quête:feeling figures

Everything Around You is a co-release presented by K and Perennial.The second LP from Feeling Figures was in fact recorded before their first. Amongst the stuttered starts and stops of the pandemic, a window opened for `The Figs' to commit 11 songs to tape. After gradually preparing new and resurrected material, they gathered in drummer T's basement in the omicron winter of early 2022 to document their strongest songs on his recently acquired reel-to-reel. Compared to `Migration Magic', `Everything Around You' is a considerably deeper dive into the Figs universe, a more deliberate collection that includes compositions which push into the expanse, drawing from a broader palette of art rock influences. The songs on this album navigate tensions between the personal and political, encompassing inner turmoil and deep-seated desires for change at the entangled axis of individual and social transformation. `Everything Around You' is their most fully-realized accomplishment to date; the best recorded representation of their boundless, idiosyncratic approach to guitar-based music. A summation years in the making, years in waiting, finally set free.

For years Feeling Figures have tinkered away at the edge of the Montreal scene, never fitting neatly into the ebb and flow of the city's cultural trends or its more traditionalist camps. A geographer, a music therapist, a writer, and an underground arts biz maverick, the four Figures have long been friends and collaborators in various musical formations and continue to propel multiple projects. At the core of Feeling Figures is the Zakary Slax and Kay Moon songwriting partnership, which itself stretches back a decade, the pair first crossing paths in a vibrant period of musical upheaval in Sackville, NB - a college town on Canada's East Coast. In the big city, a series of self-releases, shifting monikers, and revolving live lineups eventually coalesced with Thomas Molander & Joe Chamandy as the ultimate rhythmic vehicle and spiritual consorts for Slax & Moon's unconstrained syntheses of multiple eras of indie rock, punk, psychedelia, folk, and outsider pop. Their debut 7" of 2021 was an early entry in Montreal upstart label Celluloid Lunch's catalog. We're nearly 3 years past the debut 7" from Montreal quartet Feeling Figures and in some ways it feels like 300, Such are the seismic changes that have occurred during that spell. But enough about Feeling Figures' musical depth and laser-like lyrical focus, I understand some things have happened in the real world, too. 'Migration Music' is not this generation's first ramshackle-as-fuckk art punk album and I'm not sure it's even the 30 thousandth. But I do know Feeling Figures have arrived fully formed, with a real voice of their own (several in fact, that must be a really good microphone). This album is simply too much fun to have been the product of years of serious study, though I'm told students occasionally have fun, too. I wouldn't know, i'm a university drop out. I did once see an episode of the television adaptation of "The Paper Chase" where one of the new Harvard Law hopefuls had a Kiss poster over his bed and that seemed highly implausible. The utter lack of affectation on 'Migration Music' may or may not be considered a selling point (affectation seems pretty huge — almost always) but Feeling Figures' rock'n'roll atom smashery is nothing short of astonishing. Maybe there will be a better record in 2023 perhaps two or three, even. But for now, this is the band to beat. 10 tracks 33RPM

A label long synonymous with raw, off-centre electronics and uncompromising club tools, Bjarki’s bbbbbb recors welcomes a producer whose approach feels cut from the same cloth, London’s Henry Greenleaf. In an era where functionality often outweighs feeling, ‘Brawn’ is a record that doesn’t court approval; it insists on impact. Built for high-pressure systems and low ceilings, it channels force not as spectacle, but as design.

Greenleaf’s catalogue to date, spanning labels such as Par Avion, YUKU, and ARTS, sketches a restless trajectory between precision and collapse. His productions operate where rhythm becomes architecture: kicks land like poured concrete, subs buckle and flex beneath shifting percussive grids, and textures are stretched until they fray at the edges. Sound is treated as a physical material, layered and stress-tested, reshaped until the familiar mutates into something tactile and strange.

Across the EP, that philosophy takes full form. A1 ‘Brawn’ sets the tone with dense, piston-like drums and tightly coiled low-end pressure, balancing brute force with meticulous spatial control. ‘Jump Up To Be’ follows with a more fractured swing, percussive shards ricocheting across a framework that feels perpetually on the verge of rupture. On the flip, ‘Gawk’ strips things back to skeletal components, carving negative space between distorted pulses and menacing, warped rhythmic figures, before ‘UNTUNTUNT’ closes the record in driving fashion, delivering a raw, functional workout that reduces the groove to its bluntest, most hypnotic form.

True to the label’s ethos, ‘Brawn’ doesn’t chase trends or smooth its edges. It folds air and pressure into motion, pares club music down to its working parts, and leaves room for spontaneous chaos to erupt within the grid; moments where structure splinters, energy misbehaves, and control gives way just enough to keep things volatile. Engineered yet unpredictable, utilitarian yet unruly, the EP embodies the tension, unpredictability, and uniqueness that have long defined bbbbbb recors.

Not so long ago in 2017, the first release on Michiel Claus' and Ailsa Cavers' Basic Moves saw the light of day and especially the shine of night. Produced by founding father Walrus, BM01 set the tone for a record label that focuses on releasing hidden archives from the 90s, whilst combining them with modern club music from the here and now. By highlighting the musical heritage of the Belgian electronic music scene, the label illustrates the continuity between past and present, history and shaping identities of 21st-century artists, undeniably building on the strong foundations of their forerunners. Seven years and nineteen releases later, Basic Moves is rounding off the series with BM20, a final double 12'' by one of the major figures from the Belgian underground: Circadian Rhythms also known as Dj Deg. After many years of collecting, deejaying and producing music, his musical spectrum ranges from synth, library and wave, to jazz, funk and disco, from house to techno. His journey started in clubs like Bocaccio (1988 - 1993), and La Gait? (1979 -1989), where young Deg came across deejay's like Olivier Pieters or Eric Beysens who made him choose the path of becoming a devoted disc jockey himself. BM20 is a sonic witness of Deg's first musical encounters with his machines, revealing a withdrawn selection of six bedroom patchwork tracks produced between the years of '93 & '99, a time without the internet or user manuals to help you solve the riddles of technology. Though only at the very beginning of his creative process, Deg's unique personality is nevertheless already clearly identifiable: blending techno with jazz, where the sharp edges of 16-step drum-sequences are smudged and bent in different directions. In the lower countries, the second half of the 90s was a period of fast & funky, happy Detroit, 140 BPM techno. Whenever Deg was not oscillating between record shops or gigs and had a moment on his own, mostly during morning hours after the club, he would spend his leftover energy in the studio. Either by himself or with his loyal ally Mike DMA, he would benefit from these moments to slow down and give space to a different, introverted sound - processing moods, feelings and thoughts. This record therefore gathers only a few of many (unrecorded) one-shot live sessions which were never intended to be shared - and only existed for the love of music and its power to take you beyond all things known. Thank you Deg for sharing your music and giving us a glimpse of your universe. Without your productions, your memorable warm-ups and closing sets - many of us would not be where we are now, and Basic Moves might never have been founded. As a last note to a closing song, BM20 is about being fully committed to the music and the club, a medium and place of fruitful settings for encounters, creativity and growth. Where dreams and ideas have a chance to exist, being almost ready and thought out to shape future times to come - and many party nights. Gurl, December 2023

I Talk To Water, the fifth album for Kompakt by Danish producer Kölsch, is the artist’s most personal statement yet. While all the trademarks that make his music so popular and powerful are still present – lush, melodic techno; swooping, trance-like figures; sensuous, shivery texturology – I Talk To Water is also a deep and intimate rapprochement with family and history, a beautiful, finely detailed document of loss and memory, and a tracing of the long, unbroken thread of grief that runs through our lives once we’ve lost those we loved.

The emotional core of I Talk To Water, then, is a cache of recordings by Kölsch’s father, Patrick Reilly, who passed away in 2003 from brain cancer. With time rendered elastic by the pandemic and its associated lockdowns, its sudden, alienating shifts in everyday living, Kölsch found himself reflecting on his father’s passing and ongoing spiritual presence, thinking about how best to memorialise such a significant figure in his own life. Those recordings opened a gateway, of sorts, for Kölsch to move through – a way to bring past and present together and entwine them in a sensitive, poetic manner.

Kölsch’s father was a musician – “touring in the sixties and seventies, in the Middle East especially, he was doing the whole hippy trail, playing guitar, and wrote some songs over the years,” he recalls. “But all in all, he decided to focus on family rather than pursue a musical career.” Reilly kept playing and writing music over the years, though Kölsch hadn’t listened to the material for some time: “I’d never had the guts to listen to it, because I just felt too fragile listening to his voice. It’s such a tough thing to go through.”

During the pandemic, though, Kölsch listened through the fragmented body of work that his father had produced over the years. “I decided I’m gonna finally release my dad’s music twenty years after his passing,” he reflects. “This whole album is about the process of loss, and for me it’s been one of my main driving forces in my musical life, the whole emotional aspect of whatever I’ve done has been based in that feeling that he’s not there anymore.”

Recordings of Reilly appear on three songs across I Talk To Water. His guitars drift pensively across “Grape”, offering a lush thread of melody that Kölsch wraps with clicking, driftwood rhythms and droning, melancholy bass. “Tell Me” is a lovely three-minute art song, a sadly beautiful reflection, minimally adorned with gentle keys and a muted pulse. And on the closing “It Ends Where It Began”, Kölsch lets his father’s acoustic guitar take centre stage for a lament that’s unexpectedly folksy, a guitar soli dream, which Reilly originally recorded in 1996. “He actually recorded it for my first album that never came out,” Kölsch reveals, “and I had it sitting around forever. That is purely him.”

These three imagined collaborations between father and son are poised and delicate. But their relationship also marks the gorgeous music Kölsch has made across the rest of I Talk To Water, from the itchy yet lush “Pet Sound” (titled in tribute to one of Reilly’s favourite albums), the flickering synths and yearning vocal samples that slide through “Khenpo”, the ecstatic shuddering that marks “Only Get Better”, or “Implant”’s slow-motion pans and subtle reveals.

There’s also the title song, where Kölsch is joined by guest Perry Farrell (Jane’s Addiction, Porno For Pyros), singing a mantra for internal reflection: “I talk to water / Searching for myself / Looking for answers / Oceans of you.” Farrell’s appearance brings another timbre, another spirit to the album, aligning neatly with his recent interest in electronic music. “He was completely taken by this idea of talking to water,” Kölsch says, thinking about the ways we collectively lean towards the natural world as a comfort and a listener, a guide through mourning, a way to map out the terrain of the heart. This mapping is something that Kölsch has proven remarkably adept at through the years; dance music for both body and mind, but also both for the here-and-now, and for the hereafter.

“I Talk To Water”, das fünfte Album des dänischen Produzenten Kölsch für Kompakt, ist zweifellos das persönlichste Statement des Künstlers bislang. Während alle Markenzeichen, die seine Musik so beliebt und kraftvoll machen, immer noch präsent sind – üppige, melodische Techno-Tracks; schwebende, tranceartige Elemente; sinnliche, fiebrige Texturen – ist “I Talk To Water” auch eine tiefe und intime Annäherung an Familie und Geschichte. Es ist ein wunderschönes, fein ausgearbeitetes Dokument des Verlusts und der Erinnerung, und es verfolgt den langen, ungebrochenen Faden der Trauer, der durch unser Leben läuft, sobald wir diejenigen verloren haben, die wir liebten.

Der emotionale Kern von “I Talk To Water” besteht aus Aufnahmen von Kölschs Vater, Patrick Reilly, der 2003 an Hirnkrebs verstarb. Durch die Pandemie und ihre damit verbundenen Lockdowns, die plötzlichen, entfremdenden Veränderungen im Alltag, fand Kölsch sich in Gedanken an den Tod seines Vaters und seine fortwährende spirituelle Präsenz wieder. Er überlegte, wie er eine so bedeutende Figur in seinem eigenen Leben am besten verewigen könnte. Diese Aufnahmen öffneten ihm sozusagen ein Portal, um Vergangenheit und Gegenwart miteinander zu verbinden und sie auf sensible und poetische Weise zu verweben.

Kölschs Vater war Musiker – “er tourte in den sechziger und siebziger Jahren, vor allem im Nahen Osten, auf dem Hippie Trail, spielte Gitarre und schrieb im Laufe der Jahre einige Songs”, erinnert sich Kölsch. “Aber alles in allem entschied er sich, sich auf die Familie zu konzentrieren, anstatt eine musikalische Karriere zu verfolgen.” Reilly spielte und schrieb jedoch im Laufe der Jahre weiterhin Musik, obwohl Kölsch das Material lange Zeit nicht angehört hatte: “Ich hatte nie den Mut, es anzuhören, weil ich mich einfach zu zerbrechlich fühlte, seine Stimme anzuhören. Es ist so schwer, das durchzustehen.”

Während der Pandemie hörte sich Kölsch jedoch durch das fragmentierte Werk, das sein Vater im Laufe der Jahre produziert hatte. “Ich beschloss, die Musik meines Vaters zwanzig Jahre nach seinem Tod endlich zu veröffentlichen”, reflektiert er. “Dieses ganze Album handelt von dem Verlustprozess, welcher für mich generell eine der Hauptantriebskräfte in meinem musikalischen Leben ist. Der ganze emotionale Aspekt von dem, was ich getan habe, basierte auf dem Gefühl, dass er nicht mehr da ist.”

Auf “I Talk To Water” sind Aufnahmen von Reilly in drei Songs zu hören. Seine Gitarren ziehen nachdenklich durch “Grape”, bieten einen üppigen Melodiefaden, den Kölsch mit klickenden, treibenden Rhythmen und dröhnendem, melancholischem Bass umwickelt. “Tell Me” ist ein schönes dreiminütiges Kunstlied, eine traurig-schöne Reflexion, minimal geschmückt mit sanften Tasten und einem gedämpften Puls. Und auf dem Abschlusstrack “It Ends Where It Began” lässt Kölsch die akustische Gitarre seines Vaters im Mittelpunkt stehen, ein überraschend folkiger Klagegesang, den Reilly ursprünglich 1996 aufgenommen hatte. “Er hat es tatsächlich für mein erstes Album aufgenommen, das nie veröffentlicht wurde”, enthüllt Kölsch, “und ich hatte es ewig liegen.”

Diese drei erdachten Kollaborationen zwischen Vater und Sohn sind ausgewogen und zart. Aber ihre Beziehung prägt auch die wunderschöne Musik, die Kölsch im Rest von “I Talk To Water” geschaffen hat, angefangen bei dem nervösen, aber üppigen “Pet Sound” (benannt als Hommage an eines von Reillys Lieblingsalben), den flimmernden Synthesizern und sehnsüchtigen Vocal-Samples in “Khenpo”, den ekstatischen Erschütterungen in “Only Get Better” oder den langsamen Schwenks und subtilen Enthüllungen in “Implant”.

Es gibt auch den Titelsong, in dem Kölsch von Gast Perry Farrell (Jane’s Addiction, Porno For Pyros) begleitet wird, der ein Mantra für die innere Reflexion singt: “I talk to water / Searching for myself / Looking for answers / Oceans of you.” Farrells Auftritt bringt eine weitere Klangfarbe, einen weiteren Geist in das Album, der gut zu seinem jüngsten Interesse an elektronischer Musik passt. “Er war völlig fasziniert von der Idee, mit Wasser zu sprechen”, sagt Kölsch und denkt darüber nach, wie wir kollektiv zur Natur als Trost, Zuhörer, Führer durch die Trauer neigen, um die Gelände des Herzens zu kartieren. Diese Kartierung ist etwas, in dem Kölsch im Laufe der Jahre erstaunlich geschickt war; Tanzmusik für Körper und Geist, sowohl für das Hier und Jetzt, als auch für das Leben danach.

Debut album from Alex Ho out of Los Angeles.

In his foundational essay on Los Angeles, L.A. Glows, the essayist Lawrence Weschler speaks on the city's uncanny, immediately recognizable light; "The late-afternoon light of Los Angeles—golden pink off the bay through the smog and onto the palm fronds." Weschler traces the city's mysterious refracted light from the iconic paintings of David Hockney through the city's frequent portrayal on film and TV, noting its ability to put residents into a state of "egoless bliss."

Similarly, Alex Ho's new album for Music From Memory, 'Move Through It', radiates with the unmistakable LA glow. While the Pasadena native's studio work is just now coming to light, Ho has long been a fixture in the Los Angeles dance music scene, throwing what are perhaps the city's most musically expansive warehouse events and carving out a singular voice as a DJ, as heard on his brilliant Moony Habits show for NTS. The eight-track record, however, lands in a more contemplative zone, better suited for a golden hour drive than a night out.

Though it's his first record, 'Move Through It' is the accomplished work of a fully-formed artist, produced patiently between 2017 and 2020 with help from friends including Baba Stiltz, Phil Cho, Damon Palermo and John Jones. "Mark," the Koanic track conclusion side A, is an arpeggiated slow burn reminiscent of Pino Donaggio's brilliant score for Brian De Palma's 1984 film Body Double. Ho's stunning, pure falsetto soars above gentle melodies. "Miss Suzuki," the piece that originally caught the ear of MFM's Jamie Tiller and Tako, opens the record with a blue, cinematic sway. Ho's facility for poignant melodies—easily conveyed through saxophone, vibes, various keyboards and his own voice—shines on "College Crest Drive," as well as the title track. The lyrical "Move Through It" and the restrained and beautiful closing cut, "TYFC," are abetted by glimmering Kraut guitar figures courtesy of John Jones.

While Ho's rhythms and melodies paint a crystal-clear musical vision, the music's emotional centre is more elusive, indicative of a yearning feeling synonymous with the City Of Angels. Hitting these hazy and subtle notes, Move Through It falls within a canon of sun-addled records spanning from Herb Alpert's "Rotation" to Dam-Funk's Private Life trilogy as Garrett. An immersive and concise statement, Alex Ho's 'Move Through It' is as warm and uncanny as the city that inspired it, a definitive LA album.

Mess Esque are a duo featuring music and instruments by Mick Turner
and words and voice by Helen Franzmann. Their self-titled album is a
beguiling travelogue of restless, somnambulant wanderings.
Perhaps best known as one of the Dirty Three, Mick’s been playing
guitar and making music with many collaborators for forty years. He’s
loved his paintings too but revered especially for his solo music - since
1997, Drag City have released four of his albums, plus an EP and an
album of the Tren Brothers (Mick with percussionist and fellow Dirty
Three-ite, Jim White) and two EPs featuring Mick as the Marquis de Tren
with Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy.
Mick’s last record was 2013’s ‘Don’t Tell the Driver’, a work that found
him departing from his traditional hermetic instrumental template by
employing a rhythm section and brass charts and even collaborating with
a vocalist. After all the purely instrumental music he’s made with Dirty
Three and solo, a singer is now part of the sound he’s hearing in his
head these days; while demoing new material, he realized that he was
again writing music that needed lyrics - and for that matter, someone
other than himself to sing them. But who? In 2019, he was introduced to
Helen through a mutual friend who’d produced her last album. Under the
name Mckisko, Helen has released three albums over the past 12 years,
working and touring with a range of Australian musicians along the way.
Her music has been described as numinous and transformative. Her
most recent album, ‘Southerly’, saw her moving into a more expansive
sound which led to an openness and excitement around further
collaboration.
Helen’s words are carefully observed, her phrasing responding intuitively
to Mick’s looping guitar figures with vocal repetitions of her own. Starting
with a feeling or a voicing, there are often no words - both players are
searching on their own paths. Then suddenly they have arrived and are
passing the emerging meaning back and forth, the rising intensity
forming a kind of undertow that pulls the listener deeper into their world.
Often, Helen would record her vocals in the middle of the night, seeking
that 2am flow, a moment of greatest isolation through which to trace her
melodie with fragility and strength. This crystallizes Mess Esque’s
intention: riding the sleepy drift through the blurred edges of the day…
time-traveling to that moment beyond stasis where sense and no sense
coincide and share space and time and energy. Viewing from afar the
immense peace of this planet when its ghost world of spirits below - the
madness of crowds, people sliding past each other faraway in the night -
are quieted at last.

For over six decades, Charlemagne Palestine (b. 1947, New York) has been a pioneering composer, performer, and multimedia artist, celebrated for his ecstatic sonic explorations and ritualistic, metaphysical performances. Emerging from the cross-disciplinary New York art scene of the 1960s and ’70s, he helped shape a heretical edge of minimalism alongside figures like Conrad, Riley, Niblock, and Glass. Trained as a Jewish cantor and later as the carillonneur at St. Thomas Church, Palestine cultivated a deep fascination with resonance and overtone—an obsession that evolved through his use of percussion, early synthesizers, and monumental piano works, influencing artists from John Cale to Nick Cave.

Animated by a spirit of ecstatic play and what he calls his »meschugge« (Yiddish for »crazy«) sensibility, Palestine’s universe blends the sacred and the absurd, filled with soft toys, ritual gestures, and immersive sound environments. Rejecting the »minimalist« label in favor of a maximalist, »spontanimalist« approach, he creates long-form, resonant performances that transform spaces into vibrating, living organisms—opening portals into the nature of time, sound, and devotion.

In the same vein, the aptly titled live record »The Organ is the World’s Greatest Synthesizer« – performed during the Sonic Acts Festival at Amsterdam’s Oude Kerk in 2025, and taking its title and cover art from a drawing realized by Palestine himself during the concert – adds to his opaque yet vibrant personal mythology and intimate transcendence, marking a return to the Staalplaat catalog after »Fffroggssichorddd« (2020) and »Music for Big Ears« (2001).

Beginning with a resonating bell and his falsetto overtone singing, then surrendering to the endless, wild soundscapes of tone-feeling and beat frequencies generated by the church’s organ, across 40+ minutes, single sound sources evolve into clusters, entangle fully with one another, and establish their own spatial existence and aural architectures. We witness the traces of something that can be described as a perpetual performance, a test for the ever-changing interaction between artist, instrument, space and, ultimately, us.

Since Palestine has always defined his execution as a form of anti-composition - of simply »being in the music« as if inhabiting a space - the true power of »The Organ is the World’s Greatest Synthesizer« lies in encapsulating a moment of Palestine’s practice in its most authentic, live dimension. Sound becomes at once subtle substance and strange telluric force, animating physical forms from some unknown channel beyond and within, accessible only through our sensorium. The point in this liminal temple of tone, timbre and frequency is not to learn anything but to simply enter. Palestine earns once again his self-given title of contemporary shaman by keeping this sonic portal open, allowing us to witness and make it last.

»I have always felt and heard and mixed the sounds in my world as liquids not as solids. Sonic liquids are material that is endlessly transformable. But I’m not crazy about people who go around defining stuff.«

Within the nine carefully composed tracks of Young Bones, Mel D’s characteristic voice stands out in all its facets, varying from fragile to powerful, haunting to playful, but most of all soulful. With a voice that’s both extraordinarily clear and melancholic, Mel D is something surprisingly rare: a singer whose artistic expression goes beyond the mere use of her voice. On Young Bones, Mel D uses contemporary figures, rephrasing them into timeless formulas. Her unique musical language embodies references to genres like Indie or Alternative. In other moments, her sound leans baroque, then jazzy, soulful, and contemplative. Each song represents an ode to being connected: to the world, other people, and most of all to the beauty of music. Mel D draws her inspiration from struggles felt in the current world climate: “I have felt overwhelmed by the world we live in and its countless challenges,” said Mel D. “As if we’re all a bit directionless in our own lives.” Nevertheless, Mel D uses her musicality as a tool for resistance - using it to transform sadness and anger into creativity, and to give world-weariness a voice that seduces, comforts, and inspires. On Young Bones, Mel D sings us to a place where we might find hope - with songs rooted in concern, solidarity, humanness, and empowerment, inviting the listener to lean into those feelings. Bring the Witches Back, a hymn to witchcraft, is a quiet song that summons the return of witches with feminist urgency, for more love and magic to open ourselves towards each other and the world. Soft, a soulful song with a tender melody, gently lulls the listener into an in-between dimension, full of opportunities. Meanwhile, in the coming-of-age ballad, Slowly Growing, she raises questions about belonging and identity, pointing directly at our emotional core. Where Do You Look When It Hurts? speaks to the sensation of exhaustion and emptiness, offering musical warmth and a sense of community in moments of lethargy. Finally, listening to the album, one always feels in good company. Playfully working in folk and electro-pop elements, Mel D takes us on a ride toward love and a sense of belonging, particularly on the track We win. Young Bones was recorded in Zurich and Paris with two outstanding producers of our times: Renaud Letang, who has previously collaborated with Feist, Chilly Gonzales or Lianne La Havas, and Dino Brandão. The latter recognized Mel D’s artistic uniqueness during their first meeting, inviting her to a recording session in his studio and bringing her into the band of Swiss superstar, Faber. Mel D’s solo project was more a product of coincidence than planning, as she says, even though an undisputed talent and passion for music had always been apparent throughout her youth. During her studies in fine arts in Zurich, she founded the electronica-duo mischgewebe, and composed soundtracks for theater and movie productions, as well as for exhibitions. Long before forming her current artistic identity, she went by the nickname Mel D, in a humorous reference to the Spice Girls. Although her personality and musical language suggest thoughtfulness and a melancholy touch, Mel D acknowledges that an honest laugh is never out of place, making her sympathetic and approachable.

The Ottawa composer/performer and head of Black Bough Records plays every instrument on his CST debut: an accessibly avant-garde work of dark/ambient modern chamber music. Mark Molnar has been a linchpin of the Ottawa experimental music scene for over two decades, spanning contemporary classical, electroacoustic, industrial/noise, and improv. As a string player in a wide range of projects, an organizer and curator of innumerable shows, and via his own avantgarde label Black Bough Records, Molnar's unflagging contributions to independent music culture in Canada's capital city have been significant. EXO is his Constellation debut: a remarkable and bracing suite of post-classical composition on which Molnar plays every instrument. Meticulously self-recorded, primarily with strings, harp, and piano, EXO balances thematic melodicism, polytonality, and dissonance across three elegiac pieces of exquisitely expressive dynamism. This is exacting modern chamber music that blends formal and harmonic complexity with a solemn emotive sensibility accessible to a broad audience. Listeners that yearn for some edge and disquietude in a landscape of often all-too-approachable post-classical music should find EXO eminently worth their time and attention. While Molnar is a highly trained string player, and studied music under Aubrey Wolfe, microtonality with James Tenney, and composition with R. Murray Schafer, his trajectory has been entirely and intentionally outside the academy, signalling a socio-artistic commitment to DIY culture, forged from an early passion for the sonic worlds of post-hardcore, post-punk, no-wave, free improv, power electronics, and other independent/underground musics. His classically-informed works have been described as "tense currents of musical modernism invigorated with punk's raw vitality." EXO carries an undercurrent influenced by dark industrial and ambient metal in particular, with microphones purposely placed to pick up the low-end frequencies of the piano body, and of a bass drum positioned as a resonant skin in the acoustic space; an electroacoustic strategy organically meshed to the crisply defined and pristinely recorded pointillisms and polychords of strings, harp, and piano, which feed into this noisefloor of crepuscular sub-bass disquietude and decay. It's a production aesthetic that lends EXO a distinct undertow of tension and feeling, a sort of roiling maximalism where the chamber instrumentation traces arcs and waves of form and flow as if drawn from a dark, impervious ocean below. It also reinforces the profound hermeticism of Molnar's process, as a forbiddingly solitary creative act of immersion and navigation. The album artwork, featuring semiabstract stills of the sea by British photographer Ed Allen, further reifies this metaphor. The album's opening piece 'Sub Luna' (and its shortest at 8 minutes) showcases Molnar's adeptness at naturalistic and flowing complexity: tight cascades of climbing and descending chordal clusters hold their polytonal densities for various durations, yielding to more clarified harmonic suspensions and motifs, as melodic themes led primarily by violins in the higher registers provide a fractured lyricism. Molnar says: "the opening and closing figures of this piece act as opposing shorelines; the shorelines provide a reliable expression of range and key signature, and the tides come in and swallow them up, the motion of a body that addresses the relationship between states of lucidity and melodic figures." On 'Terre Sacer' everything happens in soupier waters, as a slow and doleful theme, anchored by grinding bass notes, circles in a gyre of dark resonances, until glistening strings gradually ascend to enrobe a plaintive and gently harrowing single-voiced ostinato over the composition's final third. Molnar's drone, ambient, minimalist, and goth-industrial influences are on display here. Side Two of EXO features the 18-minute multi-movement 'pallida Mors' (pale death): a waterfall of heterophony introduces dense chordal movements where strings are recorded and mixed to evoke pipe organ, in the album's most overtly dissonant and (anti)liturgical sequence. This gives way to ever more open and fragile spaces, before a resurgence of dark clusters and noise treatments introduces a final repeating piano coda, shrouded in devastated bass resonance, settling into what Molnar calls "a meditative hollow." Constellation is honoured to release this work by Mark Molnar, a longtime fellow-traveler whose selfless and boundlessly generous activities as an independent arts enabler sometimes obscure his own accomplished and uncompromising artistry. We trust EXO can help shed some much deserved light on this fine composer. Thanks for listening.

Legendary composer, arranger, band leader and double bassist Israel “Cachao” López (1918-2008) is universally recognized as one of the most prolific and influential figures in the history of Cuban Music. He was a co-founder of the widely popular mambo style in the late 1930’s (along with his brother Orestes “Macho” López and Antonio Arcaño), and a primary exponent of the “descarga” movement of the 1950’s. The album Jam Session with Feeling, presented here, was one in a series of recorded “descargas”, and includes several legends of Cuban music, such as Alejandro “El Negro” Vivar, and Tata Güines.

DaRand Land, who hails from the post industrial confines of Buffalo, NY was one of the leading figures of Deep4Life, a cult label known for submersible oriented, yet dancefloor-friendly productions. With ambient synth-driven tones and heavy funk basslines being at the center of his sound, DaRand Land’s music often evokes an introspective quality, without losing its groove fundamental. DaRand’s works, which span decades on deep house labels such as Downbeat, Confluence and Pulp have been described as “uncompromising” and has afforded him a passionate following of listeners who seek a more emotive, thought-provoking brand of underground music.
Teaming up once again with Scissors and Thread - the perfect fit for his sound - DaRand Land drops an album full of crafty, trippy house for the heads. Wander Being contains 10 tracks on the double vinyl release with a pair of additional tracks for the digital release. The vibe is deep and sleek, with a rough, bumping edge. The title track sets the tone, a smattering of percussion accompanying a thick, round kick drum and Rhodes chords, giving off a classic Detroit feel. Tracks like Turn to The Music ramp up the energy somewhat, but overall the tracks sit in the sweet spot between dancefloor burners and soulful, jazzy, deep cuts. Noticeable is the space given to each element across the tracks - the hi-hats sparkle, the snare snaps, and the basslines roll and rumble. Add to this the magic melodic flourishes provided by the pads and synths, reminiscent of the late Mike Huckaby in places, made this whole album a thoughtful, joyful experience.
„The genesis for the Wander Being LP”, says DaRand “was a desire to return to the essence of some of my original Deep4Life productions. How was this accomplished? Principally, through the exclusive use of hardware components, minimalist arrangement, and a minds-eye approach to source the musical elements. In particular, the single, The Nature of Reality was written to convey a sense of what it feels like to be in a state of suspended animation. There is a natural tension introduced via the organic, swirling pad progression juxtaposed against endless vocal echoes and the low-end groove of the bassline. Thematically, I wanted to carry this forward through the entirety of the album.
balancing subdued keys and strings with ethereal tones and atmospheres

'a masterclass in hardcore dancefloor and bittersweet feeling...Alex Crossan is both acclaimed and not feted enough' **** The Observer

Available on his own Pond Recordings, Curve 1 is a love-letter to club spaces, and the music and people who fill them.

Mura Masa’s forth album is a full-circle moment. Departing from the pop-leaning narrative and who’s-who guestlist of his most recent records, Curve 1 heads back down the rabbit-hole of club music that’s alternately euphoric, introspective, nostalgic and future-facing. Full of tension and release, ambiguity and playfulness, the significance of Curve 1 is left up to the individual: whether enjoyed solo or in the sweat of a packed room, here is music as enigmatic and layered as its author.

Mura Masa himself introduces Curve 1 as 'a manifestation of an attitude I’ve been cultivating in my personal life; ignore everything. All the content, all of the attention economy, all of it. In doing that, the really meaningful and vital parts of what’s around you make themselves known and unignorable, demanding your energy. It’s my first offering as an independent artist through my own record label, and as such I wanted it to be as free and anti-narrative as possible. Impressionistic. Music as entertainment has in many cases, to me, become very advertorial and excessively sentimental in terms of creating narrative around albums and artists. I wanted to strip this away as much as possible to leave room for the music to create its own meaning in the lives of people who form connections with it. It's hard for me not to explain away the intricacies and ideas contained within these records after having theorised and tolled and executed them over the course of nearly three years, but I think it’s far more fitting of the album’s intent to say simply: listen to it in the dark.'

Curve 1 pulls Mura Masa into focus as one of this generation’s most influential figures. Aptly reflecting his rare standing at the heart of youth culture, Mura Masa recently co-wrote long standing collaborator PinkPantheress’ single ‘Turn It Up’, as well as creating a series of remixes for Troye Sivan’s ‘Honey’. From producing global hits like ‘Boy’s a liar Pt.2’ to seminal records like Shygirl’s Mercury-nominated Nymph, it’s a juncture that has also seen Mura Masa embark on a new chapter of his own. He has set up his label and a creative hub and arts space - The Pond - in Peckham as a base for emerging artists and likeminded creatives, which will launch officially next year. Across his three critically-acclaimed solo albums, Mura Masa has built an audience who will follow wherever his genre-defying work goes next; with 2 billion streams, headline festival sets around the world, and live shows ranging from Alexandra Palace to Warehouse Project.

Curve 1 marks a back-to-your-roots approach whilst also highlighting the trailblazing young star’s recurring theme: to capture ‘that’ curvature in pop culture, to make it Mura Masa’s own, and to push things forward.

'Curve 1 has a club focus, no f—ks attitude and production that’s mature, lush — simply put, it’s just cool.' billboard

'a scintillating love letter to club culture and sounds' Wonderland

'the Grammy-winning producer throws a total curveball. Ditching his usual dreamy pop, Mura goes full hardcore dance. From techno to vintage rave' **** The Mirror

'Get sweaty as Mura makes it messy' **** The Sunday Express

'a total curveball...intense but full of hooks' **** The Daily Star

'Mura Masa has always been ahead of the creative curve, but with his new album, the tenured producer is consciously forging a path inspired by his newfound independence.'

'a grab-bag of sounds from a brilliantly restless mind' Rolling Stone

Amputechture Beneath the technical flash, the fury, the fearless creative brinkmanship of the first two Mars Volta albums lay a potent seam of the blues, an existential vexation that powered every twist and turn of Omar and Cedric’s imaginations. That mournful vibe would come to the surface of the group’s third full-length Amputechture, a simmering/blistering set that was unquestionably the group’s darkest yet. There was no overarching theme here, no interlinking concept binding the songs together, though Cedric concedes that, lyrically, the album was influenced “by a lot of stuff I was going through, a really bad break-up and a lot of other crazy stuff, and trying to put that feeling into the record.” But Amputechture – its name another of the late Jeremy Michael Ward’s invented words – was no downbeat bummer. Opener Vicarious Atonement might’ve been a deliciously gloomy, slow-burning thing, capturing Cedric in delirious duet with Omar’s swooning guitar lines, accompanied by squalling saxophone by Adrian Terrazas-Gonzales and dream-frequency fuckery by the group’s new sonic manipulator, former At The Drive- In member Paul Hinojos. But second track Tetragrammaton swiftly set pulses racing, an epic-in-miniature and containing more ideas within its 16 minutes than most bands manage over an entire career, its proggy, complex guitar figures tessellating in infinite configurations and converging as if conforming to mathematical formulae from another reality. The raw material Amputechture was hewn from started life on the road. Omar now travelled with his own mobile recording studio – a little Neve ten-channel tape recorder and an array of microphones – and was able to work on new ideas on tourbuses, in hotel rooms and during soundcheck (and, occasionally, after the show was done). After touring for Frances The Mute was complete, Omar relocated to Amsterdam, staying with his photographer friend Danielle Van Ark and her partner, Nils Post. It’s here that he demoed Amputechture, flying in engineer Jon DeBaun, drummer Jon Theodore and his brother, Chino, to work on these raw sketches. He later returned to Los Angeles, where the album was finally recorded. Omar ceded guitar duties to his dear friend and kindred spirit John Frusciante, instead assuming the role of musical director. “I wanted to hear the sound of the band,” he says. “I thought, I’ll be able to sit at the console, feel the air of the speakers moving, the unified sound of everything, and not feel distant from it. It was fun, but it was also challenging.” Part of Omar’s new method was to teach the musicians their parts only moments before the tapes rolled. “To keep things fresh, and to keep everyone on edge,” he says, before chuckling. “No, not on edge – on their toes. Amputechture would prove The Mars Volta’s most diverse set yet, drawing into the group’s tornado of influences moments of fiery jazz spirituality and esoteric folk introspection, finding space for passages of devastating subtlety and also their most fierce and full-on moments to date. The aforementioned Vicarious Atonement found its meditative mood echoed by Asilos Magdalena, an intimate, acoustic piece that invoked traditional Latin folk music, as Cedric sang in Spanish a sorrowful tale of a lost soul’s quest for sanctuary within a Magdalen Asylum, a refuge set up by the Catholic church for “fallen women”. The shadowy, sinister closer El Ciervo Vulnerado, meanwhile, tapped into the darker side of spiritual jazz to further explore the album’s themes of redemption and religious myth and magick. Elsewhere, the interplay between guitar and clarinet on Viscera Eyes created complex, unsettling counter-melodies, while the coiling, ornate Meccamputechture – Cedric’s wild fusion of sacred texts, occultism and dystopian science fiction – proved a great showcase for Ikey Owens’ swarming, infernal organ runs, in concert with Frusciante’s arcane guitar-play. But it was Day Of The Baphomets that would prove Amputechture’s most ambitious and most defining epic. Cedric’s lyrics tore into the hypocrisy of religious cant and myths of sin and punishment. “I wanted to make a song that was like the movie The Believers, where this cabal stole kids and did some occult shit with them,” he explains. “But I wanted it to be like, ‘What if the people you hire to do jobs you don’t wanna do rise up one day and then pull some shit like that?’ Like it was the guerrilla warfare, them taking over – wouldn’t that be some fucked up shit? And the music just lent itself to that – the big intro, the bass solo, and all of the ruckus that occurs.” That ruckus was some of the most thrilling Mars Volta music yet, as Omar directed his musicians to rumble through fiery modes of wild tribal groove, ransack-the-palaces riot- rock and supreme progressive experimentalism. Amputechture, then, is the sound of The Mars Volta in imperial mode: fearless, insatiable, unstoppable.

It is summer dawn . . . and you are alone. Here is music for your strange mood. The piano starts the first track, slow tempo beat, a strict beat, a swinging beat. Lillemor—here minor harmonies give the tune a rural, romantic feeling of some place in Spain or France. The tempo changes to medium fast—the flute solos. Light phrasing contrasts beautifully to the earthy, swinging beat of the rhythm section and the repeating piano figures. The trombone adds a new color, a counterpoint of sound and phrasing, backed by the pulsating beat of this wonderful rhythm and the driving piano. Summer dawn . . . This music has more to offer, because it shows the personality of Sahib Shihab at its best. Sahib is a universal musician who reflects musical experiences in jazz since the end of the thirties. He lived through the important periods of modern jazz with his heart and mind wide open toward everything that was good music, regardless of being termed "Mainstream", "Bop", "Cool", "Westcoast", "Eastcoast", "Hard Bop'', et cetera. When you listen closely to his music, you will find traces of all these, but they are immersed in his deep musicianship and his true jazz personality. Sahib Shihab's background reads like the record of a master of advanced studies. Furthermore he played and collaborated with the coolest jazz musician of that period. Above all let's name Budd Johnson, Theolonius Monk, Tadd Dameron, Milt Jackson, Dizzy Gillespie, Illinois Jaquet, Elmer Snowden, Luther Henderson, Larry Noble, Fletcher Henderson, Roy Eldridge. In his early professional years, Sahib was heard mostly on alto sax; later, more often on baritone sax and flute. Today, his name is inseparably connected with these two instruments. The unity of his jazz performances is not alone bound up with the com¬positions and the arrangements of Sahib Shihab, though in their understated simplicity they have a melodic beauty that is seldom found in jazz of today. The rhythmical subtleties add to the overall qualities of being relaxed vehicles for free-blowing, but there is an immediacy that you hear and feel every moment when listening which defies analysis. The playing of the rhythm section helps greatly to promote the sense of flux and contrasting constant renewal that makes listening to this record so invigorating an experience. Well, this is no surprise, with Kenny Clarke as the nucleus of the rhythm group. Kenny 'Klook' Clarke is a major figure and contributor in jazz, one of the founders of modern jazz, and is ranked as one of the all-time great drummers. He influenced a whole generation of musicians with his playing, though living in Paris since the middle of the fifties somewhat dimmed his name to the general American public. Nevertheless, his name alone will assure a connoisseur to expect top class musical experiences. Talking of the rhythm section we have to name Jimmy Woode's bass, which together with Kenny's drumming, is the driving force for the group and the reliable harmonic anchor for the improvisors. By the way, Jimmy has been with the Duke quite a while, and this alone is an award for extraordinary craftsmanship and artistry. The good sounding rhythm with its full-bodied color is also a result of the added bongos of Joe Harris, who manages to stay out of the way of the players—a quality not often found with drummers—but his playing is felt through the set. There are two members of the group not yet mentioned. Two Europeans, pianist-composer-arranger Francy Boland from Belgium, and trombonist Ake Persson from Sweden. Francy Boland this time is a sideman, though normally he is a leader of recording sessions, both as composer-arranger and as musical director of the band. In the fifties he was in the States writing arrangements for different name-bands, such as Basie and Goodman. In Europe, he is famous for his swinging modern big band arrangements; and his inventiveness as a writer is reflected in his piano playing. He has the talent of using the right dynamic approach every moment, thus making his playing helpful to soloists and interesting for listeners as well. Ake Persson has been Scandinavia's out-standing trombone player for about ten years. There are only a few trombonists in Europe who might match his talents at times, but they lack the consistency of his playing. He is impressive, whether playing in a big band, or whether main soloist in his own small groups. American musicians love the sound of his slide trombone and his easily flowing romantic improvisations, so he often joins American name-bands as they travel in Europe. The music speaks alone . . . , we said it before. You have your soul to feel the beauty, to follow lines and structure, and to enjoy the spiritual excitement. Whether you enjoy the flowing, easy sounding theme of "Please Don't Leave Me", or the climaxing piano solo in the same piece—the bass solo in "Waltz For Seth" or the swinging baritone sax—listen to the first bars of this solo and pay attention to Kenny. Whether you listen to "Campi's Idea", (named after Gigi Campi, the well known Cologne jazz enthusiast who organized this recording) with the romantic flute solo of Sahib, the interesting tempo changes, the piano comping, the moving trombone solo; or to the up-tempo "Herr Fixit", with the cooking Kenny and humorous, driving flute solo, you know that these six musicians where in the right mood, in the right stimulating surroundings to feel what we all feel when it's: SUMMER DAWN.

Rhetoric & Terror is Berlin-based Hemphill’s second album since leaving Liars back in 2016.

No stranger to reinventing his approach towards composition, Rhetoric & Terror feels like we are – perhaps for the first time – opening a doorway into Hemphill’s personal life, to his disparate sonic influences, his wide-ranging journeys through philosophy, and his own reflections on his role as an artist.

Like different thoughts and feelings emerging in a state of meditation, Hemphill invites you to pause on one ‘scene’ for a moment before moving onto the next. There’s space to get lost here – both emotionally and in the colour of the album’s wide-ranging textures.

With his wife Angelika Kaswalder on vocals throughout the album and multi-instrumentalist Morgan Henderson – a longtime friend of Hemphill’s since Henderson’s time in the post- hardcore band The Blood Brothers - adding woodwind, Nonpareils is no longer simply a solo project – and it’s apparent in this openness.

The name of the album – Rhetoric & Terror – describes this split that Hemphill is making from the conceptual nature of his first solo album (2018’s Scented Pictures), and the new direction that he – perhaps – hopes to continue taking. The title comes from a chapter in Giorgio Agamben’s book, “The Man Without Content”, where he describes the concepts of rhetoric and terror to describe two different types of writers: the rhetorician and the terrorist. The terrorist is a misologist who is only into the feeling; the rhetorician is committed to logic and form.

“With Rhetoric & Terror, I wanted to start with emotions and feeling. I was playing with my kids, listening to Cocteau Twins, I have a wonderful partner, and it seemed very contrary to any sort of growth to sequester myself from this life in order to get into character as a musician. Instead, I tried to remove the boundaries between my creative life and my. responsibilities and have it all be one fluid thing. All things at all times, and trust that this will guide my music rather than more intellectual concepts or limitations.”

Despite its catalysts being in philosophy and conceptual art, Hemphill has created an album that’s deeply “emotionally available”. It’s also helped him take a new stance on life that combines his life as a partner and parent in a kind of unity with his role as the artist. It’s plain to hear as a listener – Rhetoric & Terror, despite its intimidating name, is welcoming
and playful, even during its most intense moments.

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)

From the bouncy, catchy acts at Motown (like The Temptations, The Marvelettes, and Stevie Wonder), to the horn-driven, gritty soul of Stax/Volt (such as Otis Redding and Booker T. & The MG’s), there was much diversity within classic soul. This essential LP edition contains 25 of the most legendary original songs of the idiom. If you’re looking for a way to start a soul music collection on vinyl, this would be a fantastic set to begin with. Here you can find the most influential artists, from the genre’s inception in the 1950s until 1962. The track listing covers the period when R&B was giving way to soul music. It includes smashes and classic soul anthems by such celebrated figures as Sam Cooke, Ray Charles, Otis Redding, Aretha Franklin, James Brown, Ike & Tina Turner, Ben E. King, and Marvin Gaye, to name a few. The underlying virtues of the R&B/soul music exposed here are represented by a direct emotional delivery, a pride and artistic integrity, and a feeling within the music which transmits itself to the listener. You can call it soul or R&B, it can be more or less intense, lively or educational, but it has to have those ingredients to truly succeed. From the explosion and growth of American soul, and its lasting impact upon the U.S. charts since then, this defining era is still regarded as one of history’s greatest musical movements. All of this remastered material represents a formidable slice of American popular culture, allowing listeners to experience some of the finest and most emblematic tunes of the soul genre.

FOLLOWING THEIR RECENT REUNION, THE DELGADOS REISSUE THEIR FOURTH STUDIO ALBUM HATE ON COLOURED VINYL AND CD TO MARK ITS 21st ANNIVERSARY

Ushering in a new era of emotionally vulnerable and cinematic songwriting for celebrated Glasgow group The Delgados, 2002’s Hate is the group’s most ambitious recorded statement to date. Recorded amidst a backdrop of personal change and international crisis, Hate’s internal alchemy transmogrifies darkness into light. It’s an enclosed universe full of tragedy and magic, a swirling galaxy of lush orchestration, misanthropy dealt with kindness and black humour. Above all it showed a band coming to terms with their fragility with a new power and grace.

In Hate, the band’s ambition saw them striving to reflect the breadth of human experience, both the joy and tragedy of living in tumultuous times. Initially commissioned by The Barbican in London to compose music for a film about artist Joe Coleman, the instrumental music that instigated Hate was laden with darkness from the outset. The Delgados’ worldview has always been informed by nuance, an oblique but incisive lyrical perspective but on Hate a new rawness is woven throughout the songs. Coleman’s original subject matter - portraits of troubled historical figures like Ed Gein, Mary Bell and Jayne Mansfield - influenced the tonality of the music but the songs were written against a backdrop of international tumult and personal life changes for the band members. Beginning writing sessions following a family bereavement in drummer Paul Savage’s family, Hate was then recorded while both Alun Woodward and co-singer/guitarist Emma Pollock were expecting new additions to their young families, the latter with drummer Paul Savage. In the background to the recording process were the attacks on the World Trade Center of September 2001 and their aftermath. In this context, it’s remarkable that an album was made at all, let alone one so grand and compassionate. It’s a masterclass in restraint and imagination.

Hate sounds like the world in all its ugly glory. Recorded in Glasgow and New York with Tony Doogan, Dave Fridmann and the band as producers and using over 20 additional musicians, Hate grabs the baton from the group’s breakthrough critical and commercial success The Great Eastern. Bolder, broader and more all-encompassing than anything the band had previously attempted, the album’s palette is furnished by a string section, brass and reed instrumentation, a choir and electronic elements augmenting the core group of Emma Pollock, Alun Woodward, Paul Savage and Stewart Henderson. Far from being over the top, the group’s skill is in attention to detail, in honing and refining each arrangement, allowing each element its space.

It’s a fine balancing act that pays massive dividends. Woodward’s new lyrical vulnerability is spotlighted on tracks like The Drowning Years, which throws elegiac string arrangements against the narrative of characters living in darkness, punctuated by couplets that bring a real-life documentary feel to the narrative. All Rise brings a black comedy to the idea of a confessional before a transcendent, choir-led refrain brings ecstatic resolution to Woodward’s vocal in its highest register. On the single All You Need Is Hate, Woodward’s trick of subverting the Beatles standard showcases the dark humour at the centre of Hate. Here The Delgados’ perversity is in full flow, nurturing a glowing light from darkness, the resolving melody and Fridmann production recalling contemporaries The Flaming Lips (whose Michael Ivins assisted in mixing) or Mercury Rev. The perversity is the surging serotonin induced by the group while singing the lines “Hate is everywhere, inside your mother’s heart and you will find it there. You ask me what you need? Hate is all you need.”

It’s a dark magic that pervades Hate, indeed it’s almost the driving force throughout the album. Flipping minor to major and back again, Favours is fuelled by fear and violence before blasting into the heavens with the gauche line “and you’re feeling fine,” operating in stark contrast to the verses’ tone. Album opener The Light Before We Land finds Emma Pollock in the aftermath of recent family trauma. Her vocal is effortless; a study in steady restraint against the massive, Fridmann-patented drum sound powering Savage’s playing and Henderson’s instantly recognisable melodic basslines. Coming In from the Cold is Pollock in full flight, lifted to the heavens by wide-screen, instrumental texture. Her presence on Hate highlights her knack for lyrical impressionism, the timbre of her voice lending itself to drama while always retaining a mystique. Never Look At The Sun, inspired by the Coleman painting The Big Bang Theory (itself an explosives-themed study), revels in paranoia, her performance ringing out in the eye of the storm conjured by the swirling arrangements. It reaches the peak of a redemptive arc while seemingly parodying the very idea of redemption.

Hate was the sound of The Delgados completely fulfilling their potential, a fully realised vision buoyed by the weight of coming through a darkness into light. For its 21st anniversary, the album is being reissued on the band’s own Chemikal Underground on coloured vinyl and CD. Hate is all you need

Highly anticipated by his legions of fans, Andrew Rayel's album Lifeline limelights the incredible versatility - and the innate musicality - of the Moldovan DJ, producer, radio show host and label boss. Flaunting his melodic prowess across eighteen tracks, this body of work underlines Andrew Rayel's intentions to remain amongst dance music's key figures as he gives all his loyal supporters yet another reason to smile.

Lifeline contains several of his biggest hits to date, including “Silver Lining”, “Wild Feelins”, “Closer”, and “Stars Collide”. The album features guest performances by Takis, Zagata, Florentin, Sam Gray, AVIAN GRAYS, Olivia Sebastianelli, Mike Schmid, Amanda Collis, Robbie Seed, and That Girl amongst many others.

The 2LP Lifeline is available as a limited edition of 500 individually numbered copies and includes an insert.

Trumpeter, bandleader and composer Matthew Halsall announces landmark new album An Ever Changing View, an expansive, immaculately conceived project which presents Halsall’s signature blend of jazz, electronica, global and spiritual jazz influences.



An Ever Changing View will be released on September 8th on Gondwana Records (the label Halsall founded 15 years ago) ahead of a landmark show at The Royal Albert Hall in London on September 21st and UK and EU tour dates.



Halsall who has been hailed as one of the leading figures of the UK jazz renaissance has never seen himself as part of any one sound or scene: he builds his own sonic universe instead. An Ever Changing View finds him at his most experimental yet, once again expanding his sound and production techniques to create his unique brand of deeply meditative music.



During the album's creation, he was staying in both a beautiful architect’s house with breath-taking sea views and a striking modernist house, where he composed what he saw “like a landscape painting”. In these new environments, Halsall wanted to capture “the feeling of openness and escapism” and to approach making music again from scratch. “I hit the reset button and wanted to have complete musical freedom,” he says. “It was a real exploration of sound.”



It was hearing jazz on the dancefloor as a teenager that first opened up new possibilities in Halsall’s mind and his music has long drawn on his love for the spiritual jazz of Alice Coltrane and Pharoah Sanders and contemporary electronica from the likes of Warp Records and Ninja Tune. An Ever Changing View melds those forms in a way that feels heady and, at times, even otherworldly. One of the album’s starting points was Halsall’s ever-expanding box of percussion, from congas and kalimba to various clusters of seeds, bells and chimes, which he sampled and looped to use as a foundation for the songs – a first for him and his band. Elevating, charming, totally modern jazz tracks jostle with deft warm magic realism; and laid back grooves with hand percussion, deep bass and the gorgeous glisten of the Fender Rhodes meet hip-hop beats. Halsall himself sparkles, illuminating his beautiful tapestries of sound with lithe, glistening elegiac trumpet.

Trumpeter, bandleader and composer Matthew Halsall announces landmark new album An Ever Changing View, an expansive, immaculately conceived project which presents Halsall’s signature blend of jazz, electronica, global and spiritual jazz influences.

An Ever Changing View will be released on September 8th on Gondwana Records (the label Halsall founded 15 years ago) ahead of a landmark show at The Royal Albert Hall in London on September 21st and UK and EU tour dates.

Halsall who has been hailed as one of the leading figures of the UK jazz renaissance has never seen himself as part of any one sound or scene: he builds his own sonic universe instead. An Ever Changing View finds him at his most experimental yet, once again expanding his sound and production techniques to create his unique brand of deeply meditative music.

During the album's creation, he was staying in both a beautiful architect’s house with breath-taking sea views and a striking modernist house, where he composed what he saw “like a landscape painting”. In these new environments, Halsall wanted to capture “the feeling of openness and escapism” and to approach making music again from scratch. “I hit the reset button and wanted to have complete musical freedom,” he says. “It was a real exploration of sound.”

It was hearing jazz on the dancefloor as a teenager that first opened up new possibilities in Halsall’s mind and his music has long drawn on his love for the spiritual jazz of Alice Coltrane and Pharoah Sanders and contemporary electronica from the likes of Warp Records and Ninja Tune. An Ever Changing View melds those forms in a way that feels heady and, at times, even otherworldly. One of the album’s starting points was Halsall’s ever-expanding box of percussion, from congas and kalimba to various clusters of seeds, bells and chimes, which he sampled and looped to use as a foundation for the songs – a first for him and his band. Elevating, charming, totally modern jazz tracks jostle with deft warm magic realism; and laid back grooves with hand percussion, deep bass and the gorgeous glisten of the Fender Rhodes meet hip-hop beats. Halsall himself sparkles, illuminating his beautiful tapestries of sound with lithe, glistening elegiac trumpet.

On his debut 12" EP, Chicago producer and bike messenger DJ HANK captures the feeling of racing against traffic and, as he puts it, "trying to make it out alive with the chaos of the city going around you."

DJ Hank grew up in North Carolina, Eastern USA. As a teenager, he began making rap beats on pirated music software while also DJing and playing keyboards in experimental punk band Whatever Brains. In 2011, at age 18, Hank moved to Chicago to pursue a career as a bike messenger. In a city dominated by 21+ clubs and venues, Hank gravitated to the famous footwork hub Battlegroundz due to it's all-ages inclusivity and raw energy. DJ Rashad, DJ Spinn and other luminary figures of the footwork community spun weekly, while dancers spanning multiple generations and crews battled it out on the dance floor every Sunday.

Through the underground network of Chicago footwork events, Hank became a close and frequent collaborator with international footwork collective Teklife. He has released music on Teklife's record label but isn't a member of the group itself. In similar fashion, he's loosely affiliated with dance group Take Ova Gang (TOG) founded by DJ Manny. Hank maintains a fluid relationship with the footwork culture from which his sound draws. Beyond collaborating with his friends, Hank has collaborated with Chilean rapper Catana, Berlin-based DJ Paypal, and Floridian DJ Orange Julius.

On "Traffic Control," however, Hank explores a wide range of sounds, from melodic to experimental, influenced by everything from UK Garage and Grime to Ghetto House and Snap music (or Southern Hip hop production in general). Artists like Kode9, MachineDrum, and Sherelle have been supporters of Hank's music, playing his tracks throughout multiple recorded sets. In a live setting, Hank has shared the stage with such influential acts as Loefah, DJ Deeon, Sporting Life, DJ Spinn, Traxman, and pioneering footwork artist Jana Rush, who has been both a friend and mentor to Hank during his formative years in Chicago.

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

=

Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

=

Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

=

Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

=

"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

=

Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

As the sun sets on a quaint East Nashville house, a young man bares a piece of his soul. Facing the camera, sporting a silky suit jacket/shirt/slacks/fingerless gloves ensemble that announces "singer" before he's even opened his mouth, Lee Tracy Johnson settles onto his stage, the front yard. He sways to the dirge-like drum machine pulse of a synth-soaked slow jam, extends his arms as if gaining his balance, and croons in affecting, fragile earnest, "I need your love… oh baby…"

Dogs in the yard next door begin barking. A mysterious cardboard robot figure, beamed in from galaxies unknown and affixed to a tree, is less vocal. Lee doesn't acknowledge either's presence. He's busy feeling it, arms and hands gesticulating. His voice rises in falsetto over the now-quiet dogs, over the ambient noise from the street that seeps into the handheld camcorder's microphone, over the recording of his own voice played back from a boombox off-camera. After six minutes the single, continuous shot ends. In this intimate creative universe there are no re-takes. There are many more music videos to shoot, and as Lee later puts it, "The first time you do it is actually the best. Because you can never get that again. You expressing yourself from within."

"I Need Your Love" dates from a lost heyday. From some time in the '80s or early '90s, when Lee Tracy (as he was known in performance) and his music partner/producer/manager Isaac Manning committed hours upon hours of their sonic and visual ideas to tape. Embracing drum machines and synthesizers – electronics that made their personal futurism palpable – they recorded exclusively at home, live in a room into a simple cassette deck. Soul, funk, electro and new wave informed their songs, yet Lee and Isaac eschewed the confinement of conventional categories and genres, preferring to let experimentation guide them.

"Anytime somebody put out a new record they had the same instruments or the same sound," explains Isaac. "So I basically wanted to find something that's really gonna stand out away from all of the rest of 'em." Their ethos meant that every idea they came up with was at least worth trying: echoed out half-rapped exhortations over frantic techno-style beats, gospel synth soul, modal electro-funk, oddball pop reinterpretations, emo AOR balladry, nods to Prince and the Fat Boys, or arrangements that might collapse mid-song into a mess of arcade game-ish blips before rallying to reach the finish line. All of it conjoined by consistent tape hiss, and most vitally, Lee's chameleonic voice, which managed to wildly shape shift and still evoke something sincere – whether toggling between falsetto and tenor exalting Jesus's return, or punctuating a melismatic romantic adlib with a succinct, "We all know how it feels to be alone."

"People think we went to a studio," says Isaac derisively. "We never went to no studio. We didn't have the money to go to no studio! We did this stuff at home. I shot videos in my front yard with whatever we could to get things together." Sometimes Isaac would just put on an instrumental record, be it "Planet Rock" or "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (from Evita), press "record," and let Lee improvise over it, yielding peculiar love songs, would-be patriotic anthems, or Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe tributes. Technical limitations and a lack of professional polish never dissuaded them. They believed they were onto something.

"That struggle," Isaac says, "made that sound sound good to me."

In the parlance of modern music criticism Lee and Isaac's dizzying DIY efforts would inevitably be described as "outsider." But "outsider" carries the burden of untold additional layers of meaning if you're Black and from the South, creating on a budget, and trying to get someone, anyone within the country music capital of the world to take your vision seriously. "What category should we put it in?" Isaac asks rhetorically. "I don't know. All I know is feeling. I ain't gonna name it nothing. It's music. If it grabs your soul and touch your heart that's what it basically is supposed to do."

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Born in 1963, the baby boy of nine siblings, Lee Tracy spent his earliest years living amidst the shotgun houses on Nashville's south side. "We was poor, man!" he says, recalling the outhouse his family used for a bathroom and the blocks of ice they kept in the kitchen to chill perishables. "But I actually don't think I really realized I was in poverty until I got grown and started thinking about it." Lee's mom worked at the Holiday Inn; his dad did whatever he had to do, from selling fruit from a horse drawn cart to bootlegging. "We didn't have much," Lee continues, "but my mother and my father got us the things we needed, the clothes on our back." By the end of the decade with the city's urban renewal programs razing entire neighborhoods to accommodate construction of the Interstate, the family moved to Edgehill Projects. Lee remembers music and art as a constant source of inspiration for he and his brothers and sisters – especially after seeing the Jackson 5 perform on Ed Sullivan. "As a small child I just knew that was what I wanted to do."

His older brother Don began musically mentoring him, introducing Lee to a variety of instruments and sounds. "He would never play one particular type of music, like R&B," says Lee. "I was surrounded by jazz, hard rock and roll, easy listening, gospel, reggae, country music; I mean I was a sponge absorbing all of that." Lee taught himself to play drums by beating on cardboard boxes, gaining a rep around the way for his timekeeping, and his singing voice. Emulating his favorites, Earth Wind & Fire and Cameo, he formed groups with other kids with era-evocative band names like Concept and TNT Connection, and emerged as the leader of disciplined rehearsals. "I made them practice," says Lee. "We practiced and practiced and practiced. Because I wanted that perfection." By high school the most accomplished of these bands would take top prize in a prominent local talent show. It was a big moment for Lee, and he felt ready to take things to the next level. But his band-mates had other ideas.

"I don't know what happened," he says, still miffed at the memory. "It must have blew they mind after we won and people started showing notice, because it's like everybody quit! I was like, where the hell did everybody go?" Lee had always made a point of interrogating prospective musicians about their intentions before joining his groups: were they really serious or just looking for a way to pick up girls? Now he understood even more the importance of finding a collaborator just as committed to the music as he was.

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Isaac Manning had spent much of his life immersed in music and the arts – singing in the church choir with his family on Nashville's north side, writing, painting, dancing, and working various gigs within the entertainment industry. After serving in the armed forces, in the early '70s he ran The Teenage Place, a music and performance venue that catered to the local youth. But he was forced out of town when word of one of his recreational routines created a stir beyond the safe haven of his bohemian circles.

"I was growing marijuana," Isaac explains. "It wasn't no business, I was smoking it myself… I would put marijuana in scrambled eggs, cornbread and stuff." His weed use originated as a form of self-medication to combat severe tooth pain. But when he began sharing it with some of the other young people he hung out with, some of who just so happened to be the kids of Nashville politicians, the cops came calling. "When I got busted," he remembers, "they were talking about how they were gonna get rid of me because they didn't want me saying nothing about they children because of the politics and stuff. So I got my family, took two raggedy cars, and left Nashville and went to Vegas."

Out in the desert, Isaac happened to meet Chubby Checker of "The Twist" fame while the singer was gigging at The Flamingo. Impressed by Isaac's zeal, Checker invited him to go on the road with him as his tour manager/roadie/valet. The experience gave Isaac a window into a part of the entertainment world he'd never encountered – a glimpse of what a true pop act's audience looked like. "Chubby Checker, none of his shows were played for Black folks," he remembers. "All his gigs were done at high-class white people areas." Returning home after a few years with Chubby, Isaac was properly motivated to make it in Music City. He began writing songs and scouting around Nashville for local talent anywhere he could find it with an expressed goal: "Find someone who can deliver your songs the way you want 'em delivered and make people feel what you want them to feel."

One day while walking through Edgehill Projects Isaac heard someone playing the drums in a way that made him stop and take notice. "The music was so tight, just the drums made me feel like, oh I'm-a find this person," he recalls. "So I circled through the projects until I found who it was.

"That's how I met him – Lee Tracy. When I found him and he started singing and stuff, I said, ohhh, this is somebody different."

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Theirs was a true complementary partnership: young Lee possessed the raw talent, the older Isaac the belief. "He's really the only one besides my brother and my family that really seen the potential in me," says Lee. "He made me see that I could do it."

Isaac long being a night owl, his house also made for a fertile collaborative environment – a space where there always seemed to be a new piece of his visual art on display: paintings, illustrations, and dolls and figures (including an enigmatic cardboard robot). Lee and Issac would hang out together and talk, listen to music, conjure ideas, and smoke the herb Isaac had resumed growing in his yard. "It got to where I could trust him, he could trust me," Isaac says of their bond. They also worked together for hours on drawings, spreading larges rolls of paper on the walls and sketching faces with abstract patterns and imagery: alien-like beings, tri-horned horse heads, inverted Janus-like characters where one visage blurred into the other.

Soon it became apparent that they didn't need other collaborators; self-sufficiency was the natural way forward. At Isaac's behest Lee, already fed up with dealing with band musicians, began playing around with a poly-sonic Yamaha keyboard at the local music store. "It had everything on it – trumpet, bass, drums, organ," remembers Lee. "And that's when I started recording my own stuff."

The technology afforded Lee the flexibility and independence he craved, setting him on a path other bedroom musicians and producers around the world were simultaneously following through the '80s into the early '90s. Saving up money from day jobs, he eventually supplemented the Yamaha Isaac had gotten him with Roland and Casio drum machines and a Moog. Lee was living in an apartment in Hillside at that point caring for his dad, who'd been partially paralyzed since early in life. In the evenings up in his second floor room, the music put him in a zone where he could tune out everything and lose himself in his ideas.

"Oh I loved it," he recalls. "I would really experiment with the instruments and use a lot of different sound effects. I was looking for something nobody else had. I wanted something totally different. And once I found the sound I was looking for, I would just smoke me a good joint and just let it go, hit the record button." More potent a creative stimulant than even Isaac's weed was the holistic flow and spontaneity of recording. Between sessions at Isaac's place and Lee's apartment, their volume of output quickly ballooned.

"We was always recording," says Lee. "That's why we have so much music. Even when I went to Isaac's and we start creating, I get home, my mind is racing, I gotta start creating, creating, creating. I remember there were times when I took a 90-minute tape from front to back and just filled it up."

"We never practiced," says Isaac. "See, that was just so odd about the whole thing. I could relate to him, and tell him about the songs I had ideas for and everything and stuff. And then he would bring it back or whatever, and we'd get together and put it down." Once the taskmaster hell bent on rehearsing, Lee had flipped a full 180. Perfection was no longer an aspiration, but the enemy of inspiration.

"I seen where practicing and practicing got me," says Lee. "A lot of musicians you get to playing and they gotta stop, they have to analyze the music. But while you analyzing you losing a lot of the greatness of what you creating. Stop analyzing what you play, just play! And it'll all take shape."

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"I hope you understood the beginning of the record because this was invented from a dream I had today… (You tell me, I'll tell you, we'll figure it out together)" – Lee Tracy and Isaac Manning, "Hope You Understand"

Lee lets loose a maniacal cackle when he acknowledges that the material that he and Isaac recorded was by anyone's estimation pretty out there. It's the same laugh that commences "Hope You Understand" – a chaotic transmission that encapsulates the duality at the heart of their music: a stated desire to reach people and a compulsion to go as leftfield as they saw fit.

"We just did it," says Lee. "We cut the music on and cut loose. I don't sit around and write. I do it by listening, get a feeling, play the music, and the lyrics and stuff just come out of me."

The approach proved adaptable to interpreting other artists' material. While recording a cover of Whitney Houston's pop ballad "Saving All My Love For You," Lee played Whitney's version in his headphones as he laid down his own vocals – partially following the lyrics, partially using them as a departure point. The end result is barely recognizable compared with the original, Lee and Isaac having switched up the time signature and reinvented the melody along the way towards morphing a slick mainstream radio standard into something that sounds solely their own.

"I really used that song to get me started," says Lee. "Then I said, well I need something else, something is missing. Something just came over me. That's when I came up with 'Is It What You Want.'"

The song would become the centerpiece of Lee and Isaac's repertoire. Pushed along by a percolating metronomic Rhythm King style beat somewhere between a military march and a samba, "Is It What You Want" finds Lee pleading the sincerity of his commitment to a potential love interest embellished by vocal tics and hiccups subtlely reminiscent of his childhood hero MJ. Absent chord changes, only synth riffs gliding in and out like apparitions, the song achieves a lingering lo-fi power that leaves you feeling like it's still playing, somewhere, even after the fade out.

"I don't know, it's like a real spiritual song," Lee reflects. "But it's not just spiritual. To me the more I listen to it it's like about everything that you do in your everyday life, period. Is it what you want? Do you want a car or you don't want a car? Do you want Jesus or do you want the Devil? It's basically asking you the question. Can't nobody answer the question but you yourself."

In 1989 Lee won a lawsuit stemming from injuries sustained from a fight he'd gotten into. He took part of the settlement money and with Isaac pressed up "Saving All My Love For You" b/w "Is It What You Want" as a 45 single. Isaac christened the label One Chance Records. "Because that's all we wanted," he says with a laugh, "one chance."

Isaac sent the record out to radio stations and major labels, hoping for it to make enough noise to get picked up nationally. But the response he and Lee were hoping for never materialized. According to Isaac the closest the single got to getting played on the radio is when a disk jock from a local station made a highly unusual announcement on air: "The dude said on the radio, 107.5 – 'We are not gonna play 'Is It What You Want.' We cracked up! Wow, that's deep.

"It was a whole racist thing that was going on," he reflects. "So we just looked over and kept on going. That was it. That was about the way it goes… If you were Black and you were living in Nashville and stuff, that's the way you got treated." Isaac already knew as much from all the times he'd brought he and Lee's tapes (even their cache of country music tunes) over to Music Row to try to drum up interest to no avail.

"Isaac, he really worked his ass off," says Lee. "He probably been to every record place down on Music Row." Nashville's famed recording and music business corridor wasn't but a few blocks from where Lee grew up. Close enough, he remembers, for him to ride his bike along its back alleys and stumble upon the occasional random treasure, like a discarded box of harmonicas. Getting in through the front door, however, still felt a world away.

"I just don't think at the time our music fell into a category for them," he concedes. "It was before its time."

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Lee stopped making music some time in the latter part of the '90s, around the time his mom passed away and life became increasingly tough to manage. "When my mother died I had a nervous breakdown," he says, "So I shut down for a long time. I was in such a sadness frame of mind. That's why nobody seen me. I had just disappeared off the map." He fell out of touch with Isaac, and in an indication of just how bad things had gotten for him, lost track of all the recordings they'd made together. Music became a distant memory.

Fortunately, Isaac kept the faith. In a self-published collection of his poetry – paeans to some of his favorite entertainment and public figures entitled Friends and Dick Clark – he'd written that he believed "music has a life of its own." But his prescience and presence of mind were truly manifested in the fact that he kept an archive of he and Lee's work. As perfectly imperfect as "Is It What You Want" now sounds in a post-Personal Space world, Lee and Isaac's lone official release was in fact just a taste. The bulk of the Is It What You Want album is culled from the pair's essentially unheard home recordings – complete songs, half-realized experiments, Isaac's blue monologues and pronouncements et al – compiled, mixed and programmed in the loose and impulsive creative spirit of their regular get-togethers from decades ago. The rest of us, it seems, may have finally caught up to them.

On the prospect of at long last reaching a wider audience, Isaac says simply, "I been trying for a long time, it feels good." Ever the survivor, he adds, "The only way I know how to make it to the top is to keep climbing. If one leg break on the ladder, hey, you gotta fix it and keep on going… That's where I be at. I'll kill death to make it out there."

For Lee it all feels akin to a personal resurrection: "It's like I was in a tomb and the tomb was opened and I'm back… Man, it feels so great. I feel like I'm gonna jump out of my skin." Success at this stage of his life, he realizes, probably means something different than what it did back when he was singing and dancing in Isaac's front yard. "What I really mean by 'making it,'" he explains isn't just the music being heard but, "the story being told."

Occasionally Lee will pull up "Is It What You Want" on YouTube on his phone, put on his headphones, and listen. He remembers the first time he heard his recorded voice. How surreal it was, how he thought to himself, "Is that really me?" What would he say to that younger version of himself now?

"I would probably tell myself, hang in there, don't give up. Keep striving for the goal. And everything will work out."

Despite what's printed on the record label, sometimes you do get more than one chance.

Uruguayan music that sheds light on a new path, guarded by candombe & hip hop. An hypnotic, contemporary and ancestral record. To listen from beggining to end, in a trance. Include contributions of Hugo Fattoruso y Ruben Rada. Txt: Martín Buscaglia . DESCRIPTION Sankofa is the debut album by Avr (Alvaro Silva), a work that takes form through the research and fusion of Candombe and other Afro rhythms from Río de la Plata region with Hip Hop and Black American Music. Avr, the great-grandson of Juan Julio Arrascaeta (one of the first afrodescendant poets to be published in Latin America) writes throughout the album, using several "africanisms" and lost words that date back from colonial and slavery times, giving the lyrics a connection with his great-grandfather's work, introducing himself as a skilfull MC who travels through past, present and future while using several Candombe rhythms in his flow. Highlighting several personalities from the Afrouruguayan culture and from across the American continent, it also presents itself as a valuable work for those interested in researching cultural figures of Black America, especially, Uruguayan. Under the production of Felipe Fuentes, an album knitted with tons of messages, some direct, some to be discovered, came to life. Sankofa means "to look back, to go forward" which is exactly from the beggining what this musical journey is, from a very heavy and dense, ancestral, drum presence, to complex harmonic compositions and arrangments, a work that counts with important contributions of some of the main afrouruguayan artists. A musical "Guiso" (South American stew) Sankofa is the vision of the world of a young black male, his way of feeling and interpreting the past, present and future; and how to transform it in order to generate something new.

“I’m closing a chapter in my life,” Barbie Bertisch says to me from a park bench in Greenpoint, “I spent the last four years working towards gaining confidence around my ideas and my creative perspective. This feels like a culmination of that process” The “this,” in question is Bertisch’s debut record Prelude, a collection of eleven songs that chronicle 5 years of Bertisch’s life. The legendary musician Anna Domino describes the record best: “Prelude is a record of layers and depths. The melting phases and soaring distances.”


Raised in Buenos Aires and Miami, Bertisch has called New York home for most of her adult life. When she started piecing together Prelude, she was in her Brooklyn kitchen. It was early quarantine. Stuck at home instead of DJing at clubs, she found the space to parse through the archives. What she previously considered unworthy of attention in the era of distractions, finally made sense as a whole once all the noise was turned down. Compiling a list of songs in various states of completion, Bertisch dreamed up an album, a chronicle in growth and healing frustrations of the past, an honest account of someone trying to find her own voice. That in and of itself was a journey. It took years for Bertisch to accept that she was an artist. “I felt like I was surrounded by men who ruled every space. I constantly felt like I had to ask permission to enter, always around bands but never the girl in the band” she says.


Prelude is an introspective record. It explores all of the valences of being and feeling. Some songs are chaotic and choppy. Others are soft and searching. There is rage and innocence, and moments of forced stillness, like capturing the aftermath of panic attacks, as in “After The Storm”. Bertisch also focuses on rhythm, bass guitar being her main instrument, and no stranger to the power of the beat. The record also draws on influences as varied as Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith, Cocteau Twins, Berlin School, and pioneering producer François Kevorkian. Both sonically and conceptually, Prelude is a portrait of who Bertisch is as a person.“Is This What You Wanted?” is fiery, a pointed provocation to domineering figures from her past. It’s full of strobing, strident synths, and heady lines of bass. It gives off the same vibe as a fire alarm, as a big room dance track that subverts your expectations of what it means to dance in a sea of bodies. “28,” the record’s opening track is more peaceful. It’s all languid keyboard arpeggios with the occasional flourish of a cascading synth effect.


Since most of the songs already existed in some form or another, Bertisch’s job on Prelude was to refine and reimagine music that had previously been private. She spent time rearranging, rewriting, adding elements newly available to her, such as the saxophone, and pushing the limits of the rough mixes to mold the universe she envisioned. Along the way, Bertisch grew more excited about her abilities as a musician. The resulting record is one that is inherently confident.


Prelude is also a homespun release. It’s coming out on Bertisch’s own label, Love Injection Records, which she runs with her partner Paul Raffaele. The two also DJ and make zines under the name, which started in 2015. Love Injection is a love letter to New York. Prelude is a word of encouragement to those struggling with self-actualization. The record was mixed by Justin Van Der Volgen and mastered by Walter Coelho. Love Injection Records holds the remix tradition in high regard, and they’ve enlisted reworks by some of Barbie’s favorite producers. It’s all a labor of love for Bertisch. Prelude is her: Barbie the musician.
©℗ Love Injection Records 2022

Camisole is proud to unveil another part of the french cold wave history with the reissue of "Paroles Absurdes" LP by White Pain.

Hailing from Lyon the band began as a duo with Patrick Saveau and Patrick Gravier in 1984.Active figures in the underground scene of their city, they played some gigs and even had their own show on the local radio station.They developed a small following around them and recruited other members to record this album in 1986.

"Paroles Absurdes" is driven by the feeling that you can't escape your fate. Saying Words that you sometimes regret but you feel to be true.This testimony infuses this whole album.However, positive assumptions flow from time to time and left their more pop appeal roll into some songs.

This reissue also includes the first two tracks of the group only released on tape in 1985.As a duo, White Pain was a synth and drum machine band inspired by early 80's german pioneers like DAF or Din a Testbild.They used to have a raw, powerful, and dark sound quite unique in France at this time."Vienna" is probably the best way to resume their first intention.

Saib is back for 2022 with a brand new 13-track opus entitled 'Under The Stars'. The album mixes solo tracks and collaborations with Tom Doolie, Bluestaeb, Flofilz, Cap Kendricks and Leaf Beach, solid figures of the beat-making and 'lofi hip-hop' scene.

Authentic and delicate, Saib develops pure and powerful sounds, mixing nostalgic and melancholic melodies with varied hip hop beats.

Saib depicts his intention and feelings on the album - “With "Under The Stars", i stay committed to diversifying my musical palette and inspiration sources. The release is a musical journey that will accompany the listener throughout the day, ranging from early morning relaxed grooves, lush melodies to jazzy four on the floor beats you'd hear in a lounge.”

Ferocious JP / US free jazz bomb. A rare meeting between the NYC free jazz scene and the Japanese free music scene. Old-style Gatefold LP, with rare photographs & liner notes by Alan Cummings.

Following hot on the heels of the first, mid-sixties generation of Japanese free jazz players like Kaoru Abe, Masayuki Takayanagi, Yōsuke Yamashita, Motoharu Yoshizawa, etc., an exciting second wave of younger players began to emerge in the seventies. Two of its leading members were the saxophonist Kazutoki Umezu and multi-instrumentalist Yoriyuki Harada. Both were post-war babies and immigrants to the city, Umezu from Sendai in the north and Harada from Shimane in the west. They first met as students in the clarinet department at the Kunitachi College of Music, a well-known conservatory in western Tokyo. Harada was already securing sideman gigs on bass with professional jazz groups and was active in student politics, making good use of his connections to set up jazz concerts on campus. It was around this time that the two began to play together in an improvised duo, with Umezu on clarinet and bass clarinet and Harada on piano. They also experimented with graphic scores and prepared piano.

These experiments eventually led to the creation of a trio, with a high-school student called Tetsuya Morimura on drums, that they decided to name Seikatsu Kōjyō Iinkai (Lifestyle Improvement Committee) in joking reference to the Marxist discourse of the student radicals of the time. Around 1973, Umezu and Harada decided to call it a day and go their separate ways. Umezu began playing with the Toshinori Kondo Unit and Harada with the Tadashi Yoshida Quintet. In 1974 Harada formed his own trio and began to play at jazz coffeehouses across Japan.

Then, in September 1974 Umezu travelled alone to New York, where he set about building connections with the loft jazz scene in the city. It was a fortuitous moment to arrive in New York. Rents were cheap in the Lower East Side, possibilities for squatting existed, so many musicians and artists had moved to the area. Umezu soon became known on the scene as Kappo and he started to make connections with some of the young musicians like David Murray, Arthur Blythe, and Oliver Lake. He recalls making the rounds of the lofts every evening, checking out the performances, and getting the chance to sit in with many groups including Juma Sultan’s Aboriginal Music Society and trumpeter Ted Daniel’s orchestra.

Things were going so well that Umezu wrote to Harada and invited him to come to New York. He accepted and arrived in the city in July 1975. Harada and Umezu took the opportunity to resume their artistic collaboration. Their first concert together in over two years took place on July 20th at another loft, Sunrise Studios at 122 2nd Avenue. Umezu remembers Sunrise as an unusually sunny loft with the rarest of things, a grand piano. He invited along Ahmed Abdullah, a trumpeter he had got to know while playing with Ted Daniel. Abdullah led his own group and was a long-term Sun Ra sideman. William Parker, one of the key figures in the loft jazz scene of the period, was on bass. Abdullah also brought along Rashid Sinan on drums. Sinan drummed in Abdullah’s units throughout the seventies, but he had also played on Frank Lowe’s immortal Black Beings album and collaborated with Arthur Doyle, playing on Doyle’s Alabama Feeling album. By all accounts the evening was a huge success, with speed and dynamism of Harada’s piano playing gaining him lots of support.

Since they had managed to save some money from their day jobs, Umezu and Harada decided to set up a recording session with the same line-up on August 11 at Studio We, where there was a well-equipped studio on the third floor. Umezu recalls the session as follows, Of course, we recorded our performances in one take, with zero retakes as far as I remember. On all the tracks we recorded, we moved as one unit, sharp and fast. That was the nature of Lifestyle Improvement Committee, New York Branch.

Umezu and Harada would later become known for the elements of parody and entertainment that they brought to their music, a freewheeling blend of pastiche, humour and on-stage performativity that paralleled the approaches of the Art Ensemble, Sun Ra, and Holland’s ICP. But here, on their first recordings, the humour element is not yet present. Instead, there is a febrile sense of joy in creation and connection. On the Umezu-penned “Kim”, for example, Harada opens the piece with a speedy exploration of the full-range of the keyboard, hitting hard on the bass keys to create a rhythmic bed out of which patterns begin to emerge. Umezu enters at a much slower pace, longer held notes that at first float weightlessly over the urgency of the piano before they begin in splinter and accelerate. When Parker and Sinan kick in, it’s a rollicking tempo with Parker plucking deep and hard and the left-handed Sinan skittering hard across the topside of his kit. Abdullah kicks in a glorious solo twelve minutes in, bright and breathy at once. The piece slows and grows more spacious towards the end, giving Parker a chance to showcase some arco work that shades beautifully into the air against Abdullah’s trumpet.

2LP with a 4-page colour insert

As Guadeloupean vocalist and composer Marie-Line Dahomay writes in her liner notes to the compilation, gwoka is more than a style of music, it is “a way of living and thinking.” Rooted in the social, musical and ritual practices of enslaved African people and their descendants on Guadeloupe, gwoka has always sought to express the spirit of independence and resistance authentic to the island.Building on its traditional call-and-response form and the ideas of pivotal figures like Gérard Lockel and Christian Laviso, modern gwoka evolved throughout the second half of the twentieth century to include funk, jazz and electronic influences.

Defined by its propensity for innovation and experimentation, this compilation charts the most radical changes to modern gwoka, capturing a sensory riot of traditional répertoires, rhythms and makè techniques fused with genre-defying experimentation.Whether heard in the deeply cosmic, spiritual music of Dao, Freydy Doressamy and Gaoulé Mizik, or the jazz funk inflections of Gui Konket and Horizon, the music here is united by the feeling of santiman ka, crucial not only to gwoka music but the identity of Guadeloupe at large.

As co-curator Cédric Lassonde (Bueaty & The Beats) writes: “What unifies these selections is the depth of the compositions, the experimentation around the santiman ka, and the spirit of resistance and liberation against slavery, be it modern or ancestral. With a thirst for innovation typical of the island’s creole culture, the ka spirit is deeply rooted in collective history and in a quest for identity.”

Co-curator Brandon Hocura (Séance Centre) continues: “The creative energy of these musicians is powerful and demonstrates a universal pursuit of resistance, freedom and identity. Their voices are distinct, but the chorus rises high and carries their message far across the sea.”

Lèsprit Ka: New Directions in Gwoka Music from Guadeloupe 1981-2010 is the first compilation of its kind to bring the sound of modern gwoka to a wider audience, with many of the featured musicians still active today. Presented as a double LP, the release features a specially commissioned essay by Guadeloupean musician Marie-Line Dahomey, and extensive liner notes from Cédric Lassonde and Séance Centre’s Brandon Hocura.

True to the hybrid nature of the music, the compilation seeks not to provide a definitive sound, but express the variety of contemporary forms that have evolved from gwoka. Just as Guadeloupean trailblazers Kassav fused gwoka with funk and cadence to create zouk, so did the musicians on this collection push gwoka in new directions rarely heard beyond its shores.

In the words of Gérard Lockel, “gwoka is the soul of Guadeloupe”

Oh Yeah" - Charles Mingus (p, voc); Booker Ervin (ts); Roland Kirk (fl, ts, siren, manzello, stritch); Jimmy Knepper (tb); Doug Watkins (b); Dannie Richmond.

Commenting on this album in 1962, Billboard magazine wrote: »He seems to be everywhere, everywhere that is but on his usual instrument«. Charles Mingus, one of the most impressive musicians in the history of jazz, doesn’t play a single note on the bass for a change, but leads the band from his (blues-)piano – the instrument that he always used for composing. He hits the keys, he sings the blues, he shouts and he encourages – apparently Mingus really found the need to express himself loudly in this album. (Doug Watkins stood in for him on the contrabass.) "Oh Yeah" is definitely Mingus’s most powerful and passionate album. He calls on two hot, intensive saxophonists – Roland Kirk and Booker Ervin – as well as Jimmy Knepper on the trombone. Kirk is the main soloist, but all three wind-players deliver expressive improvisations, carrying out a non-stop dialogue with one another, and pushing one other to achieve maximum energy. The music is wild and ecstatic, but it’s not free jazz, remaining – as it does – grounded in blues and gospel. "Hog Callin’ Blues" is an enthralling shuffle with a wealth of riffs, "Devil Woman" a clever slow blues with inventive wind figures. "Ecclusiastics", with its constant change of rhythm and expression alternating between gospel and blues has the most complex form. Blues has always been a part of a black church service, said Mingus. "Eat That Chicken" (a homage to Fats Waller and his favourite food) even plays around with an old-time, Dixie feeling. Humour is never far away. Even in the atomic bomb song (this too, a sort of churchy blues) one hears the words: »Don’t let ’em drop it! Stop it! Be-bop it!«

Interiors, the title of this new release from Ultramarine, may have a topical resonance for many listeners who have found themselves in involuntary confinement during the past year, but the five tracks on this EP were actually recorded in 2011, and they represent a significant opening out of the duo's evolving musical perspective.

Ian Cooper and Paul Hammond, who had become friends while growing up together in the Essex countryside, formed Ultramarine in 1989. Throughout the 90s their distinctive music, an enticing blending of acoustic with electronic instruments, secured a loyal following and won critical acclaim. Then, throughout the whole of the next decade, Ultramarine lay dormant. Interiors documents their reawakening, with Cooper and Hammond exploring approaches to music-making made possible by recently developed software, designed specifically with live performance in mind.

Four of the five tracks to be heard here were issued digitally last year. But as Paul Hammond has pointed out, "with Ultramarine the whole point is to create an artefact, so the form and the look of the finished product is central." That's an outlook shared passionately by Simon Lewin's label Blackford Hill, and the music now available on this vinyl record is appropriately enhanced with cover art by printmaker Katherine Jones. Her imagery matches the music neatly in its nuanced interplay of solidity and shadow, line and colour, geometric form and organic growth.

Ultramarine returned refreshed in October 2011, bursting back into public awareness with "Find A Way," issued as a 7" single on their own label, Real Soon. Clive Bell, writing in The Wire, extolled its engaging mix of electronic beats with cool vocals and tropical percussion. More generally Bell embraced Ultramarine's thoughtful hybrid electronica as "music you could enjoy at home without feeling your intelligence was being scorned, or that if you were not physically in a club, you were wasting your time."

On Interiors, the roots of that slinky single are laid bare on the purely instrumental track "Find A Way Back." Its two distinct parts stretch out the beats and flaunt those tropical flourishes, shuffling and flexing, vibrant and heady, languid and sultry. This is techno filtered through the fabric of magic realism, an exotically spiced concoction, chilled and ready to be savoured at home.

With the diagrammatic clarity of its punchy thrust and spooling loops "Even When" distils the essence of Cooper and Hammond's way of working with their musical material: layering and shaping, nurturing textures, plaiting rhythms and juggling accents. The cumulative impact is almost sculptural in its physical immediacy and looming presence. In contrast, on "By Return" the duo skew the outcome, projecting a selection of limber figures into dub's auditory hall of mirrors. They are clearly revelling in the reverb, relishing the recoil and decay.

Interiors ultimately opens out onto "Decoy Point (Version)." With its ozone saturated ambience, this closing track evokes marshland and mudflat soundscapes, seabird mews, maritime signals and tidal wash. Cooper and Hammond feel deep attachment to the Essex landscape and, in particular, to the local history and physical features of the Blackwater estuary. Blackford Hill provides an accommodating home for Ultramarine's ongoing project Blackwaterside, which has featured to date a 7" vinyl record plus 28-page booklet, and a photo film with soundtrack. Now, delving into the Ultramarine archive, this welcome incarnation of Interiors offers a fascinating glimpse of the duo finding their bearings, at a vital stage along the way.

Does returning to a place have a sound? Can the ear have a memory? And what if places which we return to are just empty shells? Choreographed rooms which we need to play, fill from scratch each time with fragments from the past and present, layer upon layer, familiar and still somehow always new and differently assembled. Paula Schopf’s Espacios en Soledad are acoustic walks around present day Santiago de Chile, the city where she was born - which she always left, had to leave and to which she always returns - but more than anything also through her own memories which resonate throughout the public places, squares, streets though still in their own way remain strange.

„Every immigrant in the world has a piece like this - a kind of missing link, something which is incomplete. And every time one returns to the home country you are looking for it. For me it was a matter of sound.“ (Paula 2019).

In the mid 70s leaving Santiago was a flight of exile as a child with her family. Leaving in 1990 was an autonomous decision to head for Europe, Berlin, where the wall fell, where the heavens opened up all at once and electronic music became a kind of new home to so many. Paula Schopf belonged there. For her the Ocean Club at Tresor club was a central place where friends and mentors like Gudrun Gut and Thomas Fehlmann made it possible for her to get really into it. Dancing, being and feeling your body, forgetting oneself in the bass and beats, who one is and where one’s from, to becoming the DJ Chica Paula. Chile was very far away during this time, Latin America was more just a code, a musical and habitual cliche to be cautious of. This was especially true for the culture of the Chilean exile, the pathos of the “Canto Nuevo”, the sound and ideologically charged instruments of the „música andina“, for example the Zampoña, Quena or Charango. Techno was the greatest thinkable alternative to this even if or perhaps because so many kids exiled from Chile became key figures in the German and European scene: Ricardo Villalobos, Dandy Jack, Cristian Vogel, Matias Aguayo and many more.

How does returning to a place sound? Does the ear have its own memory? The field recordings which were recorded in Santiago de Chile in 2016 and form the central sonic material for Espacios en Soledad represent the paradox for Schopf’s return to her home country after emigrating: the inevitable drifting apart of her own lived time from that of her former home. Already the Venezuelan and Colombian hawkers are unmistakable signs of the deep change in Chilean society which has happened in recent years due to immigration. Which is in contrast to the old lady who sits on the floor in a pedestrian zone and without break sings the same three songs by Violeta Parra and then keeps falling asleep while doing so. The fragile presence of her voice is joined with a repertoire which is almost mythologically timeless in Chile in a particularly moving way.

By layering, ordering and conjoining such found sounds from modern day Santiago this piece become about the urban sound of Chile’s present. But more than anything by doing this Paula Schopf becomes an arranger of her own sonic memory or sound-triggered memories of returning to this city. Just as techno and Berlin helped her for such a long time to get away from too strong of an identification as a Chilean in exil, now with Espacios en Soledad she has found a way to bring these two seemingly disparate lives and remembered worlds together.

Matthias Pasdzierny

Bill MacKay and Nathan Bowles’ debut is well titled: keys are what they play
and keys unlock things too. Their trad bonafides are balanced with
inquisitive playing that adds surprise as a formal songwriting and arranging
tool. Spirited 21st Century folk music made of equal parts bluegrass,
classical, country, gospel and improv.
‘Keys’ is, on first blush, a collection of guitar and banjo duets - but from the
opening moment, it is clear that Bill and Nathan’s agreed-upon duo is a
living organism, growing as it goes. Behind the stately figures of ‘Idumea’, a
19th Century southern hymnal played out on their stringed instruments, a
low organ drone hums persistently, signalling that this music, while coming
from traditional places, is asking more of itself, seeking sparks of inspiration
to light the path forward.
Bill and Nathan met a few years back, if time has any meaning. It didn’t
seem to at the time - after the first night they hung out, it seemed as if
they’d known each other for a while already. A year later, in 2018, they
were booked as a duo at Cropped Out. Preparing for the show involved a
correspondence exchanging lots of provisional ideas, thoughts and music
back and forth from Chicago to Durham NC, then dashing through the ideas
again on the festival grounds an hour before the show. From this seemingly
hectic preparation, their playing that night was remarkably serene, a
spiritual treatise clothed in the casual and natural manner of the proverbial
porch, or in this case, riverside-jam, as the stage literally straddled the edge
of the Ohio River. It was a stellar, simpatico first moment that asked for
more moments like it.
After several more sets the following year, they felt ready to roll tape (as the
saying goes) and chose to do so in Chicago, with Nick Broste at The Shape
Shoppe. Again, an easy rapport prevailed, allowing them to work through
their collected ideas quickly and freely, with the moments of spontaneous
decision that can come only with comfort and trust in each other’s presence.
Throughout ‘Keys’, Bill and Nathan propel their power-folk engine with intent
and feeling, joy and solemnity, as images of wariness, wonder, anger,
deliberation, forgiveness, trust and devotion rise up from the music and roll
it forward into the unknown, a place we can sense both players are happy
to go.
Eight of the ten songs featured are originals, with the other two coming
from different centuries to this one. The diversity of song is matched by the
instrumentation: in addition to Bill’s guitar and Nathan’s banjo, they add
voice, piano, percussion, pump organ, requinto and electric organ to the
richness and rusticity, the traditionalism and open space of the
compositions.

Since his 2012 debut as Heathered Pearls, Jakub Alexander has constructed art — music, objects, installations, performances — as a way of re-imagining fragments of his past and mapping ideas for his future. The Polish-born, Michigan-raised, New York-based artist and producer sees imagery and narrative framework as fluid components to his craft. Alexander’s first album, Loyal, mimicked the hypnotic motions of ocean waves at night, offering melodic, loop-based ambient music as a tribute to the tasteful influence of his mother and aunt. The second Heathered Pearls album, Body Complex, found inspiration from comfort, imperfection, and visions of interior architecture, transforming Loyal’s soft textures into driving 4/4 figures, glacial tone drifts, and starry synth plateaus. His 2017 EP, Detroit, MI 1997 - 2001, reflected on a formative era through ephem- eral dance music. The third Heathered Pearls full-length,


Cast, returns to moodier loop formats joined by the distinctly new presence of the spo- ken word. The move mirrors the multitudes of its namesake: collaborators comprise a cast, healing in the bind of a cast, complex emotions and the shadows they cast. Alexander started work on Cast when living in Berlin and in Queens.

“I hit a wall listening to these tracks when they were instrumental.” This is where he diverged from previous modes, deciding to integrate speech. With a healthy distaste for aspects of performance art, he invited strictly non-scripted recordings, a series of anti-performances. This new format adds a surprising human element to music that has previously operated as sea-shapes or infrastructure. These flashes of language, Alexander’s close friends speaking about things, narratively and cerebrally, casually and profoundly, turn the distinctive Heathered Pearls sound into some- thing surprisingly gritty, tangible, and in certain sweeps, cinematic. It is as if the world outside of these compositions bleeds into the music, casting their verbal being from just off the surface, like the album’s cover artwork where the light hits the plexi object but misses the wall.

Alexander sees his covers as naturally unfinished workstations; the gauzed and patinaed copper on Cast continues in this philosophy. This is all to say Cast deals with absence as much a presence. Among the guest storytellers is Alexander’s friend and tourmate Nick Murphy (formerly Chet Faker), who unwinds a series of tender observations on “Basic Needs.” The swirling synthesizer immerses a series of empathies; feeling like an egg yolk, a window’s view, his love for the color yellow, and wanting yellow to love him back.

Nils Petter Molvær and Mino Cinelu had both come a long way in their careers before they met. Cinelu gained international renown on Miles Davis’ albums We Want Miles and Amandla, also noted for his playing with the likes of Weather Report, Gong, Herbie Hancock, Pat Metheny, Sting, Santana, Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson, to name just a few. He has also released 3 solo records and collaborated with Dave Holland and Kevin Eubanks on the World Trio album. Nils Petter Molvær, meanwhile, is one of the most outstanding figures in European jazz. In 1997, he made his debut on ECM Records with the album Khmer, combining the Nordic feeling of nature with the Southeast Asian philosophy of sound. His journey into the uncharted areas of music spans almost a dozen records, on which he explores various combinations of acoustic and electrical sounds. He collaborated with Berlin’s electronic producer Moritz von Oswald in 2013, with the reggae philosophers Sly & Robbie in 2018 and with Bill Laswell on several occasions.

Cinelu and Molvær in some senses represent two worlds, which – at first glance – could hardly be more different. Their musical home is the entire planet, but while Molvær's hoarse and cloudy trumpet sound evokes boreal cold, Cinelu stands for the rhythmic fire of Latin America and Africa. On ‘SulaMadiana’, they’ve found their common playground - the album’s title itself a tribute to the two musicians’ heritage. Sula is the Norwegian island from where Molvær grew up, and Madiana is a synonym for Martinique, from where Cinelu's father hails.

SulaMadiana is a cornucopia, spilling out reverberations of Miles Davis, Gong, and previous works of Molvær, and yet Molvær and Cinelu open up doors to entirely new worlds. Cinelu becomes a singer on his percussion, while Molvær's electronically distorted sounds create a driving pulse. Cinelu plays acoustic guitar, Molvær conjures up drones on the electric guitar. The interplay between the two musicians is key, Molvær observing; “We are different, but what we have in common is that we like to give some space to things. I create space for him, he creates space for me, and we both create space for music.” Cinelu adds: “It doesn't matter who has what share in music. We both know each other’s cultures, we find bridges and crossings, and often we walk these paths that lead in the same direction. We wrote everything together and followed our feelings. There are no limits or barriers.”

One of dance music’s most enigmatic figures returns home to Anjunabeats. GRAMMY-nominated producer Mat Zo is back with a brand new artist album set for release in October: ‘Illusion Of Depth’. At the age of 30, this is the London-born, L.A.-based producer’s third artist LP. He broke onto the scene in 2008 and has been causing an uproar ever since. In the early naughties, he penned Anjunabeats classics like ‘The Lost’ and ‘Synapse Dynamics’ which were far ahead of their time. They were followed by the likes of ‘Superman’, ‘The Sky’ and ‘Rebound’ (with Arty). He pushed the Anjunabeats sound to the mainstage, racking up spins from Pete Tong, Axwell and Armin van Buuren. It was his GRAMMY-nominated debut album ‘Damage Control’ that fully showcased Mat’s avant-garde approach in 2013. Featuring break-out hit ‘Easy’ with close friend Porter Robinson, the track took Mat mainstream: a Radio 1 A-List addition, Sirius XM BPM listing, a #1 Billboard Heatseeking record, an Essential Mix of the year nomination and, ultimately, a GRAMMY nod for best dance and electronic recording. Since then, Mat has grown his own stable. Self-releasing his second LP in 2016, ‘Self Assemble’, via Mad Zoo, Mat’s imprint nurtured a new generation of eclectic, genre-agnostic creators.

With a hybrid jazz based on African grooves, Ethio-oriental melodies and psychedelic dub this Belgian five-piece creates an atmosphere where ancient and modern sounds fuse into a powerful, hypnotic and groovy sensation.

Receiving critical acclaim for their second album 'Artifacts' (2017), the Belgian quintet are pleased to announce the release of their much-anticipated third album entitled 'Future Flora', released 12th April via Sdban Ultra on vinyl / cd / digital.

Piloted by saxophonist/flutist/composer Nathan Daems (Ragini Trio, Dijf Sanders, Echoes of Zoo), the input of notorious musicians, drummer Simon Segers (MDC III, De Beren Gieren, Stadt), cornet player Jon Birdsong (dEUS, Beck, Calexico), keyboardist Wouter Haest (Voodoo Boogie) and bassist Filip Vandebril (Lady Linn, The Valerie Solanas) leads to the specific universe that only Black Flower is able to create.

Where debut album 'Abyssinia Afterlife' (2014) and 'Artifacts' (2017) bathed in an atmosphere of psychedelics, mythical figures, ancient sounds and modern cultures, new album 'Future Flora' refers to the power of plants and their importance for the future.

"'Future Flora' is a metaphor for the importance of feeding and watering powerful and revolutionary ideas and initiatives that can save our world. You can compare it with plants that fight between the paving stones of the city for their future. These "urban warriors" need water to survive and grow. Their future and ours depends entirely on how we look at the plant world", says Daems.

Black Flower's musical cross-pollination of sounds and rhythms remain on 'Future Flora', but there is still room for a more Western touch with Romanian and Maloya (Réunion) influences. Daems developed his own arrangements where Western, Oriental and Ethiopian scales and chords are fused together to create a real mix of traditional instrumentation and modern electrical vibrations.

The strong underlying groove is omnipresent, but the room for psychedelics, folklore and experimentation grows. Songs like new single 'Hora de Aksum' combine modern western rhythms with doses of Balkan eccentricities while 'Future Flora' takes you on a psyche-delicious 21th century Ethio-dub-jazz trip with echoes of Mulatu Astatke and Fela Kuti.

"The general feeling that dominates is that of strength and perseverance. The feeling that we have to fight for our future and that we have to do it now! The whole album is interspersed with this atmosphere and sounds swirling, haunting and ecstatic. For those who once saw Black Flower live at work, this energy will be extremely recognizable", he adds.