Peter Brötzmann’s gruff German accent, on ‘Short Pieces’ or the glowering growl and noise exhortations of ‘Guitar’, he evokes a more sweetly consonant calm in ‘When I Grow Up’ and eerie threat of ‘The Dreams Book’, and viscerality of ‘Disco Death’, where Gustafson’s tonal versatility comes into hugely mutable play, whilst McPhee’s extraordinary, unaffected voice is a constant. It’s perhaps McPhee’s balance of cool measuredness and wellspring of barbed energies that allows us, at least, to get the most out of this one; not stifling with mannered or manicured enunciation that can trigger certain icks; keeping close to the nature of spoken word in a way that avoids cliche and becomes inherently critical of it within his purposeful, non-hesitant clarity and unflinching approach.

63 Jahre setzte dieser bisher unveröffentlichte Soundtrack im Archiv von Lou-Mood Pictures Staub an. Mit dem hochtönigen Timbre und dem hochprozentigen Swoon des Pop der Nachkriegsjahre ist "Call Me Old Fashioned" ein 40-minütiges Stereo-Klangabenteuer für 7 & 7 Spionage-Film-Fanatiker, das zuckersüße Diven, fassgelagerte Big Bands und "zoo be zoo be zoo"-Schwung mit einem Latin-Jazz-Luxardo zum Garnieren vereint.

63 Jahre setzte dieser bisher unveröffentlichte Soundtrack im Archiv von Lou-Mood Pictures Staub an. Mit dem hochtönigen Timbre und dem hochprozentigen Swoon des Pop der Nachkriegsjahre ist "Call Me Old Fashioned" ein 40-minütiges Stereo-Klangabenteuer für 7 & 7 Spionage-Film-Fanatiker, das zuckersüße Diven, fassgelagerte Big Bands und "zoo be zoo be zoo"-Schwung mit einem Latin-Jazz-Luxardo zum Garnieren vereint.

Jade Hairpins waste no time fulfilling their second album's titular demand. From its harmony-drenched opening note to its baroque-anthemic conclusion, Get Me the Good Stuff is positively loaded with musical ideas, an absurdist buffet of sound and aesthetic that comes with one hell of a floorshow as the Hairpins stack those ideas higher and higher, almost daring them to crash to the floor. Instead, those elements - punksploitation, power pop, baggy, funk, and Italo disco are just some touchstones - are not only held aloft, they defy gravity and convention. These pyrotechnics are, in true Jade Hairpins fashion, something of a sleight of hand. While the music swaggers and gallops, Get Me the Good Stuff grapples with anxiety and self-doubt, obfuscating pain and alienation with sparkling wit and some straight-up ravers. Get Me the Good Stuff opens with one of those, "Let It Be Me," in which Jonah Falco shouts lyrics about being alone with one's shortcomings against guitars, synths, and harmonized vocals that are on the verge of closing in. The song is just over 90 seconds long, hitting with the gnarled-barb ferocity of punk and the gleeful insanity of theatrical art rock. It is, in other words, overwhelming. Or it would be if Jade Hairpins - Jonah Falco and Mike Haliechuk - weren't remarkably nimble in their ability to bring unity to sounds by placing them in competition against each other. When those sounds are adjacent, like the glam and disco that saturate "Drifting Superstition," the thrill of those universes colliding in the heat of an absolutely filthy clavichord line turns its lyrics, about the habit of solving personal problems by ignoring them, into a winner's anthem on the order of Bowie or Hot Chocolate. Get Me the Good Stuff arcs towards unequivocal joy as Falco, Jade Hairpins' primary lyricist, breaks these cycles and attempts to run away with his dreams. The arc is roughly analogous to how the album came to fruition. Four years removed from Harmony Avenue, an album of material that proved too strong to be contained within the narrative universe of Fucked Up's Dose Your Dreams, Jade Hairpins have gelled as a live act - with Tamsin M. Leach and Jack Goldstein centering them on stage - and planted their flag in the UK punk scene in which Falco has embedded himself. Working out new material live, Falco noticed that crowds were digging into his unfinished lyrics, and the album tightened around the anxieties of being in the spotlight, of being worthy of attention. At times, those songs are eager to please, like the album's title track in which a winking self-deprecation rubs up against the self-congratulatory bombast of Freddie Mercury, Falco simultaneously turning heads as a shooting star and a burning car. Elsewhere, as in "Better Here Than in Love," Jade Hairpins pitch themselves towards creating gorgeous soundscapes that exist nowhere else, channeling postpunk through the glimmering haze of '80s Japanese electronic music. Theatrical and personal, absurd and true-to-life, playful and serious, Get Me the Good Stuff is album of tremendous personal and artistic growth that signposts towards dozens of potential futures to come. It's not only worth the attention, it continuously rewards it.

Jade Hairpins waste no time fulfilling their second album's titular demand. From its harmony-drenched opening note to its baroque-anthemic conclusion, Get Me the Good Stuff is positively loaded with musical ideas, an absurdist buffet of sound and aesthetic that comes with one hell of a floorshow as the Hairpins stack those ideas higher and higher, almost daring them to crash to the floor. Instead, those elements_punksploitation, power pop, baggy, funk, and Italo disco are just some touchstones_are not only held aloft, they defy gravity and convention. These pyrotechnics are, in true Jade Hairpins fashion, something of a sleight of hand. While the music swaggers and gallops, Get Me the Good Stuff grapples with anxiety and self-doubt, obfuscating pain and alienation with sparkling wit and some straight-up ravers. Get Me the Good Stuff opens with one of those, "Let It Be Me," in which Jonah Falco shouts lyrics about being alone with one's shortcomings against guitars, synths, and harmonized vocals that are on the verge of closing in. The song is just over 90 seconds long, hitting with the gnarled-barb ferocity of punk and the gleeful insanity of theatrical art rock. It is, in other words, overwhelming. Or it would be if Jade Hairpins_Jonah Falco and Mike Haliechuk_weren't remarkably nimble in their ability to bring unity to sounds by placing them in competition against each other. When those sounds are adjacent, like the glam and disco that saturate "Drifting Superstition," the thrill of those universes colliding in the heat of an absolutely filthy clavichord line turns its lyrics, about the habit of solving personal problems by ignoring them, into a winner's anthem on the order of Bowie or Hot Chocolate. Get Me the Good Stuff arcs towards unequivocal joy as Falco, Jade Hairpins' primary lyricist, breaks these cycles and attempts to run away with his dreams. The arc is roughly analogous to how the album came to fruition. Four years removed from Harmony Avenue, an album of material that proved too strong to be contained within the narrative universe of Fucked Up's Dose Your Dreams, Jade Hairpins have gelled as a live act_with Tamsin M. Leach and Jack Goldstein centering them on stage_and planted their flag in the UK punk scene in which Falco has embedded himself. Working out new material live, Falco noticed that crowds were digging into his unfinished lyrics, and the album tightened around the anxieties of being in the spotlight, of being worthy of attention. At times, those songs are eager to please, like the album's title track in which a winking self-deprecation rubs up against the self-congratulatory bombast of Freddie Mercury, Falco simultaneously turning heads as a shooting star and a burning car. Elsewhere, as in "Better Here Than in Love," Jade Hairpins pitch themselves towards creating gorgeous soundscapes that exist nowhere else, channeling postpunk through the glimmering haze of '80s Japanese electronic music. Theatrical and personal, absurd and true-to-life, playful and serious, Get Me the Good Stuff is album of tremendous personal and artistic growth that signposts towards dozens of potential futures to come. It's not only worth the attention, it continuously rewards it.

I was sent an unfinished version of Dose Your Dreams so that I might contribute string parts. I couldn’t stop listening to the rough mixes I received. A friend asked me how the record was. I replied, “My God, Fucked Up have made their Screamadelica.” And psych-rock-groove it is. The drums mixed wide, propensity for drones, for delay pedal, for repetition, groove. The politics and aesthetics of hardcore married to an “open format” approach to genre. Elements of doo-wop, krautrock, groove, digital hardcore. “None of Your Business Man” opens the album in familiar enough territory, a sax assisted exit from an office space. But things get psychedelic very quickly. By the time the title track arrives, Mike Haliechuk is whispering, wah pedals are in full effect, and we’re wearing oversized t-shirts and pinwheeling. “Accelerate,” the lyrical centrepiece of the album, storms in like Boredoms on a bullet train and dissolves into a digital nightmare. The album closer, “Joy Stops Time,” finds Fucked Up at their most Düsseldorfian, nearly eight minutes of blissful motorik. At the center of it all is Damian Abraham’s scream a man chained, a man tortured, a true protagonist. The effect is one of an epic, every chapter attempting its own narrative devices, its own genre hybridization and it works, it works so insanely well. The drama unfolds like a miniature world of many parts being explored, a map being illuminated, location by location. As with David Comes to Life, there is a story here. David who once came to life is now indentured to a desk job. David meets the elderly Joyce who closes his eyes, opens his mind, and sends him on a spiritual journey. David embarks on his own metaphysical odyssey. He sees a stage adaptation of his own life. He speaks to an angel in a lightbulb. He sees an infinite series of universes as simulations within simulations. Meanwhile, Lloyd Joyce’s lover was sent, decades ago, by Joyce on the same odyssey, but was lost in the void. Lloyd seeks to be found and reunited with his lover. Where will David end up? Will Joyce and Lloyd be reunited? Dose Your Dreams meaning: treat your dreams as you would a dream, allow yourself to be lost within them, allow them to open your heart and your mind, enjoy them as you would a drug. Reach out for my hand and pull me close. Owen Pallett.

Remastered edition on 180 grams double vinyl of 'Euskal Herria Jamaika Clash', released by Talka Records & Films in 2006. To the 12 tracks that appeared in the original CD edition we have added 5 remixes made by producers as renowned as Xabi Pery, Rob Smith, Neil Perch, Peter Rose or Nebukhednezzar and Daniel Díaz. DESCRIPTION "On the wall of the toilet a freshly made graffiti, "Get out of the ghetto, organize the hate", reminded me of the rage we owe to this society. However, I was also at ease, savoring our Original Soundtrack: "ROOTS, ROCK, RAP, REGGAE". This phrase belongs to the song "B.S.O." from the album "Gure Jarrera" by Negu Gorriak. For music fans, the real ones, the ones who spend their fingers searching for rare vinyls in second-hand shops, there are records that have a special meaning. That record has special meaning for me for several reasons, but one of them is singular: it has helped me to discover a multitude of music. It turns out that the credits of that album were full of fundamental names in rock, hardcore, funk, Hip Hop, soul, ska, Latin music... a good guide for the young man of musical discoveries that I was fifteen years ago. But there was also that song, "B.S.O.", with the word "REGGAE" at the end of the chorus. A genre that I had never paid much attention to and that since then, slowly, I have been tasting... from classic figures to new trends, from Jamaican reference records to admirable peninsular formations (Basque Dub Foundation, Lone Ark or The Starlites). A few years ago I had the opportunity to interview Fermín Muguruza and in one of his answers he said: "It's clear that the basis of reggae is going to remain firm, because it's been a constant since Kortatu's first album. Reggae will be there in any of its expressions or derivations, of which there are already many". And it's true. Going through Fermín Muguruza's discography, and his groups, forwards or backwards, we come across reggae in different doses, proportions and orientations, but it has been present in all his albums. And in his "solo" stage, in a more prominent way. Now he releases "Euskal Herria Jamaica Clash", a coherent link in his chain of albums, where he accentuates that proportion of reggae, looking more than ever at the classic conception of the genre, but with some mestizo nuances present (rock strength, some Hip Hop drums or the sound of the trikitixa). The album has been recorded in Jamaica and has featured some renowned figures from those lands: U-Roy, Luciano, Lisa Dainjah, Masta Blasta, Yacine, Toots and the I-Threes (the usual female vocal trio in Bob Marley's albums, to which Rita Marley belongs). The new album offers twelve tracks, where, apart from reggae, one can also feel the optimism of the new lights that illuminate the future of the Basque Country ("Euskal Herria Jamaika Clash")... an optimism that is intertwined with descriptions of local customs ("Azoka Eguna"), rebellious spirit ("Mongolian Barbecue", "Basque Xamuraia", "La Fille Du Quartier Populaire"), songs of hope ("Yalah Yalah Ramallah"), a snapshot of a symbolic triumph ("Beamon Jauzia"), criticisms of alienation ("Askatasun Parabolika"), to the dictatorship of the empire ("Plastic Turkey"), a poetic air of rest on music and feelings ("Baxua eta Lurra"), a final instrumental ("Le Mouv Dub") and a luminous and hopeful revision in reggae key of an old song by Kortatu ("La línea del frente"). "Euskal Herria Jamaika Clash. The soundtrack of the present: DREAMS, HOPE, ROOTS, REGGAE." FM-Hop (2006)

The vibrant genre Eurodance originated in the late Eighties in Europe and combines many elements of rap and rich melodic vocals with strong bass rhythms and cutting-edge synthesizers. The 2LP Eurodance Collected compiles the best hits from Eurodance, including Snap! ""Rhythm Is A Dancer"", Technotronic's worldwide smash ""Pump Up The Jam"", catchy sing-a-long self-titled Captain Jack track, Dutch group Vengaboys' ""Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom!!, Belgium's hit-wonder 2 Unlimited's ""No Limit"" plus 22 other guaranteed dancefloor fillers. Eurodance Collected is available on black vinyl and includes an insert.

It’s True What They Say is the debut EP from Edinburgh-based, husband-and-wife duo Sarah/Shaun (pronounced simply Sarah Shaun), aka Sarah and Shaun McLachlan (pronounced “McLochlin”).

“Sarah and I both have a love for nostalgia,” explains Shaun. “We watched that amazing old 80’s Sci-Fi, (John) Carpenter movie, Starman, a few months back. Myself and my brother David used to watch it all the time. We must have been, roughly, 5-7 at the time. I remember loving the movie but the end, you know, with the beautiful, atmospheric, synth ending, I love that particular moment the most - best part of the movie, you know, when he goes home… It’s heartbreaking but stunning, all the same. It’s the music that moves you most… It did when I was 5 and it still does to this day. It must have had some form of a (much deeper) impact on me.”

The duo narrates stories across themes of love, hope, family, friends, dreams and sadness - the good that comes with the bad in everyday life, not just on a personal scale but within a community as well.

“Starbed is the first song I have ever written and just came out of the blue really, with Shaun playing a melody and me singing along,” says Sarah. “It’s simple and just about two people in love. Love songs are always the best songs, after all… Music has been a big part of my life from a young age. I was unwillingly dragged to piano and violin lessons, which I’m thankful for now! I’d say the first band I really became obsessed with growing up were the Beatles, and on the back of that a lot of 60s music and fashion. From then on, I had a love for music.”

“Shaun definitely opened my ears to a lot of sounds and got me thinking about soundtracks and all the noises that can be made,” she goes on. “We love just spending time experimenting in the house with instruments, pedals etc and Ali is a real magician to work with, too…”

The recordings took place over the summers of 2022 and 2023, with fellow Delta Mainline member Ali Chisholm (aka Jaguar Eyes) plus long-term friend and collaborator Gavin King. Further collaboration then came via the ‘net from the (international) likes of Chris Dixie Darley (Father John Misty), Darren Coghill (Neon Waltz) and Daniel Land (The Modern Painters), among others (see a full list of credits below).

Both Sarah and Shaun have a love for uber-soundtrack producers such as Hanz Zimmer, Max Richter, Cliff Martinez plus live acts such as Beach House, Spiritualized, M83, Suicide, Moby and OMD (to name a few). Shaun also credits the work of Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein (from Survive) on the Stranger Things score… “Even a moment in a movie, whether it be just 30 seconds during a particular scene, it grips you,” he says. But there’s something much deeper at play as well. “Music is a healer,” he goes on, “and I write from my own perspective but more so for others. Once I've done my bit, it doesn't belong to me any longer. It belongs to whoever wants it or needs it.”

The result is a cinematic, synth-wavey, dream poppy and downright beguilingly beautiful body of work. And they’re just getting started…

REVIEWS/RADIO/FEEDBACK:

“Starbed is folky, flavoured by pedal steel, cello, and brass. Dust Tears, in stark contrast, is a mini synth-pop rave epic. Part Bicep. Part Human League. Keep Your Eyes Closed summons a mood that’s romantic, but also dark and potentially doomed – like David Lynch’s Twin Peaks meets Cliff Martinez’s Drive score. My pick though is It’s True What They Say, whose interwoven jangle and picking recalls New Order’s more introspective moments (Love Vigilantes, Love Less… ). Drums crashing, cathartic. Guitar raising dramatic arcs. Its chorus a rush, like a reprise of Pains Of Being Pure Of Heart’s ‘Higher Than The Stars’.” BAN BAN TON TON
"Dust Tears sees them sharing vocal duties over a synth foundation reminiscent of Moby’s Go - Artist Of The Week” THE SCOTSMAN
"Woozy pop" NEMONE (Mary Anne Hobbs Morning Show, BBC 6Music)
"Nice one, very David Lynch meets Euro dream pop" YOUTH (Killing Joke, Paul McCartney, U2, The Orb, Spiritualized etc)
"Music sounds killer! Real emotion” DAVID HOLMES
"I’m enjoying it” TIM BRINKHURST aka LONDON (IKLAN, Young Fathers, Callum Easter)
“Oh, this is lovely!” SEAN JOHNSTON (A Love From Outer Space)
"It’s totally my cup of tea with milk and biscuit" BRENT RADEMAKER (Beachwood Sparks/GospelBeach)
"Beautiful, ecstatic electronica! Short and to the point" KEVIN BALES (Spiritualized, Julian Cope, Soulsavers, BE)
"Makes me wanna sit in the sun and sip an Arnold Palmer" CHRIS DIXIE DARLEY (Father John Misty)
“Really beautiful - Cocteau Twins / Spiritualized vibes but has its own thing going on, too - worth checking out!” JULIAN CORRIE (Franz Ferdinand, Miaoux Miaoux)
‘Sounded nice on a sunny day, makes me think of Twin Peaks, nice moods’ EAMON HAMILTON (Sea Power)
"Dealing in nostalgia, no bad thing at all, great to play that (Dust Tears) for you” RODDY HART (BBC Radio Scotland)
“I'll give the vocal tracks a spin before the release." VIC GALLOWAY (BBC Radio Scotland)
"Rather good!" IAIN ANDERSON (BBC Radio Scotland)

CREDITS:

Lyrics, Guitars, Keys, Synths, Drums, Drum Programming, Percussion, Mandolin, Glockenspiel: Shaun McLachlan
Lyrics, Vocals, Keys by Sarah McLachlan
Guitars, Synths, String Arrangements, Drum Programming, Engineering: Jaguar Eyes Percussion/Drums/Effects, Fire Extinguisher: Darren Coghill (Neon Waltz)
Guitars by Daniel Land
Slide Guitar by Chris Dixie Darley (Father John Misty)
Brass by Bruce Michie
Keys, pre-production & engineering on “It’s true what they say”: Gavin King
All produced by Jaguar Eyes and Shaun McLachlan and then mixed at Glasgow’s Chem19 Studios by David McCaulay (From Scotland With Love, Rick Redbeard, BBC TV’s Attenborough and The Mammoth Graveyard score).
Artwork: Jamie Walman (Fourteen Admirals)

MORE INFO:

Although Shaun released a pair of solo singles (When We Dance and Give Your Love To Me) during Lockdown, he will be better known to many via his work as the multi-instrumentalist in Edinburgh band Delta Mainline. With two albums released to date, Oh! Enlightened and Bel Avenir, both rapturously received by fans and critics alike, Delta Mainline have developed an international, cult following. Oh Enlightened (2013) achieved widespread critical acclaim on release, earning the band comparisons to Arcade Fire and Echo & The Bunnymen, while 2019’s Bel Avenir pulled in references to The Flaming Lips, Pink Floyd, David Bowie and krautrock. A third DM album is currently being mixed and due for release later this year…

"Remembering is not the opposite of forgetting," Casey MQ sings at the start of Later that day, the day before, or the day before that, his new LP and Ghostly International debut. It's a phrase fittingly misremembered from something the LA-based, Canadian-born composer came upon as he spiraled into unconscious and subconscious-led writing sessions at the piano. Casey's known for his 2020 breakthrough release babycasey, which gave voice to songs seen through the lens of childhood, various film score work and collaborations with artists such as Oklou (who returns here), Eartheater, and Vagabon. His gifts as a producer and songwriter are rooted in textural world-building and the excavation of personal truth. With Later that day... he questions what is true entirely, understanding our mind's tendency to bend and project onto pictures of the past. Across vivid, baroque pop balladry, Casey MQ reorients his recording project and point of view under the notion that memories are malleable. All the joy, pain, love, and loss housed within remembrance is open to interpretation and deconstruction, which he does deftly, with curiosity and complete artistic freedom. "It's a memory album," Casey puts it simply, winding up for the deeper unpacking, "and it might be a breakup album, too_there are more questions than answers." Engaging his dreams and sitting with sheet music at his newly acquired piano, he looked to new and old inspirations including the works of Claude Debussy, Joni Mitchell, and Joe Hisaishi's beloved Studio Ghibli film scores. "Since I was young, I always wanted to write a piano album." babycasey's studied electronic sound isn't wholly abandoned on Later that day... instead, it comes through like an atmosphere, giving Casey's more spacious, minimal arrangements a distinct luster and sheen. The textures and tones shift from song to song as if mirroring the way our minds constantly recontextualize, remember, and forget. Cathartic opener "Grey Gardens" _ its title derived from a dream abstractly related to the Toronto restaurant, but not the 1975 film, which he cites as another coincidental false memory _ presents the record's plaintive, haunted feeling. "Even if not reading into lyrics, sonically I wanted it to feel like you're being pulled into a universe. Not fantasy or otherworldly per se, something more tangible, of the body and mind," Casey says. "Hearing it back, I realized this track was the key to unlocking it." His tender falsetto hovers above ambient washes and echoed keys, each word falling carefully in the crevices. "Asleep At The Wheel" unfolds on arpeggiated synth before a burst of symphonic color; the synth returns inverted to harmonize with the outro, "I love a car crash, I love a story, I love a memory, I swear it's real..." Casey leans into digital imagination on the warm, introspective "Me I Think I Found It." Subdued, stuttered percussion underscores the singer as he cycles through pixelated imagery _ screenshots, smiles, streetlights _ searching for higher meaning through love. Built on ascendent chord distortions, "Dying Til I'm Born" gives the record one of its boldest pulses of emotion. The back half stretches out; "Is This Only Water" is sparse and foggy, "Baby Voice" is intimate and desperate for something to remain. "Words For Love" grooves on guitar, and "Tennisman9" aches in heartbreak. French musician Marylou Mayniel, aka Oklou, appears as the collection's only guest for the closing duet, "The Make Believe," a bright and buoyant send-off that gives Later that day... both a sense of resolve and cyclical-motion. "We are young, under the sun," they sing together, a parting image brimming with lightness.