Suche:dust layer

Repress!

Echospace Detroit is the label launched by Rod Modell (Deepchord) and Soultek's Steven Hitchell, two leading lights of the minimal dub techno scene. And as with anything Deepchord, the entire release has an air of mystery to it. Previously, as a near-mythical vinyl pressing with minimal packaging and restricted pressings, everything about Vantage Isle was geared toward the underground, or 'those who know.' However, there's nothing but love of craft driving these grooves, and now a lot more people will finally be able to hear this absolutely brilliant collection of spacial dub wonder on CD. Vantage Isle Sessions consists of a whopping 13 takes of the title track, reworked by Modell and Hitchell in various guises (cv313, Deepchord, Echospace, Spacecho), as well as a guest spot (and first ever remix) from Gerard Hanson (Convextion). Across their 13 versions, Modell and Hitchell manage to take the Deepchord template (analog synths, deep bass, gently throbbing beats, bursts of static and noise, and deep, deep chords) into a surprising variety of directions, akin to looking at the same giant glacier from a helicopter from every angle possible: some are beatless and undulating, some are pulsing and dynamic, some are looking up from under the ice and some are towering overhead. The aforementioned Convextion version is revelatory. It's built on cascading and echoing pieces of the original that are layered like shifting sands, for a distinctly dark and shimmering journey to the bottom of the frozen ocean and back. It's remarkable enough to get all these takes on one basic template to sound somewhat different, given that the source material is really just a skeletal array of sound sheets. Vantage Isle Sessions is for anyone looking for the logical successors to the Basic Channel throne, or just looking for something mellow for those steamy late summer nights. A stone-cold classic of the genre. Don't miss it." -Todd Hutlock, Stylus Magazine/Beatz by the Pound

"Steeped in mystery, Detroit musicians Rod Modell and Mike Schommer (aka Deepchord) are legendary for their hard to find twelve-inch dub techno releases. Their sound is heavily influenced by Berlin dub techno producers like Maurizio, Basic Channel, Chain Reaction, Rhythm & Sound, Blue Train and Pole. While the German sound often has a futuristic metallic edge, Deepchord are known more for the rust and grease, which is part and parcel of those metal parts. Static, analog sounds, deep bass thumps and, of course, deep chords blend in a timeless minimal manner. However, the real gems on this disc are the drifty ambient cuts devoid of beats. This is an excellent album that is on par with the classics from a decade ago!" -Exclaim


"In terms of ambient dub, if Basic Channel is the Father (the source, remote and inaccessible and very powerful) and Pole is the Son (dazzling but ultimately stranded halfway between man and the divine), than Rod Modell’s Deepchord and his Echospace label he run with Steve Hitchell is definitely the Holy Spirit." -Popmatters


"Deepchord’s dub-techno stealthily peels away melody, leaving a bare chassis of beats to ghost-ride down Woodward Avenue. Vantage Isle Sessions, which collects remixes of a 2002 Detroit Electronic Music Festival performance, finds the duo swerving through empty, neon-smeared streets, and recalls Berlin’s Chain Reaction label, minus the anemic minimalism." -XLR8R

"The album scales a magnificent peak in “Spacecho Dub II - Extended Mix” when smeary chords ricochet over a massively deep, bass-heavy pulse, and Hanson's light-speed missile of vaporous propulsion (“Convextion Remix”) is beautiful too.
Long may they run." -Textura

‘Vantage Isle’ is a tremendous achievement that will most likely be held up as a high water mark of the genre for years to come." -Resident Advisor

"My favorite mix is by Convextion (his first remix for another artist). Reedy, distant synth tones sound like a science fiction soundtrack overheard rooms away. An undercurrent of echoes, many difficult to describe, drift in a sonic syrup." -Gridface

"Modell’s music always seems to be in this suspended animation, adrift and afloat in a majestic emptiness." -Dusted Mag

CREDITS:
Written & Produced by Deepchord. Redesigned and Reshaped by Convextion (Gerard Hanson) cv313 (Stephen Hitchell) echospace / spacecho (Rod Modell + Stephen Hitchell)
Additional Mastering, Mixing and Engineering by Ron Murphy @ NSC Mastering, Detroit, USA. Side E/F Remastering and Lacquer cutting by Dietrich @ Complete, NYC, USA. (2018)

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.

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.

Capturing phantom drones behind dusty beats and haunted twangs, Ellis Swan and James Schimpl return for their third album as Dead Bandit. Locked into a musical language unique to their collaboration, the duo once again put us out to pasture across broad sonic plains, drums flapping like loose fence panels in the prairie breeze and bass rumbling like distant thunder. True to their previous two records, Swan and Schimpl keep the strung out guitars at the front of what they do, whether playing a naked, desolate strum or running six strings through disruptive effects processing until they're barely recognisable.
But while there are details of disturbance when listening to Dead Bandit's self-titled record up close, the wider impression is a smoother, more direct affair that toys with post-rock complexity and matches it with the emotional weight of melodic simplicity, gentle grooves and conscious arrangements. 'Weeds' offsets its languid fuzz guitar with shimmering sustained notes before settling into a patient, heavy-hearted composition charged with heartbreak leads pealing out in the middle distance.
By comparison, 'Glass' has a smoky, half-hidden backroom quality. Its brushed whisper of a beat, lingering guitar drones and subtle sub bass come on like a dub wise flip of a sad-eyed country ballad. The mood maintains on 'Half Smoked Cigarette', which captures the grey sky sullenness of post-punk and reframes it in the seductive isolation of rural America. While there's a thickness to the sound on these most direct of tracks on the album, there's also fragility inherent to the sound world Dead Bandit have been shaping out over these past few years.
'Buttercup' swaps sadness for sinister undercurrents, once more drawing on fulsome low end to fill out the sparse threads of instrumentation up top. 'Pink' finds a steady momentum for its own brand of brooding mystery, the sharp end of the beat bringing focus to the many-layered approaches to the guitar which roundly define the Dead Bandit sound. There's an even clearer direction mapped out in the vintage drum machine pulse of 'Koyo', all the better to carry swirling effects treatments and moody melodic figures. Even in these ominous climes there's space for plaintive, endearing hooks which land as the most direct phrases in Dead Bandit's musical lexicon to date.
The fundamental sound across this album holds true, but Dead Bandit are never bound to a singular practice. 'Lucien's Bitters' strikes up a pronounced drum machine beat which comes on like 90s downtempo, and it feels like a natural vessel for the heavy, shoegaze tinted lament of the guitars. At every turn, Swan and Schimpl prove their affinity for all kinds of approaches, and yet the end product is a deeply cohesive, immediate listen that shows just how clear their creative vision really is.

"At the end of the day, a new one begins. Sometimes dust covers the wounded human spirits, nebulizing their ambitious world with melancholy from some far place. Today we met and melded our emotions. Improvisation is the art of becoming sound. Loose lyrics on Hollywood dreams, galaxy economy, and algorithm poetry, banned and warped in drama industrial, synth-journey-music, ghost pop, anger electronics, and analogue deserts. Improvised recording sessions for epochs where head liquefies the concrete. It’s all about fashion, now, that we have recession. Dressed to kill with murder fabrics. The anger of the machines. The happiness in their language. Inkasso & ML asked themselves"

Up In Her Room are delighted to announce their first release of 2025, and a return to the label from Oli Heffernan, aka Ivan the Tolerable!

10 new chunks of lo-fi instrumental library-hop - recorded in 2 days in Summer 2024, ‘Nocturnes’ is the first ITT album of 2025, and the first one made solo by Heffernan since ‘Wild Nature’ in 2019.

Known for his genre-defying and boundary-pushing approach to music, Heffernan – who has spent years experimenting with various styles, instruments and production techniques has crafted a collection of tracks that defy categorization. The new album is a sonic tapestry of atmospheric library music, dusty hip-hop beats, and the organic, unfiltered essence of field recordings, all neatly packaged up into a format that allows each element space to breathe.

‘Nocturnes’ weaves intricate layers of samples, loops, and live instrumentation, combining elements of hip-hop, dub, jazz, and electronic music, all while maintaining a sense of urban cinematic flair.

The album is released by Up In Her Room on limited edition black heavyweight vinyl

Loyle Carner will release his highly anticipated sophomore record, 'Not Waving, But Drowning' on 19 April via AMF Records.

'Not Waving, But Drowning' follows Loyle's BRIT (Best Male, Best Newcomer) and Mercury Prize nominated, top 20 debut 'Yesterday's Gone'. The bedrock of honest and raw sentimentality that you heard on 'Yesterday's Gone' left an inextinguishable mark on music in general and UK Hip Hop in particular, standing out as an ageless, bulletproof debut.

'Not Waving, But Drowning', Loyle's new album, gives yet more evidence - as if it were needed - of his razor-sharp flow and his unique storytelling ability. Yes, he can rap, but he allies that with the sensitivity of a poet, the observational skills of a novelist, and warmth of your best friend. The album opens with 'Dear Jean', a letter to his mother in which he's telling her that he has found the love of his life, 'a woman from the skies', and he's moving out.

It goes without saying that Loyle's music is hard to categorise, but what is even more impressive is that for someone who grew up listening to Mos Def, Biggie Smalls, Roots Manuva, and Wu Tang Clan, he doesn't sound like any of them. Although he might from time to time give lyrical nods to them, he's no imitator.

Loyle loves cooking. There are two tracks on this album named after chefs. The British-Israeli chef Yotam Ottolenghi, and the now deceased Italian chef Antonio Carluccio. 'Ottolenghi' the first single from the album was featured on the BBC Radio 1 B-list, BBC 6 Music A-list and has already been streamed over 5 million times.

Loyle refers to real life for everything, the title of 'Yesterday's Gone' came from a song of his step father, the title of his new album 'Not Waving, But Drowning' comes from a poem by his grandfather, which in turn came from a Stevie Smith poem. What you hear on the track 'Krispy' is real. He is pouring his heart out to his best friend Rebel Kleff after their relationship went downhill, he invites him on the track to say his piece but he doesn't turn up, so we get a flugel solo instead.

Loyle also has his own personal black consciousness movement. When he refers to his 'fathers' in the track 'Looking Back' he really is referring to two fathers. His biological father, a black man who he knows, but knows very little of, and his step father, a poet and musician who happens to be a white man but died a sudden unexpected death from epilepsy (SUDEP). With no real emotional ties to his biological father, but a deep connection with a deceased step-father, where does a young child turn He succinctly captures many of the great, unspoken, cultural and historical paradoxes of multicultural Britain on 'Looking Back'.

An album like this is hard to find. It is for those who like their Hip Hop to have soul, and their soul to have spirit. This is because it works on so many levels, but it is reflecting the personality of its creator. There are a host of collaborators here, Jorja Smith, Rebel Kleff, Kiko Bun, Kwes, Jordan Rakei, Sampha, Tom Misch and more, but none are overpowering. They blend righteously into place.
Loyle is not bitter with people who have let him down, or a society that lets so many down, but the combination of anger and love he has gives his voice the perfect blend of strength and vulnerability. This might be a coming of age album, but it's also a coming of ageless album. Loyle's 2019 Spring tour - which includes London's Roundhouse - sold out within 20 minutes of being on sale.

Not Waving, But Drowning



A rapper that raps about family is hard to find. The boys in the 'hood' tend not to be that interested in how much a 'brother' loves his mother, or how much he misses his dad, or even how much he misses his best friend. The boys in the 'hood' tend to be obsessed with the size of their cars, girls, bank accounts, and other personal 'possessions'. Loyle Carner's Mercury and BRIT Prize nominated debut 'Yesterday's Gone' (Released 2017), made it clear that he wasn't that kind of rapper. In fact, every time I talk to him about his work we talk about the world, and we tended to confuse ourselves by calling his work rap, poems, or songs, sometimes in the same sentence. They are in truth all of these things.



Here's some poetry.



Honestly I need them.

I hate them but I grieve them

I think I've finally found the reason

Trust

Like the fire needs the air.

I won't burn unless you're there.





'Not Waving, But Drowning', Loyle's forthcoming new album, gives us yet more evidence, (if it were needed), that he still has what rappers call, flow, but he hasn't lost any of his story telling qualities. Yes, the boy can rap, but a rapper with the sensitivity of a true poet, the observational skills of a novelist, and warmth of your best friend. The album opens with 'Dear Jean', a letter to his mother in which he's telling her that he has found the love of his life, (a woman from the skies), and he's moving out. He really loves the woman from the skies, but he still loves his mum, and so he reassures her that there is no competition, and tells her that 'She's not behind me or behind you, but beside we and beside two', his words. Or to put it another way, moving out without moving out. My words.



It goes without saying that Loyle's music is hard to categorise, but what is even more impressive is that for someone who grew up listening to Mos Def, Biggie Smalls, Roots Manuva, and Wu Tang Clan, he doesn't sound like any of them. Although he might from time to time give lyrical nods to them, he's no imitator. He says finding his own voice was something he always found easy. Although young, (in terms of a musical career), he has confidence in his own words and his own voice, and has never been tempted to sound like he's been hanging out in the USA, or rolling in 'Grime' on the mean streets of East London. And so when it comes to the creative process he doesn't simply find a beat to jump on and ride. Beats are important, but they are tenderly layered with samples, keyboards, or live drums, all imaginatively assembled for the laying on of words. Some tracks start with the idea, some with poetry, and some with a verse from a singer or some other melodic inspiration, but there is no formula.



Here's some poetry.



Don't hold any memories of us

Rather hold you everyday until the memories are dust

Yo we only caught the train

Cos you know I hate the bus





A prolific reader, who has dyslexia is hard to find. Add ADHD (Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder) to that and life should become even more difficult. To deal with your difficulties you devise coping strategies, which can differ from person to person. Loyle loves cooking. There are two tracks on this album named after chefs. The British-Israeli chef Ottolenghi, and the now deceased Italian chef Antonio Carluccio. Loyle describes himself as 'weird' because he is happy to read a cookbook as if he was reading a novel or a book of poetry. He has opened a cookery school for young adults not just because he loves food and wants to make more of it, but because it is one of the few things that can focus the ADHD mind. And when it comes to his other love, football, his approach is the same. Focus. He wanted to be a striker he says, up front scoring goals, but found his best position was in midfield because he was able to focus, check options, and see passes ahead of time, providing passes for other players just when they needed them. He says, 'You don't grow out of ADHD, you grow into it.' Loyle is also working with Levi's® on their music project where he is mentoring young musicians over a six month period, culminating at Liverpool Sound City festival.



More poetry.



When the going is tough

I wait till it falls on deaf ears

Hearsay

Without the boundaries of love



He also said, 'Ask most people and they will say that they love their mothers, but most are not going to rap about her'. On his first album Loyle's mum Jean wrote about the 'scribble of a boy' that growing up would take things apart to see how they worked. On this album she speaks with pride about a man who has found his place in the world.



Yes, poetry.



I'm still looking for the answers

Trying to find the right questions

Still waiting for my fathers

But can't break them in to sections



This poetry is serious. Loyle has his own personal black consciousness movement. He told me that he always felt safe at home, and being the darkest one in the family never meant a thing, but then when he had to face the outside world he felt hostility. It shook him up. Now he had to start asking questions, but what were the questions. This is serious. When he refers to his 'fathers' in the verse above taken from the track 'Looking Back' he really is referring to two fathers. His biological father, a black man who he knows, but knows very little of, and his step father, a poet and musician who happens to be a white man but died a sudden unexpected death from epilepsy (SUDEP). So to whom would a young black (or mixed race) kid turn He succinctly captures many of the great, unspoken, cultural and historical paradoxes of multicultural Britain when he says, 'My great grandfather could of owned my other one.' We are a people descended from enslaved people on one hand, and enslavers on the other, something we are still struggling to come to terms with, and this can be apparent in one family. A big book could have told you that, but here we get it in one line on the track, Looking Back.





Loyle refers to real life for everything. The album is peppered with captured moments that he records on his phone. These moments can range from conversations with taxi drivers, to capturing the moment when England scores a goal in the world cup. The title of 'Yesterday's Gone' came from a song of his step father, the title of his new album 'Not Waving but Drowning' comes from a poem by his grandfather, which in turn came from a Stevie Smith poem. What you hear on the track 'Krispy' is real. He is pouring his heart out to his best friend after their relationship went downhill, he invites him on the track to say his piece but he doesn't turn up, so we get a flugel solo instead. Yes people, this is real.



An album like this is hard to find. It is for those who like their Hip Hop to have soul, and their soul to have spirit, this is an album for those who have, (I'm sorry, I'm going to say it), emotional intelligence. This is because it works on so many levels, but it is reflecting the personality of its creator. There are a host of collaborators here, Jorja Smith, Rebel Kleff, Kiko Bun, Jordan Rakei, Sampha, Tom Misch and more, but none are overpowering. They blend righteously into place. Loyle is not bitter with people who have let him down, or the society that has let him down, but the combination of anger and love he has gives his voice the perfect blend of strength and vulnerability. This might be a coming of age album, but it's also a coming of ageless album. His first album worked, and this second album is a continuation of that work. Not creating a form, but being formless, as someone like Bruce Lee once said.

And here's some poetry from mum.



We talked long in to the darkest hours

Until we saw the burnished sky

And our eyes stung

As our words blurred and became thoughts

As we were silenced by the dawn

We clung to each other like sailors in a storm

The influence of the UK’s Steel City on electronic music is well documented and undisputed and continues to push the envelope with key figures such as Winston Hazel (Forgemasters, The Step), DJ Parrot/Crooked Man, Richard Benson (RAC, SWAG, Altern 8), Chris Duckenfield (RAC, Popular Peoples Front, SWAG, All Ears Distribution), a thriving underground club scene and the likes of Synaptic Voyager reinforcing the city’s rich musical legacy.

Matt White and Paul Baines have been making off-kilter, emotive, late night electronic jams since meeting in the early 90’s and while life took them on different paths for a while, they have recently blown the thick layer of dust from their synths and drum machines and got busy in the studio to create some amazing new music which draws influence from that classic UK techno sound which played such an important part in the development of dance music culture around the world. With recent releases on Frame Of Mind, Acquit and Telomere Plastic the duo are clearly on a roll, wearing the heritage of their city on their sleeve and delivering what can only be described as heartfelt, authentic machine music made with love and soul.

From the opening beats of lead track Dawn Till Dusk we are drawn in to another place which feels comfortably familiar yet organic, fluid and loose in a way that tugs on the heartstrings. A million miles from cookie-cutter tech house, this is two guys in a bedroom studio, digging deep on hardware machines to create a sound to get completely lost in. Lonely Promontory takes things deeper still with immersive pads, taught electro beats and blissed-out melodic lines which give just hint of optimism and recall those beloved sounds of B12, Redcell and Likemind.

Flipping over we have Stellar Engine which goes a littler heavier on the beats and bass whilst still retaining a floating quality, once again highlighting the hardware jam workflow that Synaptic Voyager utilise in their studio. Once Exposed takes us back to those heady days of the early 90’s when techno, house and ambient electronics combined to create a heady blend of deep atmospherics and driving beats which could work on both dance floors and car stereos alike. Rounding off the EP we have Cognitive Network which goes for a straighter four on the floor techno groove and a killer bassline to lose yourself in. These recordings were delivered to the label in unedited long form (some tracks totalling 15 minutes or more in length!) which Jimpster lovingly edited into the versions which you hear on this release.

Hypnotism I is a new album from Foundation that the artist himself says has been a cherished part of his work since shortly after his previous work Mountain Ambient IV. We're told that its creation was a slow, immersive process that unfolded over months, with each layer evolving patiently. By composing intuitively, the album emerged naturally to reflect a glacial depth and subconscious growth. Its four pieces are all richly layered soundscapes with wispy melodies and dusty drones that sink you in deep and free your mind of all woes.

Jacob Long’s fourth full-length for Kranky began as a notion to reimagine Earthen Sea as a “piano trio,” inspired by a year-long immersion in the ECM label catalog, but the compositions soon grew more complex.

Elements were chopped and resampled, then layered with bass, drums, percussion, and additional keys. The result is a fusion of live band acoustics and downtempo loops, sculpted into nine smoke-and-mirror dubs of fractured jazz, soft-focus noir, and trip-hop dust: Recollection.

Like the title implies, Long’s playing and production share a mood of pensive movement, shuffling and rippling like uncertain memories at strange hours.

From looming fog (“Present Day,” “Neon Ruins”) and shadowy breaks (“Another Space,” “Cloudy Vagueness”) to rosy glows (“Clear Photograph”) and smeared reverie (“White Sky”), Recollection deftly wields its palette of gradient color and subdued states of beauty.

His is a music of reduction and reflection, kinetic but oblique, attuned to the silhouettes of sound.

Detroit innovator and singular soundsmith Theo Parrish returns with a new EP which we're told is his response to "stagnation and nonmovement" either physiologically, mentally or physically. 'Positive Mental Attitude Solves All' is up first and is a tribute to the late great funk-father Amp Fiddler. It's a typically deep cut with dusty drums and irregular, scruffy percussive lines layered in next to diffuse synth warmth and soulful melodies. 'Traffic Jams' plays with similar signature themes and is sure to loosen up mind, body and soul. Another standout bit of work from the venerable Motor City man.

Who is Isabelle Lewis, anyway?

What kind of music does she make? Is she an opera singer? Does she write pop songs? Does she compose ethereal ambient soundscapes? Does she play chamber music on the violin? Is she producing dark, electronic beats?

Well… yes. But Isabelle Lewis is not so much a person as a project. Isabelle’s debut album, Greetings, credits a trio of composer–performers at its heart: producer Valgeir Sigurðsson, vocalist Benjamin Abel Meirhaeghe, and violinist Elisabeth Klinck. The sound of the elusive Isabelle Lewis is heard most clearly in the push and pull between them, the three-way tension that gives the album its musical and emotional drive.

Each of the three brings more to the collaboration than those epithets might imply. Elisabeth’s solo performance practice incorporates composition, improvisation, live electronics, and a close command of bowing and fingering techniques that make her fiddle sing, whisper or whistle as required. Benjamin is a self-taught countertenor - keening, crooning, and swelling to a voluptuous sensuality—but also an interdisciplinary stage director and performer. Well known for his work as a producer and studio collaborator, and as a composer of scores for film and stage, Valgeir’s solo discography interweaves meticulously crafted electronics, drones, noise, and other digital elements with acoustic instruments and vocals recorded with naked, unflinching clarity.

But the extravagant theatricality Benjamin brings to the aptly titled “Drama”—also featuring a heroic violin solo from Elisabeth—grapples against the thudding bass of the implacable digital backdrop. On “Mother, Shelter Me” Valgeir’s austere and detailed production throws the hushed violin and vocals into stark relief. The result is an exquisitely uncanny juxtaposition of past and present, human and mechanical, like a Rococo treasure viewed under cold fluorescent lights, or an 18th-century automaton slowly opening its clockwork eyes.

Even the lyrics seem somehow out of time. On “O Solitude,” Benjamin goes so far as to quote an entire song by the first great English opera composer, Henry Purcell, verbatim. No stranger to Purcell’s music, which has made its way into Benjamin’s theatrical productions as well, here Isabelle Lewis removes Purcell’s melodies and harmonies and sets the text, Katherine Phillips’s 17th century translation of a poem by Antoine Girard de Saint-Amant, to new music whose heightened, archaic character nevertheless seems haunted by Baroque ghosts.

Throughout the album, the outsized emotions and timeless archetypes of Benjamin’s lyrics feel like relics from some half-forgotten past—from the neatly rhymed couplets of “Fisherman,” a seemingly straightforward (but still somewhat askew) character study, to the abstraction of “Moonshell,” whose words seem like the fragments of some ancient, lost lament. It is just another of many ways in which Isabelle Lewis carefully distorts the listener’s notions of time. On a more micro level, time can stop for a moment of weightless, drifting ambience, and then plunge forward as the cloud of harmonies suddenly lock into tempo with the drop of the bass or the change of a chord. Or else that weightless moment is allowed to be, as in the aptly named prologue and epilogue to these Greetings (“Voicemail”/“…and farewell”), or in the interstitial tracks that bind the album together, connecting its dramatic peaks with expanses of meditative stasis.

The album as a whole is elegantly shaped, swelling from an intimate, interpersonal statement into something deeper and more spacious. The first half of the album leans slightly towards self-contained pop songcraft and ticking beats, while side B jumps off from “O Solitude” into the almost symphonic grandeur of songs like “Moonshell” or the instrumental “Not the water, air, or the dirt.”

But as it progresses, the contrasts only grow more sublime: antique and postmodern, human and machinelike. The ominous weight of the droning sub-bass and trombone (guest player Helgi Hrafn Jónsson) only makes the interplay between vocals and violins (guest player Daniel Pioro joining Elisabeth) seem more delicate and vulnerable. The ethereal string tremolos of “Moonshell” seem to pull against the heavy, shuddering electronics and layers of crooning vocals.

And that, in short, is where you will find Isabelle Lewis. Like an ancient stone archway, or a delicate house of cards, the architecture of Greetings is held together by the tension between opposing forces. Not just in Elisabeth’s playing, Benjamin’s singing, or Valgeir’s arrangements and production but in the conflict and contrast that generates the synergy between them.

Oh—Isabelle says hi, by the way. She’s looking forward to meeting you.

Maai proudly presents a split EP featuring two distinguished Barcelona based talents. On the A side, the Peruvian trio of JJ Beteta, Alonso Bauer and Stefan Cukic delivers a dynamic array of tracks. "Layers" kicks off with an energetic blend of dusty breaks, setting the vibe for the EP. Following this, "Go The Data" takes over with its driving acid bassline, strong rhythm, for a dark and hypnotic vibe. The trio wraps up their side with "Wonky Afthermath," a subtle yet funky combination of deep, groovy elements and breaks that keeps the energy flowing.

On the B side, Canarian artist Javier Carballo, performing under his Look Perry alias, offers a captivating contrast. "I Can't Love U" introduces a track enriched with otherworldly pads and synths, creating an immersive sonic environment. The EP concludes with "Stone Pilots", which takes listeners on a smooth journey through intricate breaks, providing a perfect counterpoint to the A side’s energetic flair. This split EP showcases a rich tapestry of local talent and diverse electronic sounds.

Using a variety of tape stocks, Black Swan creates a haunting atmosphere that evokes the sensation of uncovering long-lost, sacred recordings hidden in time on his ninth album, Ghost.

The New York-based artist reveals that he was inspired by musique concrete and ambient while making the record, which is made up of 20 pieces that all form a continuous suite. Each track varies in length and complexity from short and sweet sketches to more elongated studies and that are made from intense layering and harmonic surges using an array of tape stocks.

The result is a haunting, unearthly atmosphere that sounds perfect in this cassette format.

Austrian electronic music producer Peter Kalcic, better known as B.Visible, is set to release his third studio album titled "Life is my Hobby" on October 10th through his own imprint, Data Snacks.
This new album sees B.Visible continuing to blend genres, drawing inspiration from the trip-hop sounds of the 90s, the R&B of the 80s, and mellow house music. True to his signature style, he maintains a balanced mix of acoustic drum sounds, electric pianos, and shimmering synths.
Unlike his previous works, the creation process for "Life is my Hobby" extended beyond the traditional studio setting. Much of the album was crafted in his newly moved apartment and various cafes in Vienna's 5th district. His collaboration partners were close to home, literally-Anda Reverie and Silvia Ponce Marti, his upstairs and downstairs neighbors, respectively, feature as vocalists on the album.
Silvia Ponce Marti's contribution for instance is featured on the track "Ella," which addresses the sensitive issue of the hyper-sexualization of the female body in today's society. She also created a stunning mixed media video for the song, which can be viewed here.
Anda Reverie appears on the track "Bad Karma," portraying an alien questioning the moral implications of humanity's destruction. The music video for this song brings the scenario to life with dreamy environments and unsettling projections.
B.Visible describes the album's creation as guided by causality, resulting in a less experimental and more accessible sound-his closest encounter with pop music to date. Asked about the title he keeps quite. The listener is encouraged to form their own opinion from the impressions.


BIO (EN)
Viennese producer B.Visible is always pushing his craft forward, with each concept being an evolution. His music is mutating organically as each project brings novelty, but always while blending sharp electronic components with dusty acoustic layers. That duality exists in every aspect of his creative journey, with DJ sets revolving around second-hand records and modern-day productions, but also his live project offering a whole new dimension and generosity to the audience. B.Visible melts the barrier between analog and digital in a such distinctive and elegant way that it feels natural.

Over a catalog of six albums, Native Harrow have produced a discography of “rich, engrossing records” and “instant classics” while single-mindedly following their own artistic code, acquiescing only to the exigence of the song: each song its own world with its own rules.

Formed a decade ago, Native Harrow spent their first five or six years crisscrossing the United States and Canada on numerous tours, averaging more than 150 concerts per year in 47 states and 4 provinces, on the back of two self-released albums, Ghost (2015) and Sorores (2017). In 2019, they released Happier Now, partnering with London alt-country stalwarts Loose Records. The record garnered glowing reviews, with Rough Trade selecting it for its album of the month, writing “Beautifully soaring... rolling grooves ground languid and dreamy clearwater shimmers of sound.” The critical acclaim and Americana chart success of the album prompted three back-to-back UK tours in 2019 and early 2020, ultimately leading to a three-year stint living and touring in the UK and Europe. In this time, Native Harrow released two more critically acclaimed records with Loose; Closeness (2020) and Old Kind of Magic (2022), playing for audiences ranging from rock clubs in Norway and Sweden to opera halls in Portugal, and every stop in-between, as well as performing at festivals such as BST Hyde Park (supporting the Eagles and Robert Plant & Alison Kraus), Greenman Festival, Black Deer Festival, The Great Escape, Celtic Connections, Moseley Folk Festival, SXSW, and many more.

Following the eruption of its title track, Side A of “Divided Kind” transitions nimbly through hazy tremolo-laden dusty canyons, past an intimate soulful love letter, and towards a moody anthem of devotion buoyed by propulsive grooves, before ultimately settling on a gentle bird’s-eye-view of love and transcendence. Side B opens with the debut single, “Goin’ Nowhere” a soul transmission over incendiary bass and undulating layers of guiro, congas, tambourines, shakers, and handclaps that sidesteps into moments of infinite dial-toned burnished, Rhodes-propelled soul-jazz and self-assured blues rock à gogo before ending in a spectral folk reading on celestial meditation.

“Divided Kind” was produced and recorded by the pair, in their home studio surrounded by the vintage acoustic and electric guitars, dusty semi-functional amplifiers, and out-of-date Rhodes, B3, piano, and assorted percussion they’ve grown accustomed to. Chicago-based Alex Hall was again drafted to add drums and to mix, and Philadelphia drummer and engineer Joshua Friedman mastered the record. London-based musician Joe Harvey-Whyte added the pedal steel to “Borrowing Time”, with all other voices and instruments being performed by Tuel and Harms.

2024 repress

Rush Hour’s RSS series excels in unearthing buried treasure, offering a second chance for artists and releases that have long been overlooked. That’s certainly the case with ‘Witches’, the superb sole single by British 1980s wave trio Zenana.

Originally released on seven-inch by the tiny PRM label in 1986, ‘Witches’ was the product of a sister-brother songwriting team whose music was mostly recorded in the front room of a terraced house in Nanpean, a small industrial village in Cornwall, England’s most south-westerly county. While the single was infectious, impeccably produced and dancefloor-ready, it sold in limited quantities at the time.

Zenana’s story can be traced back to the early 1980s, when singer-songwriter Anita Tedder founded the all-female trio as a vehicle for her musical ambitions. To bring her songs to life, she joined voices with her brother Mike, an early adopter of electronic music who had built a studio – nicknamed MFR, short for ‘Mike’s Front Room’ – in his Cornish home.

Countless Zenana tracks were recorded at ‘MFR’ between 1984 and ’86, with the resultant demo cassette securing the band a management contract, a slew of live bookings, a video shoot and even a television appearance. Buoyed by this underground success, they headed to the remote Sawmills Studio in Cornwall – famously only accessible by boat – to re-record ‘Witches’, a song inspired by local folk tales of witches gathering near Mike’s home.

While this version of ‘Witches’ failed to make an impact at the time, it has become something of a cult classic following its’ rediscovery by crate digger Kiernan Abbott – and subsequent championing by other dusty-fingered DJs including Antal, Skyrager, Trevor Jackson and Luke Una – in early 2023. The buzz inspired Zenana to perform live again for the first time in decades, with the story of their surprise comeback being covered by British media outlets including the BBC and (more surprisingly) the Daily Mail.

Now presented in re-mastered form, ‘Witches’ is a genuinely slept-on gem. Propelled forwards by punchy drum machine beats, a killer synth bassline and fizzing keyboard sounds, the song benefits greatly from strong vocals and an extra-percussive middle eight layered with vocalisations, cosmic spoken word sections and swirling noises.

It comes backed by a brand-new extended ‘spell of love’ courtesy of Bristol duo Bedmo Disco, AKA music journalist Matt Anniss (author of Join The Future: Bleep Techno and the Birth of British Bass Music) and DJ/production partner Gareth Morgan. Anniss is a long-time friend of Mike and Anita Tedder who has fond memories of visiting Mike’s home studio with his family around the time that ‘Witches’ was recorded.

Working from Zenana’s original MFR eight-track recording (tapes of the single version were lost years ago), Anniss and Morgan have turned in the extended ‘dance mix’ the track never had first time around. More atmospheric, clandestine and dancefloor-focused, it offers authentic nods to New York proto-house, mid-80s Shep Pettibone dubs, and the pioneering synth-pop productions and dub mixes of Factory Records regular Martin Rushent.

While Duster went into hibernation in the year 2000, Clay Parton's four-track never stopped rolling. Recorded alone at home over several years, Birds In The Ground is an album of 30-something, post-9/11 malaise. Under his Eiafuawn (Everything Is All Fucked Up And What Not) acronym, Parton hides beneath layers of fuzzy and clean guitars, his hesitant, cottony vocal disappear into noise. This deluxe pressing is packaged in a gorgeous tip on sleeve and includes the complete lyrics for this cryptic entry of the Dusterverse.

Crack Cloud has always been something beyond a rock band: both profound and grand, vaporous and elusive. The first iteration of Crack Cloud was formed nearly a decade ago as a proxy-rehab outlet on the fringes of Calgary. Over time, two EPs and accompanying visual pieces were produced out of the residence known as Red Mile. By 2017, several members had relocated to Vancouver, working out of harm reduction centers and low-barrier shelters. Sobriety, self-reformation and the idealism of their work further formed an ethos for Crack Cloud. It was during these years that the band produced their astounding 2020 album Pain Olympics. At once, their vision became expansive, cinematic. Now, Red Mile is a bit of a homecoming. Members have returned to Calgary. But Calgary/home has become a liminal space, a place of flux. After a decade of personal and collective growth, what does home even mean? Red Mile is, for them, something like samsara: a return and a rebirth. Red Mile's sound breathes expansive energy into the circuitous, street bound sonics of Crack Cloud's prior material. Fizzling synths intertwine with chiming pianos. Songs layer like Russian nesting dolls; one may find a Ramones chorus set within a desolate Western prog soundtrack only to watch it erupt into a joyous anthem. Real-ass guitars _ alternately lilting, scuzzy and soaring _ ring out across wide sun-bleached spaces. In 2024, the cumulative effect is (in rock instrumentation terms) naturalistic. Any whiff of embalmed nostalgia is absent. Even the close of the album - a winding, almost Jerry Garcia guitar noodle that leads us out of Red Mile - is delivered without sentimentality. Principal songwriter Zach Choy's lyrics are cutting but merciful, with a sharp self-awareness that never slides into self-satisfaction. Crack Cloud as artists are critical _ and ultimately as forgiving _ of themselves as they are the melting world around them. The songs balance an easy charm and cathartic power: affirming life without denying death. Recorded predominantly between the outskirts of Joshua Tree California, and Calgary, Alberta, this record is informed by a bittersweet mélange of old and new. The sprawling, novelistic structures of their previous albums are condensed and sharpened, while maintaining their refusal to delve into superficiality. Through playful melodies and elliptical guitar soliloquy, they deliver a final product of exceptional depth and distinctly unprecious warmth. Crack Cloud have produced a mature, vital work that interrogates the platitudes of the rock-n-roll lifestyle, but ultimately exalts its sacredness. Red Mile's de facto thesis statement "The Medium" is itself a rock song meditation: an ode to the form and its practitioners. This genre that _ typical, repeatable, corporatized as it can be _ somehow still has the power to help us live through life. We see the dusty sentiment of "I love rock and roll" exhumed, taken apart, and stitched back together. It's a song guided by faith _ if the medium helps us proclaim our love today, it's worth protecting from derision tomorrow. We live in an era where music seems to love hitting its head against the wall. Crack Cloud's Red Mile is the sound _ the feeling! _ of the bricks giving way.

Crack Cloud has always been something beyond a rock band: both profound and grand, vaporous and elusive. The first iteration of Crack Cloud was formed nearly a decade ago as a proxy-rehab outlet on the fringes of Calgary. Over time, two EPs and accompanying visual pieces were produced out of the residence known as Red Mile. By 2017, several members had relocated to Vancouver, working out of harm reduction centers and low-barrier shelters. Sobriety, self-reformation and the idealism of their work further formed an ethos for Crack Cloud. It was during these years that the band produced their astounding 2020 album Pain Olympics. At once, their vision became expansive, cinematic. Now, Red Mile is a bit of a homecoming. Members have returned to Calgary. But Calgary/home has become a liminal space, a place of flux. After a decade of personal and collective growth, what does home even mean? Red Mile is, for them, something like samsara: a return and a rebirth. Red Mile's sound breathes expansive energy into the circuitous, street bound sonics of Crack Cloud's prior material. Fizzling synths intertwine with chiming pianos. Songs layer like Russian nesting dolls; one may find a Ramones chorus set within a desolate Western prog soundtrack only to watch it erupt into a joyous anthem. Real-ass guitars _ alternately lilting, scuzzy and soaring _ ring out across wide sun-bleached spaces. In 2024, the cumulative effect is (in rock instrumentation terms) naturalistic. Any whiff of embalmed nostalgia is absent. Even the close of the album - a winding, almost Jerry Garcia guitar noodle that leads us out of Red Mile - is delivered without sentimentality. Principal songwriter Zach Choy's lyrics are cutting but merciful, with a sharp self-awareness that never slides into self-satisfaction. Crack Cloud as artists are critical _ and ultimately as forgiving _ of themselves as they are the melting world around them. The songs balance an easy charm and cathartic power: affirming life without denying death. Recorded predominantly between the outskirts of Joshua Tree California, and Calgary, Alberta, this record is informed by a bittersweet mélange of old and new. The sprawling, novelistic structures of their previous albums are condensed and sharpened, while maintaining their refusal to delve into superficiality. Through playful melodies and elliptical guitar soliloquy, they deliver a final product of exceptional depth and distinctly unprecious warmth. Crack Cloud have produced a mature, vital work that interrogates the platitudes of the rock-n-roll lifestyle, but ultimately exalts its sacredness. Red Mile's de facto thesis statement "The Medium" is itself a rock song meditation: an ode to the form and its practitioners. This genre that _ typical, repeatable, corporatized as it can be _ somehow still has the power to help us live through life. We see the dusty sentiment of "I love rock and roll" exhumed, taken apart, and stitched back together. It's a song guided by faith _ if the medium helps us proclaim our love today, it's worth protecting from derision tomorrow. We live in an era where music seems to love hitting its head against the wall. Crack Cloud's Red Mile is the sound _ the feeling! _ of the bricks giving way.

Boxed set of five 7-inch vinyl records, 300 copies limited edition. Artwork poster included.

All tracks remastered from the original master tapes.

Alessandro Alessandroni is no longer remembered simply as 'the whistler' in Morricone's spaghetti western soundtracks – and rightly so, since he was the key figure behind much of Italian 'secret music' from the 60s and 70s, always there in the studio during recording sessions, whether as a multi-instrumentalist or as the leader of session vocal group I Cantori Moderni di Alessandroni. Today his pervasive presence and important role has been finally recognized by music professionals and enthusiasts alike, so much so that he is now considered the true father of Italian library music – a genre whose sound he shaped since 1968.


As a film composer, Alessandroni often worked for small productions that had very limited (and often regional-only) distribution, and whose budgets were worlds apart from those in the 'top league' where friends and colleagues like Morricone, Bacalov, Trovajoli or Piccioni thrived. Rarely released as a soundtrack, this music ended up, at best, forgotten inside dusty ¼-inch reels or, at worst, disappearing into thin air.

After a string of releases that have brought back to life forgotten or lost works by Alessandroni (Sangue di Sbirro, Afro Discoteca, Lost and Found, etc.), it was pretty natural for us at Four Flies to start delving into a little investigated area of his filmography: his scores for erotic films, the last genre to gain popularity in the flourishing Italian film industry of the 60s and 70s, and perhaps the most extreme too, the one that, by pushing things too far, eventually put an end to that industry and its genres.

So, we're now very proud to present Alessandroni Proibito, an exclusive boxed set of five 7-inch records. It contains a total of 14 previously unreleased tracks from the soundtracks of 4 soft-core erotic films that included hard-core sequences and, therefore, fell somewhere in-between normal commercial distribution and the underground scene of adult movie theatres.

Taking an artisanal approach to his musical craft, Alessandroni was not afraid of having to deal with spicy subject matter, wobbly productions, implausible plots, improvised actors, or cinematographers who were clearly no disciples of Storaro. And he was so good at making a virtue out of necessity, at turning budget constraints into creative advantages, that he created soundtracks that far surpass the films' quality, with music that at once captures and elevates the spirit of the erotic genre as if into a condensed symbol.

More specifically, the maestro recorded many of the pieces in a DIY fashion at home, using a 4-track Teac tape machine to arrange his compositions. The Teac allowed him to play different instruments on each track, which meant he could basically put an entire soundtrack together all by himself, or almost all by himself.

These recordings often feature drum machines – which provide that retro, early electronic music vibe – as well as funk guitars and exotic-sounding percussion in the rhythm tracks. In addition, there is an extensive, almost bewildering use of synthesizers to replace solo instruments that would have required a paid session player. On top this minimalist arrangement, Alessandroni layered what he could: some piano chords, a little flute and, most importantly, his signature 12-string guitar phrasing.

The result is just stunning: a unique mixture of electronic music and acoustic instruments, in a style that stops short of kitsch and ranges from cinematic ambient pieces like "Tensione erotica" to disco-funk tracks like "Snake Disco" and "One Sunday Morning", both of which feature vocals by Alessandroni himself.

Alessandroni Proibito comes with artwork by Eric Adrien Lee and a matching 30x70cm folded poster inspired to the insert-size posters which used to be hung outside movie theatres to attract cinema-goers.

The boxed set is being released in a limited edition of just 300 copies and will never be reissued. First come, first served.

Rhythm N Vibe treats us to four different and equally brilliant garage cuts here from four different and equally brilliant artists. Marc Cotterell opens up with the slinky and dusty drums of '96 Is Back' powered by a rasping bassline. Jason Ward then brings some fresh 90s sounds with a neon baseline and diva vocals on 'The Meaning' while J Erazo keeps it deep and paired back on the sublime 'The Pulse' which is a real late night warmer. Paul French then layers up nice fresh and bumping drum funk on his lovely number 'Jump' (unreleased dub). There is lots to love here on a very useful EP.

Irish producer Balmr lands on Selections after nice outings on the likes of Sofa Movement Records, Kolour Detroit and Expanded Records which have all established him as a fresh deep house artist. His love for the Motor City shines through again here with the warm, dubby drums and swirling pads of 'In Search Of' bring to mind the Midwest's best. Jon Dixon remixes with a little extra bite in the percussion and 'Forager' then layers up more dusty drums and wooden hits with diffuse synth curlicues. It's a sound that works on both head and heel and lastly, Glenn Davis remixes with a touch of jazzy cosmic class to his synth work.

Experience the sonic journey that is The Black Dog's latest album, "Other, Like Me," as they delve into the intricacies of the artist's psyche, questioning the very essence of individuality and creative worth. The album invites listeners to confront darker thoughts about self-identity, imposter syndrome, and the relentless pursuit of creative value, all while celebrating the joy found in the act of artistic creation. In this introspective exploration, The Black Dog challenge both themselves and their audience, creating a musical experience that is profoundly personal and open to interpretation. The themes woven throughout the album are a poignant counterpoint between the shadows of self-doubt and the exuberance of creative expression. It's an inward exploration, offering a place of solace for listeners to find comfort amid the chaos of external influences. The album's title, "Other, Like Me", draws inspiration from an interview with Cosey Fanni Tutti in 1999, resonating deeply with The Black Dog's outsider perspective. The phrase encapsulates the essence of the album, reflecting the band's unique identity and shared experiences, while respecting each member's individual passions and interests. Navigating the waters of cognitive dissonance, The Black Dog bring an authenticity to their music that mirrors the internal and external conflicts of the contemporary music scene. With a commitment to stripping back layers and allowing the heart of each song to shine through, "Other, Like Me" offers a raw and unfiltered musical experience that speaks directly to the soul. It's an invitation to introspection, a celebration of independence, and a testament to the power of authentic artistic expression.

Y2K prepper-rock for the underemployed. Tracked at home in 1999, the 1975 EP expands on Stratosphere's slacker-positive dreamscape, with layers of guitars both clean and fuzzy, humming organ, and_gasp!_a drum machine. Needle down, candles on.

Bewilderment - the feeling of being perplexed and confused - is the inspiration behind Pale Jay's new album. It's a soulful exploration of a family's gradual disintegration due to years of avoidance and miscommunication. During this difficult time, Pale Jay began to question the stories he had always lived with and re-examined his identity. The resulting work, Bewilderment, is his first full-length album, which strives to find answers to these questions and more. The album is set to release on 8/18/2023 on Karma Chief Records, a subsidiary of Colemine.Pale Jay is a trained jazz vocalist and pianist, and he wrote, recorded, and produced all songs on the album, except for 'By The Lake', which is a collaboration with labelmates Okonski - Steve Okonski, Aaron Frazer, and Michael Montgomery. Pale Jay's music is influenced by a wide range of songwriters, including Labi Siffre, Carole King, and William Onyeabor. 'Bewilderment' is a seamless blend of Pale Jay's trademark dusty soul, slow disco, and Afrobeat, with string arrangements by Raven Bush adding an extra layer of magic to the beat- heavy productions.Pale Jay's debut LP is a captivating journey of self-discovery. Each song on Bewilderment tells a unique story, but they all share a common theme of personal growth and self-understanding. Grab a copy on 8/18/2023 to dive in and experience the new album.

Throw the gauntlet: Fast Castle is back with Gent1e $oul’s “Shoals”-EP, our furthest excursion into the unexplored depths of mind-bending bassweight! Having perfected his build order on his recent “Block Printing'' and “Silk Armor”-EPs, Gent1e $oul continues to infuse his productions with sonic bass strategies over five versatile tracks.

“Dark Age” provides an aggressive opening, immediately applying pressure with nasty bass wobbles, dembow echoes and a 4x4 switch that might catch distracted players off guard. Tried and tested in many settings, this is an essential option for the incoming dancefloor rush!

With its heavy neo-stepper energy, ”Bad Neighbor” lays siege to dancefloor resistance with a piercing lead, breathing drums and powerful waves of sub wubs. Just like the AoE2’s legendary trebuchet of the same name, “Bad Neighbor” – paired with the right Soundsystem – will make the walls shake.

“Dusty Acer” is a homage to Gent1e $oul’s dear but aging AoE2 gaming machine, capable of producing similar noises to this dark UKG cuts’ central bassline.

Deep dubstep cut “Illumination” takes us to the for a wholesome mana refill: Mystic ambiences make you pull down your cowl, before diving into a fully blown sub massage.

The standout self-titled cut “Shoals” concludes the release: A deep-yet-powerful half-stepping perc grower at 160bpm, operating on subdued rhythmic shifts and layers.

As a special tribute to the AoE2 community, all tunes are flavored with the game's original sound effects. Thanks for keeping us inspired, Nili_Aoe for NAC5 and T90 for HC5!

Tulsa, Oklahoma's Unwed Sailor have been on a tear over the past few years. Following a quiet phase through much of the 2010s, they reëmerged with the aptly titled Heavy Age (2019), and two more full-lengths, Truth Or Consequences (2021) and Mute The Charm (2023), that chart a remarkable evolution of their bass-led, pop-leaning post rock. On Underwater Over There - their ninth LP overall - a current of 80s goth and jangle-pop runs beneath a litany of memorable hooks and compositional left turns, creating a propulsive and intricate world of sound. The band worked collectively on all elements of mixing and production to craft a meticulously layered environment, while maintaining an air of spontaneity and experimentation across the set. Early standout, "Final Feather", drifts through varying landscapes of airiness and haze on a high-neck bass hook, while the hum of voices adds a contrast of angelic comfort. Bearing influence from New Order and The Cure in particular, its balance of gravitas and shimmer is the result of founding member Johnathon Ford's intuitive writing method: the lead bass line comes first, followed by supporting melodies, drums, guitars, keys, and final detailing. "Dusty" is a prime example of this process, as Ford's powerful, low-end groove anchors a full-spectrum array of guitars, bells, and arpeggiations along with Matt Putman's energetic drum section. Its fluid pacing provides a perfect establishing shot, with shifting moods that gather into a coda guided by David Swatzell's harmonized, glittering guitar riffs - a sunrise after a moonless night. In quick succession, "Blue Tangier" widens the aperture with a pounding percussive refrain, vibrant bass tone and an unforgettable, fuzzed-out melodic motif. Sprawling centerpiece, "Junko", is a loose callback to 2003's The Marionette and The Music Box, its deliberate stride and interwoven melodies evoking the hands of a mechanical clock, and the anticipation of something long-awaited but nebulous. It drifts effortlessly from innocence to intrigue, expands into a mesmerizing howl, and vanishes abruptly into mist. While honoring their forebears in winks and nods, Unwed Sailor remain totally inimitable in their approach and style, twenty-five years into an acclaimed career. The band's clear vision for Underwater Over There has yielded some of their most indelible work, and their inventive, passionate approach gives a strong sense of plenty more beyond the horizon.

Lapell's deft lyrics jostle with love song tropes, grappling with love's finitude and the irony of how codependency and longing are revered in popular music. A ghost story is woven through the album: waltzing in the dusty barroom country of "Blue Blaze," buried in the superstitious lyrical streak of "Rattlesnake" and audible in a wheezing organ as it shuts down at the end of "Footsteps."

Still, "Anniversary" emerges as an earnest celebration of commitment. Earworms like "Anniversary Song" and "Someone Like You" showcase intricately layered harmonies, while closer "Stars" affirms that there's no place the speaker would rather be than with the one she loves. Dekker and Lapell assembled a stellar cast of musicians to support Lapell's powerhouse vocals, piano, harmonica and signature fingerstyle guitar.

The core band includes Dan Fortin on bass, Jake Oelrichs on drums, and Tania Gill on the church's piano, harpsichord and organ. Rounding out the ensemble's sensitive orchestral arrangements are Rebecca Hennessy (trumpet), Rachael Cardiello (viola), Michael Davidson (marimba and vibraphone) and Joe Lapinsky (pedal steel), who also engineered and mixed the record. Abigail Lapell has garnered three Canadian Folk Music Awards, hit number one on Canadian folk radio and reached a staggering 40 million + streams across digital services. She has toured widely across Canada and the U.S, and will be touring internationally (UK, EU, AUS and more) in 2024.

A punk classic, gloriously anthemic power pop from the cult UK outfit. On 17 March 1978, a mere six months after the release of their self-titled debut, The Boys second album “Alternative Chartbusters” was released (once again, produced by Dangerfield & Steel). As AllMusic recognises, “Alternative Chartbusters” was way ahead of its time, a buried treasure that only got dusted off much later: “Condemned at the time for offering up little more than a straight carbon copy of its predecessor, the second Boys’ album has since ascended to the pantheon of power pop greats, a combination of the band's own inestimable position at the forefront of what, by early 1978, was already a burgeoning movement, and their seemingly effortless grasp of the rudiments of, indeed, a great pop song.” Along with the Sex Pistols, Clash and the Damned, The Boys were part of the first wave of the mid-1970’s UK punk explosion. Armed with an arsenal of killer Steel/Dangerfield songs The Boys became the first UK punk band to sign an album deal in January 1977 and subsequently released two albums, their self-titled debut and the follow-up “Alternative Chartbusters” in quick succession. Highly regarded by the music press and their contemporaries, yet somehow criminally ignored by a wider punk audience, unable to grasp their heritage of vintage rock ‘n’ roll that went back to Chuck Berry courtesy of The Beatles. Their well-crafted songs, together with Steel and Dangerfield’s layered harmonies, even led to them being described as ‘The Beatles of Punk’

Acclaimed guitar duo Loren Connors and Alan Licht celebrate their 30-year collaboration with release of their eighth album - At The Top Of The Stairs. Across the decades, their improvisations turned increasingly abstract and atonal, while still maintaining complex, ethereal arrangements. The harmonious blend of Licht's meticulously crafted feedback and harmonic patterns with Connors' ghostly blue tones remains the core sound of this partnership. At The Top Of The Stairs was recorded live in 2018. Across two side-long pieces, the duo ascends slowly, through layers of atmospheric tension punctuated by thunderous waves of Connors' effects. For fifty years, Connors's adaptation of acoustic Delta blues has transmuted into miniature gray scale compositions and howling riffs. His collaborators include Oren Ambarchi, Keiji Haino, and Kim Gordon. Rock/experimental musician Alan Licht was a member of the bands Love Child, Run On, and Lee Ranaldo & the Dust, and has released a range of acclaimed rock and experimental albums. He is an author with books published by Rizzoli, W.W. Norton, Faber & Faber and Blank Forms.

Mode_1 Reclaim EP by DIG Records

Cover // Augmented reality by Omer Avarkan


********************************AUGMENTED REALITY COVER ***********************************

After a stellar debut release in 2023, vinyl-only label Dust in Grooves, sees its anticipated second EP Reclaim, showcasing one of Dublin's gleaming underground talents Mode_1. Establishing DIG as a progressive sonic platform, founder Olivia Mendez is also curating a series of dynamic augmented reality covers for each EP. Adding more layers into the sound experience of the Reclaim vinyl is motion designer and visual artist Omer Avarkan.


Mode_1's dedication to uncovering layers of tough but rhythmic grooves, both as a DJ and a producer, has led him to make a mark on legendary techno imprints such as Knotweed, FiedelTwo, Truncate and Naked Lunch. Staying true to his advancing, dynamic sound laid with dexterous technique, Robert Kavanagh delivers a collection of four ominous tracks, pulsating with incandescent pads and pacey drums.


The EP opens with the relentless and driving Sigma, setting the tone for a swiftly moving ride across the record. With playful shifting of gears and jacking rhythms, the A2 flows into the next track Dusty Room, utilising the bleepy pitches in contrast to the expansive spheric tones, offering an energetic boost of a melodic techno work-out, with hints of sharp dub edges.


Reclaim on B1 highlights the versatility of Mode_1, comprising multi-layered scales, evolving spiral sounds and a build-up of reverberating tones that escalate with poise. As a closing track of the record, Platform 8 is one of those B2 sides that you keep reaching out to. This ultimate big-floor tool is loaded with advancing movement, keys with mystical undertones, and depth of texture that play with the infinite nature of the number eight.


Unlocking the animated cover of the EP and seeing it come to life virtually, adds a new dimension to the classic format of the vinyls. To unlock its motion, follow the riddle on the back.


All tracks mastered by Nihad Tule.


Words by Lora Mateeva, Orb Mag

More Than Ten Years Since He First Emerged On Skull Disco, Appleblim Presents His Debut Album. The Label He Co-founded With Shackleton Was The First The World Heard Of His Productions, But Laurie Osborne's Innate Relationship With Electronic Music Culture Reaches Back Much Further Than Those Groundbreaking Early Days Of Dubstep. Early Days Spent Soaking Up Hardcore, Jungle, Techno And Plenty More Besides Were Fundamental Foundations From Which To Spring Into The Then-unknown Realms Of Sub-low Half-step Club Music. At That Time Fwd>> And Dmz Were The Church For This Ritualistic Sound, And Appleblim Was A Regular Fixture At Both.

As Dubstep Matured, Magnified, Mutated And Meandered, So Appleblim Moved Beyond Skull Disco To Explore Different Avenues Of Expression In The New Many- Layered Club Music Landscape. His Own Apple Pips Imprint Was A Natural Vessel On Which To Explore The Emergent Fusions Of Hardcore-derived Sounds And The Us-born House, Techno And Electro, While Labels Such As Aus Music Equally Provided A Home For His Work (often Alongside Komonazmuk). Meanwhile Long-standing Collaborations With Alec Storey (al Tourettes / Second Storey) Finally Manifested In The Hyper-modern Mind-twist Of Also, Captured As An Album On Legendary Rave Label R&s.

More Recently It's Been Possible To Hear Appleblim Delve Into Electro-acoustic And Ambient Production Alongside Bassweight Sounds On Tempa, One Of The Original Bastions Of Dubstep Culture. As The Existing Boundaries Between Genres, Cultures, Eras And Scenes Continue To Dissolve, On His Debut Album Appleblim Offers Up A Fresh Approach That Brings Some Of The Foundational Sound Ethics Of Rave Culture Into A Modern Framework.

Hardcore Breaks Are Still A Regular Sound Source In Contemporary Club Tracks, But On Life In A Laser It's Instantly Apparent That Appleblim Has Moved Beyond Choosing Popular Drum Samples To Truly Tap Into The Elusive Feeling Engendered By The Music Of The Era. It's A Tricky Feat To Manage, But In The Pie-eyed Chords Of ignite', The Subby 808 Tom Basslines On nci' Or The Mr. Fingers Synth Flex On manta Key' The Sonic Finish Sports The Same Understated Grit And Grime That Made Those Early Records So Timeless. There's Still Space For Modernism, Not Least On Snaking 2-step Killer i Think We'll Let The Gas Sort This One Out', But It's Offset By A Layer Of Dust, Not To Mention An Inherent Moodiness That Can't Be Faked.

This Fine Balance Of Rave Romanticism And Future-minded Approaches Binds Together In A Cohesive Conceptual Statement. First And Foremost It's Appleblim's Personal Reflection On The Music That Has Moved Him On Countless Dancefloors Since His First Flirtations With Soundsystem Culture. At The Same Time The Canny Influx Of Modern Ideas Into The Soundworld Of The 90s Genuinely Results In A New Proposition, Making For A Perfect Fit On The Modern-day 'ardcore Fetishists Label Of Choice, Sneaker Social Club. Many May Claim To Draw On Old-skool Influences In Their Modern Trax, But Take One Listen To flows From Within' And You'll Feel The Same Time-slipping Surge Of Future-shock As The Ravers At Lost, Dreamscape, The Dungeons, Clink Street, Blue Note And All Those Other Iconic Spots.

Beach Fossils' self titled debut album is a seminal release from the halcyon days of Brooklyn's underground music scene. Songwriter and composer Dustin Payseur's home recorded masterpiece captures the naïveté of youth, the anxiety of routine, and the joy of infatuation, though a track list full of layered guitars and heartfelt lyrics. Beach Fossils take inspiration from 60's jangle pop, 70's kraut rock, 80's post punk, to create a sound uniquely their own with this first record, causing a ripple effect on the sound of indie music in the years that followed it.

Ploy kicks off the year with the third release on his Deaf Test imprint with his own strain of club rattling 4/4 house music.

The A side - Vortex (stripped mix) - rolls out an infectious three note bassline, rumbling alongside seven minutes of cranky arps and sharp risers with a minute long breakdown providing the only respite amidst the unrelenting groove. Tech house through Ploy’s weirdo lens.

Vocal chops and slapping percussion feature on Vortex (busy mix), deftly layered over the pounding U.S garage drums and explosive hits. A main room roller for the peak hours.

In Your Head races along a galvanic bassline and guttural techno synths, complemented by an earworm vocal hook (a ploy signature). Rude UK tech house business.

Eyez On U is a ‘tough as nails’ progressive drum workout. Functional club gear with bags of groove and industrial strength breaks, slapping you around the dancefloor.

Sending winds down the 5 tracker with sultry r&b vocals floating over hazy synths, glossy strings and a dusty drum groove. A nod to Detroit and the house music that has informed his work for the past decade.

Written, produced and mixed by S. Smith
Additional mixing from Thomas Bulwer on Vortex and In Your Head
Mastered by Beau Thomas

Egil Kalman has levelled up on this one; we were stunned by his last solo opus, and on ‘Forest of Tines’, the bassist/synthesist has traded the EMS Synthi 100 for the Buchla Series 200, recording at Stockholm’s illustrious Elektronmusikstudion (EMS). Here, he builds on themes he explored on his debut with a generous 20 track double album that marks firmer lines between Scandinavian folk music and contemporary electro- acoustic minimalism.

Using woody, synthesised tones that gradually open into sawing wails, Kalman suggests harmonies that lie between the 17th century polska and earlier, pre-Renaissance sounds, mimicking the tonal and textural fluctuations of strings with advanced tuning and sequencing techniques. There are plenty of artists delving into the past to unravel their identity, but Kalman’s approach is refreshingly unadulterated. He recorded the entire set on the fly, using just spring reverb to add extra texture, without overdubs or modern DAW-style layering, the Buchla 200 played almost like an acoustic instrument.

There’s a glimmer of vintage acid on the lithe ‘Dub One’, a complex, rhythmic experiment that lashes its pulses together with willowy portamento slides. And on ‘Klystron’, he absorbs warehouse techno’s architectural oomph, splaying psychedelic, reverberating ascending sequences over jagged kicks; listen carefully, and there’s something else going on in the background too, as Kalman meets his stabs with flute-like echoes. It’s a peculiar cocktail of ideas and provocations: ‘Mbira’ finds the composer shaping his synth into dusty, fluttering hits that resemble the titular Zimbabwean finger harp, and on ‘Drums’, he pipes pre-recorded percussion through the system, triggering its oscillators and helping shape its rhythmic patterns. He’s most comfortable when he’s mines a hazier past, ‘Autumn Leaves’ is a mystickal, just intoned droner that harmonises with Mattias Petersson’s awesome ‘Triangular Progressions’, and ‘Subtines’ sounds as if Kalman has deployed his instrument in a subterranean crevice, resonating his rumbles around synthetic water droplets.

If it’s uncanny court music you’re particularly interested in, there’s plenty of that too. ‘Polska’ is another sublimely hauntological Swedish folk interpolation, while closing track ‘Ocquet’ appears to blur Kalman’s ideas more thoroughly, melting folk phrasing and peaceful, uneasy drones to draw us to a neat conclusion. Soft-hearted but animated, it’s modern electronic music that isn’t afraid of employing vintage techniques to suggest new directions.

Following on from their Fabric presents mix compilation and a busy summer of touring, including 2x sold out All Night Long shows in London - Chaos In The CBD return with 'Outdoor Limit’ to complete the 'Sirena Deep’ EP on their much loved In Dust We Trust imprint.

Sirena Deep
This classy Deep House track has a warm and deep rolling bass line and beautifully layered keys. Washed over with a stunning flute accompaniment from long-term collaborator and legendary jazz musician Nathan Haines which adds the extra magic to this outstanding production.

Outdoor Limit
On the B-side the boys deliver a slightly darker, mischievous and moody roller with ‘Outdoor Limit’ - an 8 minute journey through minimal grooves, in what feels like the perfect soundscape for getting lost in a dark room in the small hours.

Ashara is a deeply personal and generational body of work, showcasing Jason's innate aptitude for storytelling through poetic lyrics and beautiful imagery. The award- winning musician, who is renowned for his stellar vocals and inimitable skill on acoustic guitar and piano, brings together an exceptional lineup of musicians for this album. His band Ashara, after which the album is named, includes legendary Jamaican- Canadian guitarist Carl Harvey (Toots & The Maytals), woodwind specialist Marcus Ali, vocalist Laurel Tubman, drummer Vince Reel and bassist Michael Shapinko. The album also features the musical contributions of Scottish talents including Ross Ainslie and Ali Hutton on whistles, Jack Smedley on fiddle, and John Somerville on accordion.

Ashara was recorded over a ten- month period and captures the essence of the band's chemistry. The initial recordings took place at Toronto's renowned Canterbury Music Company, allowing them to capture the authentic magic of live performances. The contributions of the Scottish musicians were recorded in their own respective locations, adding another layer of diversity to the album's sonic tapestry. The album features predominantly original compositions by Jason, with notable exceptions being a heartfelt rendition of Roy Harper's "When an Old Cricketer Leaves the Crease" and an inspired musical interpretation of Alexander Montgomerie's sixteenth-century poem "The Night is Near Gone".

Big Sigh brings together the best of Marika's previous works as an indie musician and adds a new layer of epic sounds and full-bodied production. Big Sigh is the "hardest record" Marika has ever made. As the title suggests, it is a relief of sorts - of sadness, of stress and lust, but mostly relief. Co-produced with Sam Petts Davies (Frank Ocean, Radiohead, Red Hot Chilli Peppers) & Charlie Andrew (Alt J, Wolf Alice, London Grammar). Lyrically there's always romance a longside grief, with elements of vulnerability and feeling trapped. "This album took a long time I got to the end of it I was quiet. I wanted to be away from it and let it sit in its own space. Now the dust has settled and I've got to re-enter the world of big sigh, and I'm excited." Stepping into a new world, moving forward, chipping away. Breath in, breath out. Big sigh."