quête:g sudden

Mia Gargaret” is an ambient, (mostly) instrumental album by Chicago, IL singer, songwriter, multi-instrumentalist & producer Gia Margaret. It’s also not the follow-up she intended after the critical success of her 2018 debut, “There’s Always Glimmer”. But after she suddenly found herself without use of her primary instrument, she had to rethink her methods, at least temporarily. Gia explains: “After having to cancel tours because of illness, I was unable to sing for nearly half of the year. This left me feeling like a shell of myself, so I turned to my synthesizer for comfort. These compositions helped me hold onto my identity as a music maker. At times this music helped soothe my anxiety more than therapy or anything else could.” Documenting her self-healing and without singing or lyrics to steal the focus, the instrumental tracks on “Mia Gargaret” shine a light on Gia’s skills as a musician, composer & producer. Spare but immersive arrangements of synthesizer, piano & acoustic guitar simultaneously ache & soothe, building emotional landscapes that rise & recede like scenery through a train window. “Mia Gargaret” is a gorgeous experiment & a memorable meditation on the healing power of music. This version is a limited edition of 200 – pressed on pale blue vinyl with an exclusive lithograph print.

Indeed, it happened again. My vision is completely blurred and all I am able to see are vague moving shapes. Although, it seems I can hear perfectly fine. The manifestations I am seeing are moving, curiously synchronized with the sound I can hear. I wonder if those shapes are pulsating because they are hallucinations of my brain or real things dancing to the rhythm I hear. I am myself vibrating too and I cannot remember when it started. It is curiously pleasing to feel connected to these fluctuations, but suddenly the music stops and I start to feel dizzy. I can’t see anything anymore! In fact, I do not even feel my body. Did I ever have one ?

Polish jazz rebels sneaky jesus are back with their second studio album For Chaching Taphed.The highly imaginative quartet out of Wroclaw comprising Maciej Forreiter (Guitar), Matylda Gerber (Saxophones), Ben Łasiewick i(Bass) and Filip Baczyński (Drums) have won fans around the world for their restless, quirky brand of jazz which takes in breakbeats, twisting chord progressions and improvisation as well as a wealth of musical influences.

The band have been touring their asses off ever since they surprised the world with their debut album For Joseph Riddle in 2021. From out of nowhere their debut LP of 500 copies sold out in a month and they quickly went on to sell close to 1,000 CDs of the album. Fast-forward to 2023 and the band are sharing stages with artists such as Ill Considered and Theon Cross.

For Chaching Taphed was created in complete isolation. The group locked itself in a barn at the Museum of Agricultural Technology in Piotrowice Świdnickie. It worked on its sophomore output surrounded by machinery, trucks and carriages. These new compositions mirror the abstract conversations which the group frequently has just for fun. Contrary to For Joseph Riddle, this album is simple and does not rely on ongoing grooves. This enabled the group to be much more experimental. The band was joined by friends Flautist Mariya Mavko on Piękno Niemożliwe (Impossible Beauty) and her playing is sampled in Hipotetyczny Taras (Hypothetical Terrace). Pięciu Pszczelarzy (Five Beekeepers) closes the album featuring EABS' Jakub Kurek on trumpet. His fiery solo is one of the most intense moments of the album.

Spacer Po Nadodrzu (A walk around Nadodrze) opens the album and is inspired by one of the districts of Wrocław. It is a sonic story depicting a walk through Nadodrze late at night. A steady bass rhythm imitates a careful pace and the responding sax line is a spooky theme that might pop to oneʼs head in a moment of uncertainty.

The album's first single Krztusiec (Whooping Cough) finds the group diving head first into their most recent influences. The trackstarts with drum improvisation, rolling into a solid hip-hop backbeat provided by Ben Łasiewicki on Bass and Drummer Filip Baczyński. Sax and Guitar weave steady but dissonant lines, written by Maciej Forreiter after many hours spent listening to the Ethiopian jazz greats. The track takes off right after that. Matylda Gerber delivers a fiery Sax solo, while the group picks up the tempo and quickens the groove. The essence is the middle section, a dubby collective improvisation. Forreiter, Gerber and Baczyński take turns playing both classic dub phrases and fierce avant grade lines. Łasiewicki keeps everybody in check with a steady bassline. The energy slows down until Baczyński's drum solo, which explores phrasing detached from the rest of the tune.

Second single Chiński Sprzedawca Smażonych Kasztanów (Chinese roasted chestnut seller) is a fusion of breakbeats, energized songo rhythms and motifs inspired by South African melodies. Presenting the group with spacious and rhythmic horn lines, guitarist Maciej Forreiter wrote a chord progression while Beniamin Łasiewicki and Filip Baczyński took care of the rhythm section. This first part of the track suddenly drops out and explodes into the dramatic main motif which includes double sax and fierce guitar playing in harmony, plus the rhythm section playing more and more jungle-esque. Powerful guitar and sax solos feature before we return to the main theme with a completely different rhythmic backdrop.

W Klatce z Bykiem (In a cage with a Bull), starts like a race. The music plays with an incredible nerve and when the theme is right on edge it suddenly stops. It is followed by an animalistic growl on the saxophone and a doom metal-esque bash of downtuned, distorted guitars and heavy drums. In this heavy fashion it slowly approaches the finishing line hitting one final metallic clang.

Piękno Niemożliwe (Impossible Beauty) features wonderful flute playing of Mariya Mavko (Kadabra Dyskety Kusaje). Her work in the opening motif evokes sounds of Polish and Ukrainian folklore. This brief mellow moment serves as a contrast to the usual frantic sounds of sneaky jesus. It is an appreciation of thepolish jazz music of the past, intrinsically-linked to folklore. The band took this idea and reworked it into their own unique style.

Hipotetyczny Taras (Hypothetical Terrace) is built on top of a lengthy vamp in an unusual 7/8 time-signature. The bass anchors the quartet in a simple line, while the rest of the quartet share an emotional conversation. This track is the most open of the whole project and it ends accordingly. The final burst is a call back to the basics ofspiritual jazzand the whole band shows every emotion simultaneously and gracefully fades out.

Pięciu Pszczelarzy (Five Beekeepers) is For Chaching Taphed's conclusion and is a non stop assault of heavy horn lines, punk rhythms and noise. The band is joined by the extraordinary trumpeter Jakub Kurek from EABS, who blends in perfectly with sax and guitar. His exchange of solos with Maciej Forreiter is a combination of classic jazz phrasing and discordant clatter. In the same fierce manner the whole group works within the motif, switching up accents and breaks.

In the short space of two years, sneaky jesus has gone from ambitious upstart looking to break out from its home city playing spit and sawdust venues, to touring Europe as well as prestigious Jazz clubs such as Jassmine in Warsaw. In the process, it has delivered two full-length albums that don't stay in lane or pander to established jazz sub-genres as so many groups do. Some artists make the same record twice or even more than that, but not sneaky jesus. For Chaching Taphed shows the band as restless, experimental, fun, irreverent but purposeful as never before.

“A lot of over-hyped improv / jazz projects out there at the moment and Sneaky Jesus are genuinely excellent and out on their own. Drawing on the expansive atmospherics of a barn as the recording's setting, the album immediately pulls you in with the unsettling 'Spacer Po Nadodrzu' and lifts off on 'Krztusiec', effortlessly moving from angular, abrasive jazz to trippy dub and cinematic intrigue. Tempos shift and intensities shift naturally. The whole set warrants a deep listen from start to finish and watch out for two great guest features from flautist Mariya Mavko and Jakub Kurek bringing some mad fuzz licks to the boisterous closer. Brilliant album.”
Quinton Scott — Strut Records

Some Sudden Weather” finds Products Band sharpening their focus on presence of mind in a culture of noise. For each pummeling wave of distorted guitars, a tender, melodic vocal floats over its crest.
With every winking, deadpan lyric comes a genuine admission of desire, shame, or hope. These songs faithfully represent the diversity of Products Band’s musical influences.

From high-energy, airtight punk’n’roll to intricate, groove-driven pop, “Some Sudden Weather” refreshes rock vocabularies by sculpting them within the band’s unique perspective. Whether you crave
dancefloor-ready bass hooks, spiderwebbed guitar skronk, or interwoven vocal duets, this is an essential listen for all fans of contemporary post-punk, guitar pop, and thoughtful Midwestern charm. FFO: Ought, Television, The Replacements, R.E.M.

Repress!

Collaboration between French writer Ingrid Astier, actor Pierre Richard and JB Hanak from the band dDamage (Planet Mu, Tsunami-addiction).
JB Hanak is on guitar, bass, synth and rhythmic programming, consumed with a desire to reveal with each changing track a different facet of this imagined nocturnal universe. Ingrid Astier directs the actors as well as the writing of the lyrics, very much as would be found in the cinema.
And then, there is Pierre Richard. At one moment a dreamer, the next a cowboy, suddenly Mafioso and then a nocturnal animal. Thinker, lover, philosopher, astronaut or sandman. Pierre Richard is an actor, an actor of immense presence confined too often to comic roles. “Nuit Jour” offers him roles he has not had in the movies ... And it is breath-taking, both in its register and in a sense of deep renewal.

„Selbst auf dieser Platte gibt es Momente, in denen es etwas psychedelischer zugeht, aber wir waren schon immer große Fans klassischer Rockmusik wie ZZ TOP, JAMES GANG, ALLMAN BROTHERS – und natürlich CREAM.“

'In 1972, trumpeter Baikida Carroll and some of his colleagues from the Black Artists Group (more precisely saxophonist/flutist Oliver Lake, trombonist Joseph Bowie, drummer Charles "Bobo" Shaw and trumpeter Floyd LeFlore) took the advice of their friends in the Art Ensemble Of Chicago and left their native Missouri to come and discover the bright lights of Paris for themselves. The following year they would even get the chance to record their only album which would rapidly attain mythical status and a collector’s item: “In Paris, Aries 1973”.

Therefore, it was not surprising that they crossed paths with Jef Gilson in the capital. He was always on the lookout for new artists for his recently formed Palm label and had been active on many fronts in jazz since the end of the 50s. The French bandleader / pianist / composer / sound engineer had already recorded, in the preceding months other American musicians who would go on to have great careers: Byard Lancaster, Keno Speller, Clint Jackson III, Khan Jamal... Gilson therefore offered Baikida Carroll the chance to record his first album under his own name, which would be the 13th release on the label. Carroll logically asked Oliver Lake to join him. He also recruited Manuel Villaroel, a young Franco-Chilien pianist from the group Matchi-Oul, who had already released an album on Futura in 1971 and would release another on Palm in 1976. The group was completed with the addition of Brazilian percussionist Naná Vasconcelos, who had just released a well-received album on the Saravah label. They were ready to enter the studio for the 3rd, 4th and 5th June 1974.

The first side of the album is divided into two long tracks which send free jazz back to its long-lost African roots. The opener “Orange Fish Tears” indeed rolls out a jungle of percussion of all sorts and sizes -the whole group is involved- which weave and mix together reaching a point where all bearings are lost, lending a sense of wonder to the majestic entry of the brass and woodwinds, flying suddenly out from the undergrowth. “Forest Scorpion” (sic) is a real voodoo ceremony where a venomous percussive groove backs the fiery solos from keyboards and saxophone in a furious trance. A warning; after these two tracks listeners are physically and emotionally wiped out!

The other side is more introspective. Deliberately using dissonance and repetition, “Rue Roger” -the only composition by Oliver Lake- in a long dialogue between trumpet and saxophone, could almost remind us of Terry Riley in his favourite ballpark. “Porte D'Orléans”, the fourth and final track on the album, has the group back to their old tricks in a long hallucinatory jam which owes as much to the contemporary music of György Ligeti as to the most angst-ridden Jerry Goldsmith soundtrack music (remember the heavy chords which beat through “Planet of the Apes»).

With these two sides, and in under 45m, Baikida Carroll and his musicians show just what they can do, from cerebral to charnel without ever simplifying things. This is an essential album if you are a fan of free-wheeling avant-garde music from the Art Ensemble of Chicago to Sonic Youth and including Shabaka Hutchings and Rob Mazurek. For those with good taste, in other words.'

Kevin Morby writes (and records, and imagines) at an almost incomparable clip, and his most recent album, This Is A Photograph, studies life, time and mortality through myriad lenses. It's a dynamic, buoyant record on big, heavy themes, so it only makes sense that Morby found he wasn't quite done with it on its completion. More Photographs (A Continuum) finds new nooks, corners and vantage points. "If This Is A Photograph is a house that you have been living inside of," says Morby, "then More Photographs is, perhaps, the same home just experienced differently. As if you, its inhabitant, have taken a tab of something psychedelic and now, suddenly, you've replaced your eyeglasses with kaleidoscopes." Here, Morby returns to his landmark album's bottomless themes with new wisdom, new imagination, and the winking, looping call backs that tie his full body of work together in uniquely special ways." Everything you once thought was familiar," he continues, "suddenly appears differently, shifting shapes, color and sonic landscapes." "Five Easy Pieces Revisited" captures the same moment from Bobby's point of view; "This Is A Photograph II" takes a similar tact, revisiting its predecessor from a different angle. "Triumph" explores more of the myths and deaths that surround Memphis, TN, this time inspired by Big Star's Chris Bell. And "Kingdom Of Hearts" arrives as an origin story to both This Is A Photograph and its new companion." With every collection of songs," says Morby, "I feel I must cast them out of me before moving onto the next project, and here I knew that what I had begun with This Is A Photograph was not finished. Releasing this collection is my tying a bow on that time and place in my creative life." With a luxurious nine tracks - three re-imaginings and six brand new songs - More Photographs (A Continuum) is prequel, sequel and primer to an already rich and generous record from one of our most luminous modern songwriters.

Kevin Morby writes (and records, and imagines) at an almost incomparable clip, and his most recent album, This Is A Photograph, studies life, time and mortality through myriad lenses. It's a dynamic, buoyant record on big, heavy themes, so it only makes sense that Morby found he wasn't quite done with it on its completion. More Photographs (A Continuum) finds new nooks, corners and vantage points. "If This Is A Photograph is a house that you have been living inside of," says Morby, "then More Photographs is, perhaps, the same home just experienced differently. As if you, its inhabitant, have taken a tab of something psychedelic and now, suddenly, you've replaced your eyeglasses with kaleidoscopes." Here, Morby returns to his landmark album's bottomless themes with new wisdom, new imagination, and the winking, looping call backs that tie his full body of work together in uniquely special ways." Everything you once thought was familiar," he continues, "suddenly appears differently, shifting shapes, color and sonic landscapes." "Five Easy Pieces Revisited" captures the same moment from Bobby's point of view; "This Is A Photograph II" takes a similar tact, revisiting its predecessor from a different angle. "Triumph" explores more of the myths and deaths that surround Memphis, TN, this time inspired by Big Star's Chris Bell. And "Kingdom Of Hearts" arrives as an origin story to both This Is A Photograph and its new companion." With every collection of songs," says Morby, "I feel I must cast them out of me before moving onto the next project, and here I knew that what I had begun with This Is A Photograph was not finished. Releasing this collection is my tying a bow on that time and place in my creative life." With a luxurious nine tracks - three re-imaginings and six brand new songs - More Photographs (A Continuum) is prequel, sequel and primer to an already rich and generous record from one of our most luminous modern songwriters.

Ein außergewöhnliches Album und eine geradezu bewusstseinserweiternde Klang-Erfahrung. Zwei Jahre nach seinem großen Erfolg "Persona" aus 2018 kehrt der Londoner Elektro-Musiker und Produzent Rival Consoles endlich mit dem rundum überzeugenden "Articulation" zurück Das Album entstand als konzeptionelles Experiment, das erforschen will, inwieweit visualisierte Strukturen sich musikalisch umsetzen und hörbar machen lassen. Während des Schreibprozesses zeichnete Ryan Lee West (aka Rival Consoles) also konkrete Formen und Muster von Hand, um zu versuchen dem Entstehungsprozess elektronischer Musik eine haptisch erfahrbare und vom Computer vollständig losgekoppelte Grundstruktur zu geben. Dazu passend wurde der Albumtitel gewählt, der sich auf ein Stück des zeitgenössischen Avantgarde-Komponisten Györgi Ligeti bezieht, weil dieses eine ganz ungewöhnliche grafische Partitur hat. Die Idee, analoge Zeichnungen und Werkzeuge zur Entwicklung digitaler Kreationen zu verwenden, ist deutlich hörbar: Auf "Articulation" beschwören grüblerischen Techno-Nummern, nostalgische Ambient-Meditation, pulsierende Soundscapes traumwandlerische Stimmungen herauf. Die Zeichnung wird zu Klang und Rhythmus und diese zur frei fließenden Energie.

The album appeared suddenly - Within about a week, A Family Light was
pretty much fully written - "Despite the old cliche, the inspiration for this
album stemmed from heartbreak," describes band member Sergio
Trevino
"Fresh out of a failed relationship, I took to writing, resisting the temptation to
create bitter or angsty love songs. I tried to channel my emotions into something
larger. Looking back, with the benefit of time and distance from the album, I
realize that it kinda became a response to my observations of the family
dynamics, and how strange and complicated those predetermined roles are.

* In 1993, Andy C & Ant Miles set out about creating a fourth release for the newly established Ram Records, now just a year old. With Hardcore still prominent in the clubs around the world, The Touch features rollercoaster bass swoops against energetic breaks flowing around the main sung vocal "c'mon and touch me".

An early sign of the precision arrangements that became synonymous of Ram's early sound that followed over for many years. Whilst going through the remaining samples in the sampler that had not been used on the A side, the pair suddenly went on a tangent with one of the drum breaks.

Experimenting with the new time stretch function in the Akai sampler, they soon had a shuffle groove layered and moving. With Ant Miles' sculpted and edited arpeggio bell line sample, a new overall sound and vibe was beginning to emerge out of their studio Atari ST computer.

Utilising an original organic analogue string pad, the haunting sinister vibe became complete. With the vocal from the BBC QED documentary 'Glimpses of Death' - "I felt, like I was in a long dark tunnel" all that remained was one of the most memorable pounding bass lines to sit underneath it all.

The result was an instant impact on the scene, heralded as one of the first anthems of the Jungle genre. Multi award winning and the track that cemented Andy & Ant and their label Ram Records within the scene.

There are only a few figures in music whose work influences and
shapes a genre as a whole. This is undoubtedly true of the Swede
Esbjörn Svensson. With his trio e.s.t., the pianist and composer
wowed audiences beyond age and genre affiliations. And his
influence on jazz as a whole reverberates to this day and already
within the second and third generation of musicians worldwide.
‘HOME.S.’ is Esbjörn Svensson’s only solo album and the sheer
existence of such a recording and its completely unexpected
discovery over a decade after its creation are nothing less than a
sensation: Since the early 1990s, Svensson focused almost his entire
creative energy and recording activities on his work with e.s.t.. Thus,
these new recordings are not only the first, but practically the only
ones that show Svensson in a setting other than that of the trio:
Intimate, concentrated and completely one with himself. The
recordings for ‘HOME.S.’ were made only a few weeks before
Esbjörn Svensson’s sudden death on June 14, 2008. Svensson
recorded the music in his Swedish home.
For almost ten years afterwards, the album rested untouched in his
wife Eva Svensson’s personal archive. Here, she tells the story
behind the discovery of the album and the music: “After Esbjörn’s
passing, I made sure all the contents of his computer were saved to
backup hard drives. And then I basically left them untouched for the
next ten years. At the point where I eventually felt ready to look into
the material, I soon realised that there was something I wanted to
look into.
“I took the hard drive and went to Gothenburg to meet with Åke
Linton, the sound engineer who had worked on all e.s.t. albums as
well as on their live shows. He was also the one who had helped me
to save the material from Esbjörn’s computer in the first place. So he
probably already knew that there was something hidden in there. But
nobody had listened to it.
“We went to his studio. And we pressed the start button. Then there
was a total silence and we couldn't speak for the entire time the music
was playing. After it finished, at first we were not able to say anything,
because we were both so touched and surprised that it was all there,
and that it was so beautiful. The tracks seemed to follow one another
like pearls on a string. After we just had sat there for a while we
agreed: This is really good. Musically, but also from a sound
perspective.”

DLMZ is HMS’s third full-length album, and is written from the perspective of a gang of wholesome country boys and girls who suddenly find themselves having to navigate a world of Dollar Lizards (obscene cult-leadery economic monsters) and Money Zombies (grey- skinned brain-dead consumers).

Dollar Lizard Money Zombie was recorded at Sail Loft studios, St Peter’s and The Unit, all in Cardiff, with the final track recorded live at Cadeirlan Llanelwy. It was engineered by Gareth Bodman, produced by Llion Robertson, and mastered by Charlie Francis.

Gary Moore is acknowledged as one of the finest musicians in blues-rock history, with a career stretching back into the sixties and with huge success as a member on Thin Lizzy and with his own solo career.

“Bad For You Baby”, released in 2008, is the last studio album by the Northern Irish guitarist before his sudden death in 2011. Like on the preceding albums, Moore has combined his own soulful creations with unique interpretations of blues greats.

Today, Anjimile Chithambo, better known as Anjimile, announces his new album, The King, out September 8th, his first full-length since 2020’s breakthrough Giver Taker. To herald the announcement, he shares lead single, ‘The King’, accompanied by a visualiser by Daniela Yohannes, whose striking painting takes centre stage on the album cover.

Highlighting the artistic shift from Giver Taker to now, ‘The King’ opens with a lofty, melodic choir, an intro that belies the song’s motives. Suddenly, sinister arpeggios interrupt the reverie, and the voices grow darkly serious. Deeply steeped in the confusion, grief, and rage of being Black in America, ‘The King’ pushes back against the tired adage, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” hissing, “What don ’t kill you almost killed you// What don’t fill you//pains you// drains you.”

“If Giver Taker was an album of prayers, The King is an album of curses.” In his second album, Anjimile continues exploring what it means to be a Black trans person in America. The brutally honest reflection of 2020’s deadly summer is less reminiscent of the pink cloud of early sobriety and more rooted in the reality of seeing brutality with clear eyes. Drawing from influences ranging from religion, Phillip Glass, and lived experiences, the album is a grand step forward for Anjimile. Nearly every sound you hear on The King comes from two instruments: an acoustic guitar and Anjimile’s own voice. Other than a few beautiful contributions from Justine
Bowe, Brad Allen Williams, Sam Gendel, and James Krivchenia (Big Thief), the album is the result of a year in LA working intimately with Grammy and Juno winner Shawn Everett.

Today, Anjimile Chithambo, better known as Anjimile, announces his new album, The King, out September 8th, his first full-length since 2020’s breakthrough Giver Taker. To herald the announcement, he shares lead single, ‘The King’, accompanied by a visualiser by Daniela Yohannes, whose striking painting takes centre stage on the album cover.

Highlighting the artistic shift from Giver Taker to now, ‘The King’ opens with a lofty, melodic choir, an intro that belies the song’s motives. Suddenly, sinister arpeggios interrupt the reverie, and the voices grow darkly serious. Deeply steeped in the confusion, grief, and rage of being Black in America, ‘The King’ pushes back against the tired adage, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” hissing, “What don ’t kill you almost killed you// What don’t fill you//pains you// drains you.”

“If Giver Taker was an album of prayers, The King is an album of curses.” In his second album, Anjimile continues exploring what it means to be a Black trans person in America. The brutally honest reflection of 2020’s deadly summer is less reminiscent of the pink cloud of early sobriety and more rooted in the reality of seeing brutality with clear eyes. Drawing from influences ranging from religion, Phillip Glass, and lived experiences, the album is a grand step forward for Anjimile. Nearly every sound you hear on The King comes from two instruments: an acoustic guitar and Anjimile’s own voice. Other than a few beautiful contributions from Justine
Bowe, Brad Allen Williams, Sam Gendel, and James Krivchenia (Big Thief), the album is the result of a year in LA working intimately with Grammy and Juno winner Shawn Everett.

Boy Harsher, Portishead, Thom Yorke, Radiohead, Beak>, ERAAS, SUUNS. Over the past seven years, Public Memory's distinctive use of analog synthesizers, electronic beats mixed with organic percussion, lo-fi sound design, and gritty ambience has created a singularly eerie and shadowy world. The first seconds of Public Memory's new record, Elegiac Beat, thrust us immediately into that world. We are in media res, with a feeling of sudden movement from a sensible point A to B. Given some time however, we realize that there is something askew–a bit of brightness here, some shadows pushed aside, some jazz and funk amongst the dub and Krautrock. This is an unfamiliar, ambiguous mood that pushes Public Memory towards new ground. We still drift past the clouded lights and hollowed out buildings of previous albums, but with an occasional bounce in our step now, a bit of golden haze around the edges. First single "Savage Grin" cements this clearly. The track has a jazzy, trip-hop flavor, albeit filtered through Public Memory's narcotic, hazy lens. We could be in a hotel lounge in the alps somewhere on holiday, or out of time in a majestic, sparkling ballroom. But we still have the feeling of being haunted, or perhaps even hunted in some way. This feeling intensifies and comes to a head towards the ever-darkening end of the track, leading directly into "Afterimage", in which someone almost imperceptibly sings "I hear them coming" in a twisted, auto-tuned flail. Second single "7 Floor" begins with flanged drums and damaged synthesizer stabs, evoking a kind of apparition floating towards us in the mist. As the track moves on there is, similarly to "Savage Grin", a contrast in feeling between a cold exterior roaming and an interior, warmer, human place. This time however, we move from the colder to the warmer as the synths from the track's beginning make way for a Rhodes-style organ and backing string synth, infusing an unexpected sense of peace. But like "Savage Grin", the track moves to its end through an in-between place beyond the haze. Faded and distant synthesizers meld with voices–human, or perhaps otherwise–that beckon us, or perhaps warn us. We can't be sure which. Third single "Far End Of The Courtyard" brings us closest to classic Public Memory territory with hip-hop beats, chopped and screwed samples, lo-fi ambience, and ghostly electric pianos complementing the vocals. There is darkness, perhaps more here than in the previous two singles, but with a crucial moment of uplifting lightness so subtle it may be missed upon first listen. As an inverse to both "Savage Grin" and "7 Floor" we end with brightness, the jazzier side of the record pushed to the forefront as the track fades away on that golden haze. In the end though, the haze may be just that: a vapor, a mist, a slight dusting of some other world on top of the degraded one Public Memory so effectively portrays. Elegiac Beat is between two places, and as it straddles the line between the two, we are uncertain if the light it brings shines directly from the sun, or if it is dimly reflected through that majestic ballroom world. For fans of 1990s Bristol trip hop, coldwave, and Thom Yorke's The Eraser

Black Truffle is pleased to announce The Leisure Principle, a new solo LP from London-based bassist and sound artist Otto Willberg. A key player in the London underground, Willberg is often heard on acoustic and electric bass in free improv settings and bands with Laurie Tompkins (Yes Indeed) and Charles Hayward (Abstract Concrete), as well as the fractured No Wave unit Historically Fucked. His previous solo releases have ranged from extended technique double bass to explorations of the acoustics of a 19th century artillery fort. But nothing Willberg has committed to wax so far prepares a listener for The Leisure Principle, six unashamedly melodic improvisational workouts created almost entirely with heavily filtered bass harmonica and electric bass. On the opening ‘Reap What Thou Sow’, a single-note bass harmonica loop pulses along underneath a roaming bass solo, the side-chained envelope filtering (where the dynamic behaviour of the bass determines the filter for both bass and harmonica) fusing the two instruments into a single stream of burbling shifts in resonance. After several minutes of patient exploration of this low-end landscape, the music suddenly opens up in widescreen with the entrance of Sam Andreae’s graceful melodica chords, spreading out across the stereo field. From this epic opener, each of the remaining pieces goes on to explore a slightly different aspect of the terrain. On ‘Shadow Came into the Eyes as Earth Turned on its Axis’, a similarly buoyant harmonica bass line provides the foundation, but this time playing a soulful descending riff, its almost R&B feel abstracted and half-obscured by the filtering. On ‘Mollusk’, echoed bass arpeggios skitter between elegiac chords somewhat reminiscent of the opening of John Abercrombie’s ‘Timeless’, before settling into a hypnotic groove. On the record’s second half, Willberg pushes further into the possibilities of his idiosyncratic instrumentation. On ‘Wetter’, bass and harmonica come together into a monstrous, growling jaw harp; on ‘Had we but world enough and more time’, the subtly shifting pulsating patterns start to feel almost like a kind of evaporated, drum-less dub techno until an eruption of wheezing bass harmonica gives the piece a comically folkish turn. Willberg’s melodically inventive and virtuosic bass performance calls to mind any number of fusion touchstones, from Jaco Pastorius to Mark Egan’s singing tone in the early Pat Metheny Group—even Anthony Jackson’s work with Steve Kahn. But with its radically reduced instrumentation, The Leisure Principle is also an exercise in minimalism, and the absence of percussion gives even its funkiest moments a strangely abstracted quality. At times, its uncanny blend of the abstruse and the immediate suggests the fried pop experiments of David Rosenboom or the skewed but deeply musical DIY of 80s underground groups like De Fabriek. Both easy on the ear and profoundly strange, The Leisure Principle proudly takes its place among the most eccentric offerings on the Black Truffle menu.

Lee Gamble’s UIQ label unveils a second album from Filipina-Australian artist Corin Ileto, deploying a brace of swarming alien chorales and rapturous digital rave noise to explore the idea of sound as a sentient being. Bold and operatic, cinematic and cybernetic.

Named after the iconic choral work by 20th Century avant-garde legend György Ligeti (as immortalised by Stanley Kubrick in 2001), ‘Lux Aeterna' explores the idea of micropolyphony, a term Ligeti described as a complex polyphony "in which harmonies do not change suddenly, but merge into one another." Like Ligeti, Corin isn't primarily concerned with melody or rhythm, but timbre: the colour and quality of sound itself.

Taking its time to unfurl, the album opens with ‘lumen naturae’, winding tonal clouds that eventually latch onto a misshapen hoover sound that curves into the abyss. Corin shows her hand more formally on 'sunta', balancing layered cybernetic drones against ratcheting metallic rhythms and unstable textures. When the track cuts to almost-silence, it reminds us of Akira Rabelais' ghosted 'Spellewauerynsherde' (itself an impressionistic granulation of vocal recordings), before being disrupted by a dynamic kick that shares DNA with club music.

But despite her occasional flirtations with the club, Ileto doesn't appear to have any interest in making functional dance music. Instead, she emphasises momentum and texture. Like a celestial opera, ecstatic trance is reimagined within the context of sacred liturgy – merging hyper-real soundscapes with Gregorian chant and medieval instrumentation. Chrome-plated clangs and growling subs highlight the album’s sci-fi leanings, tapping into a sort of retro-futurism that balances a hi-tech mindset with a feeling of deep vulnerability and alienation.

These days, singer-songwriter and actor David Blue tends to be remembered only in relation to Bob Dylan. A member of the supporting cast in mid-60s Greenwich Village and The Rolling Thunder Revue. Yet to categorise Blue in this way is reductionist, and does him an injustice. He was something of an archetype of the 60s generation of Greenwich Village singer-songwriters. Yet, esteemed by his peers, he was overlooked. He released seven albums in a decade, and his acting career was shaping up when he died suddenly at the age of just 41. His passing was barely noted in the rock press, and in the subsequent years Blue was all but forgotten. Of late, though, that’s changed. His albums started to reappear on CD on small labels and, in 2020, both Rolling Stone and Mojo magazines published major reappraisals. Blue – at last – was getting the attention denied him in life.



It wasn’t until 1965 that Blue, as Dave Cohen, released his first recordings – three songs on Elektra’s Singer Songwriter Project. All betrayed a debt to pre-electric Dylan. But then again, so did much else coming out of Greenwich Village at the time. Elektra contracted Blue to do his own album, and in 1966 David Blue was released – his first recording to appear under that name. Electric folk rock with a garage band attitude, somewhat in debt to Highway 61, it didn’t sell well. Shortly after the album’s release Blue formed and toured with The American Patrol, a four-piece rock band, recording an album for Elektra that was never released.



Now, for the first time, Hanky Panky and Mapache release those historical abandoned American Patrol recordings, along with the three tracks included on Elektra’s 1965 LP Singer Songwriter Project, as David Blue And The American Patrol The Lost 1967 Elektra Recordings & More and David Blue, his self-titled 1966 debut album, on two exclusive vinyl editions limited to 500 copies

*REISSUED ON LIMITED EDITION BLUE VINYL*

London-based electronic songwriter Ryan Lee West aka Rival Consoles to release his most personal work to date in the form of a mini-album titled ‘Night Melody’ through Erased Tapes on 5th August 2016. During the release of his acclaimed full-length album ‘Howl’ and heavy touring in late 2015, Ryan came out of a 13-year long relationship and found himself making music throughout the winter months. The result of his efforts is a 34-minute, 6-track mini album ‘Night Melody’, born out of and shaped by long hours working into the night. It’s nocturnal in sound; mysterious in the way that the early hours so often are.

“I found myself, in a silent home, with the days getting dark very early. I’ve never before in my life been affected by the lack of light so much. I just remember it always being night time. I would either make music into the night, go out drinking with friends, or go to parties and dance into the early hours, every day, week after week, month after month, until eventually the days became brighter again.” The opening statement ‘Pattern of the North’ starts off with a collage of spliced synth melodies, inspired by anxiety that accompanies going home for Christmas. It’s followed by ‘Johannesburg’, an early sketch gradually filled out during his tour in South Africa.


“After playing it around some of the cities, I got a lot of inspiration to bring it to life and push it into something that really moves me. I think this is one of my most colourful pieces of music, with its driving rhythm and almost a homage to Terry Riley’s ‘In C’ towards the end, with a build of very simple, hypnotic parts. I especially love that for over five minutes the piece is tied to just one note. This makes the ending very dramatic, because all of a sudden there is this harmonic change.” ‘Lone’ started life around the time Ryan was working on his ‘Sonne’ EP in 2014. It’s the result of constant adjustments to find the perfect balance of fragility and assurance. As everything on the album, it’s a carefully considered, emotionally mature piece. “I think, as I get older, I need music to represent something and not just sound interesting, though of course the two are connected.” The closing statement ‘What Sorrow’ is a fitting end to the album, building from gentle melancholia to a joyous crescendo. It’s a sensibility that’s central to the record; joy and sorrow both find their counterpoints.


“This record is very personal to me and I hope it offers something for other people, as it helped me to make it and to listen to it. Almost every synth line was recorded intuitively, without perfection but with a lot of intention and expression. I’m not interested in making something sad or making something happy. I want music to be bittersweet, to be more complex, like life – containing moments of vibrant colour and hope, as much as darkness and sadness.” This summer will see Ryan follow on from his recent North American Tour with the appearance at many festivals including Lovebox, Secret Garden Party, La Route Du Rock, Sea Change and Tale of Us-curated Afterlife party at Space, Ibiza.

Jade Warrior is the debut self-titled and self-produced album by Jade Warrior, released in 1971 as part of the progressive rock movement. The album sets the scene for what the majority of the band's albums were to sound like, mixing various ethnic sounds with a progressive and otherworldly sound, as well as sudden changes between slow acoustic guitar melody, to distorted and heavy electric guitar with a faster tempo.

Limited edition classic LP, reissued on 180g vinyl, audiophile pressing
One of the best albums by the ill-fated trio of Bill Evans with bassist Scott LaFaro and drummer Paul Motian.

Penguin Guide To Jazz review:
"All the Vanguard music is informed by an extra sense of discovery, as ifthe musicians were suddenly aware of what they were on to and werecelebrating the achievement.

This is music which continues to provokemarvel and endless
study." - Richard Cook & Brian Morton

Fonseca is the son of a Senegalese mother and a father from Cape Verde. Hence the Portuguese sounding name: Louis Vera Da Fonseca.

In the 1950s, he founded the group Les Anges Noirs (The Black Angels) in Brussels, named after the Brussels club in the Boomkwekerijstraat, which quickly became very popular in Belgium, Africa, and the West Indies. The famous Manu Dibango was even musical director and pianist there for a period. Manu Dibango would later become one of the emblematic figures of African music. Soon Fonseca was nicknamed “the King of Afro-Cuban rhythm”.

After several great successes from the early sixties to 1968, Fonseca suddenly disappeared from the music scene in the late 60's. Whether he died in 1970, as can be read on some sites, cannot be said with certainty.

The self-titled album Fonseca Et Ses Anges Noirs is available as a limited edition of 500 individually numbered copies on translucent red coloured vinyl and includes an insert.

Washed Up Color Vinyl is Clear w/ White Splatter! A white ship sailing in a sea of blackness, Codeine's swan song arrived in 1994 amid grunge's ascension to alt radio's godhead status. John Engle's guitar alternates between crystalline and sludge, and Stephen Immerwhar's distorted bass floats on top of punishing drums from newcomer Doug Scharin (Rex, June of 44), resulting in nine perfect meditations on the loneliness and uncertainty of early adulthood. "Codeine's unyielding numbness creates its own kind of warmth _ the feeling of cold water running for so long that it suddenly feels hot." _ Spin

A white ship sailing in a sea of blackness, Codeine's swan song arrived in 1994 amid grunge's ascension to alt radio's godhead status. John Engle's guitar alternates between crystalline and sludge, and Stephen Immerwhar's distorted bass floats on top of punishing drums from newcomer Doug Scharin (Rex, June of 44), resulting in nine perfect meditations on the loneliness and uncertainty of early adulthood. "Codeine's unyielding numbness creates its own kind of warmth _ the feeling of cold water running for so long that it suddenly feels hot." _ Spin

Brian Jonestown Massacre, Velvet Underground, TOY. “Upon the highways of Freedom, where Evil is like a Ferrari… “ Unbeknownst to its members, Index For Working Musik was born on an evening in late 2019 amidst the discovery of a collection of faded b&w photocopies that had been marinating on the floor of a urine-alley in the Gothic Quarter of Barcelona. An assortment of sacred and profane imagery were crumpled amongst an essay on early Christian hermits, entitled Men Possessed by God, the meaning of which was enticingly vague. Received together, they planted the seeds for a new endeavour. Though Max Oscarnold and Nathalia Bruno were already engaged in a creative ping-pong of sorts, the results to this point had only totaled a 30 min long ½ inch tape containing one track and four interludes. They needed a page and they needed ink, and they needed a place and it needed energy. Suddenly by chance or divine intervention, their experimental venture had been given form and direction. Back home in London’s cursed smog, they moved themselves and their 8-track studio into a basement in E8, where the project’s gravitational pull gained strength, quickly developing into an unexpected collective with the incorporation of drummer Bobby Voltaire, double bass player E. Smith and guitarist J. Loftus. As the world shifted around them and the Plague Years followed, it became increasingly clear that they were not going to leave that small basement room. The scarcity of light or outer world presence was less a limitation, instead the main tool at hand, allowing the recording to stretch for boundaryless days in architectural isolation, and forcing them to make straight forward free guitar music, adopting a ‘first thought, best thought’ approach. 35 minutes of repeat phrased guitars, slow-clipped drums and dulcet vocals where the recurring landscape is the desert. Reel-to reel-loops of Afghan music compete with the found sound overlays of voices recorded at the queue of the pharmacy and drum machines borrowed from Spanish heroes, channelling both far-off climes and snippets from a closer reality. It’s a strange psychic brew, built of imagined mysticism and domestic realities, of fever dreams and days that stretched into weeks of months. What was sparked by that discovery in the Gothic Quarter was actually a realisation that what they were looking for was with them all the while, buried as it was in piles of voice memos and recorded guitar feedback. Men Possessed By God they may be not: it was self-possession that was to guide their way in the end. “Life, despite all its destructive changes, remains indestructibly powerful and joyful

Tucked in the heart of Koreatown, Los Angeles, lies The Libra Hotel—the titular architecture of Nick Malkin's new album and site of his musical and psychogeographic exploration. Unlike most musical "site-specific" studies, Malkin remains wholly ambivalent to the documentarian approach, instead sharpening an auteur-like focus on the site as a conceptual and highly expressive backdrop. The Libra is musically explored as a space that houses a noir fragmentation of identity—the exhausted trope of a complicated protagonist walking through rain-soaked street corners and fumy neon lights—where an inner monologue is rendered in both miniature and at a cosmic scale. Casting aside stifling tropes around field recording, ambient, and improvised music, Malkin's work finds its own unique fidelity and emotional core through the assembly and reassembly of memory. Nearly every sound on the album—from frayed saxophones, lambent pianos, and dissected jazz drum kits—are multiplied, shattered, and reconstituted into shapes that adorn The Libra in a motion-blurred fog. The narrative of the Hotel suddenly appears as if out of the mist, with intersecting characters interacting within its walls by happenstance. Adminst the languid set pieces, wraith-like sonic grains gravitate around wide subbass beams that give structural form to The Libra, a narrative tension like when a scene is shot from hundreds of different perspectives: an image both luminous and veiled.

Much like Frank Sinatra's own spatial residency immortalized on "Live at The Sands," "At The Libra Hotel" showcases an exuberant view of entertainment, hospitality, and a form of masculinity, one that can quickly detourn into darkness. Knowing this, Malkin extracts a melancholic core out of The Libra locale. The flickering shadows of American decadence are shown in their ephemeral honesty, lines that trace how even in everyday life virtue is tested, sanity is tested, even reality is tested within the confines of desire, within the night. The album is draped in fleeting textures, carefully arranged with a trance-like microtonality, the faint inflections and articulations of a jazz band cascading into dissipated stillness. Voicemails about changed locations and covert eavesdropping on guests' whispered conversations provide an atmosphere of missed connection and voyeurism—a purloined letter of desire receding into a vanishing point. Like the music itself, The Hotel, a chapel perilous at the intersection of desolation row, the center of it all, yet simultaneously at the edge of town, becomes a structure between libidinous virtuality and actuality—our inevitable half-light.

Ultimately, the pensive atmosphere of "At The Libra Hotel," powerfully asserts a plea for the kinds of intimacy only possible in transient spaces. Here, memory cascades into a force that feels like something supernatural, perhaps even religious, yet always subject to the infidelity of our imagination. Here, the album opens into its primary psychodrama, the transient nature of subjectivity itself and how this becomes fractured in the tumult between our commitments and desires. Within this nocturnal space, to quote Louise Bourgeois, "you pile up associations the way you pile up bricks. Memory itself is a form of architecture."

In the quiet surrounding the pandemic, Madeline Kenney made sonic sketches in the basement studio she shared with her then-partner. She arranged phrases that called her—the sharp knife of a synth cutting a path along a blooming arpeggio, drums stuttering firm and tight. Working this way, she amassed a collection of songs she had no particular aims for. Some formed her 2021 EP Summer Quarter, others languished.

But in 2022, Kenney’s partner left suddenly and without warning, plunging her into the solitary act of untangling what happened. In the wake of her ensuing depression, she revisited these songs and found in them something prescient. She’d already laid the foundation for A New Reality Mind.

That her relationship’s end came without warning is only half true, though. The warnings were in the feelings and fears that inspired Kenney’s critically-acclaimed third album, Sucker’s Lunch (2020), which was co-produced by Jenn Wasner (Flock of Dimes) and centered around the idea of flinging oneself freely into the seemingly-assured destruction of new love, come what may.

If sonically Sucker’s Lunch was letting yourself be pulled into the warm bath of a good story, A New Reality Mind reflects the harsh light of truth coming to break the spell. But as sobering as morning light can be, there’s brilliance to it, too. To see in the clarity of day is a gift. A revolution. Rather than reckoning with love lost, the songs on A New Reality Mind grapple with the self that chose to fall. “I guess I only needed to look twice / Reflected in my attitude, my constant compromise,” Kenney sings on “Red Emotion,” the musical landscape screeching and gasping around her observations of how she made herself small to keep the dream of love alive.

These notions of sight and vision pervade the record as Kenney stands before the infinity mirror of selves she’s been to preserve bonds in her life. On “I Drew a Line,” Kenney contends with the stories she’s told herself to keep plodding along, and the way those stories shape her perceived reality. She invokes John Berger’s Ways of Seeing—“Everything around the image is part of its meaning,” we hear him say. “Everything around it confirms and consolidates its meaning.” Here, Kenney isn’t interested in shaming herself for being carried away by the fantasies of the heart, but rather in investigating the unavoidably human propensity to do so. “I, like everyone else, am muddling through my most ordinary disaster of a life,” she acknowledges, a sentiment which reverberates through album opener “Plain Boring Disaster.” “I don’t need to start again,” she sings at the song’s close. “But I can change when it ends.” We may all be doomed to repetitive, ordinary heartbreaks, Kenney realizes, but at least we can cultivate a capacity to witness our missteps and build new realities for ourselves.

This is Kenney’s most expansive work, while also her most solitary. Produced and recorded alone in her basement, these songs are manifestations of what it feels like to be transformed by pain. Textures collide and collude; sonic ornaments emerge and dissipate capriciously; saxophones soar untamed, as on the 80s pop elegy to self-sacrifice, “Reality Mind”. These songs beg you to dance, then pull the rug out from under you once you’ve caught the beat, leaving you dizzy like the whiplash of love’s end.

But in the propulsive power of A New Reality Mind, there’s also acceptance, self-forgiveness, and a willingness to move forward into life, with all its ways of making a sucker of you. “That way of living, I’m over it,” Kenney declares of the habits that hold her back on “Superficial Conversation”. “I do not need to be reminded of what I did,” she assures, the song opening wide and beaming, like a smile expanding to taste a new breath of air.

Debut vinyl by Cruz Perro Maldito, a Tenerife based trio forever imbued in the collective imagination and folklore myths of the magical and misty mountain of Agua García, located in Tacoronte district at the foot of Teide Volcano (Tenerife/Canary Islands). Their music is an explosion of free jazz improv where sophisticated sound textures emerg-ing from modular synths and processed guitar create abstract and random rhythmic patterns with complex saxophone lines guiding the ensemble from quiet to menacing passages of sudden bursts of noise and frenzy.


Entitled Truquetin Resorte, the album takes inspiration from the rich history of mechanical automata, such as Talos, the bronze giant who defended the island of Crete and was eventually defeated by Jason and his Argonauts. Or Apega de Nabis, a replica of King Nabis’ wife whom crossed unsuspecting victims with its iron spikes hidden in the device's lower arms, hands and breasts.

Or even René Descartes and his infamous daughter- like Automaton replica, an eerie creation from the renown philosopher to evoke his dead daughter
These myths and more serve as reminder of a mechanical world’s past, a world of complex automata stories with me-chanic ‘imitating’ beings as its problematic protagonists. An eerie counterpoint to our current uber modern digital world and its rapid advancing A.I.s.

repressed !

Number 060 in our catalogue, and we are keeping it tight and sharp. Oscar Mulero is the mind behind this creature, offering three cuts of merciless techno exercises both physically and digitally.

Opening track is "Tormenta", Storm in spanish, a fast paced groove with almost all elements up from the very beginning. Wisely distorted drums, continuous filtered sequences, a sharp elastic line running and mutating across the structure. Direct and mental at the time.

"Espectro Rojo", Red spectrum translated begins with obsessive distorted evolving lines, shuffled hi hats and precise kicks. The stereo field is constantly worked out augmenting the experience exponentially.

"Gradiente de Voltaje" closes the EP, the overall feel is less distorted and more opaque and lo-fi. The liquid filtered bassline is soon joined by distorted hats, alternating patterns and twisting the sounds wisely. No sudden interruptions, no abrupt changes, just the right dose of hypnosis to use as a powerful tool.

blue + red marbled vinyl
"Dog Eared"! Named as such as it marks a turning point in my productions and releases. Made while moving from Bristol back to London this as a theme pops up throughout the EP.

"Ithaca Vox" is the name of my first ever favourite preset - a CMI-inspired pad from GarageBand which I've been using since I was 11 but never on a release. The track also samples the screeching of Victoria line on my way back from nights out.

"Bubble Trouble" caused many headaches to finish hence the addition of the word "Trouble". The track pops, floats and bursts into the space between simplistic cartoon sound sources and excessively over the top sound design and production.

"Dive" dives further into these production ideas swapping tight space tiny bubbles for wide grinning resonance. The twisting track cuts these resonances leaving a large valley of missing frequencies that gets suddenly filled by an unrelentingly simple bell centring the listeners balance.

"From Window to Wall" gives a not so subtle nod to one of my favourite excessive chart hits as well as a further nod to the source of some of the track samples (see if you spot them).

"Calpohol" is the first collaboration Ive released (another reason to Dog Ear this release). Made from an afternoon of recording with Delay Grounds on his custom Eurorack the track was shaped by us over the weeks that followed.

Black Truffle is pleased to announce Symphony No. 107 –The Bard, a previously unheard archival recording of the legendary improvising ensemble MEV (Musica Elettronica Viva), captured in concert at Bard College, New York in 2012. Formed by a group of American expat composers in Rome in 1966, the MEV ensemble played an important role in the development of free improvisation, bridging the live electronics tradition begun by Cage and Tudor and the high-energy squall of free jazz. Early recordings like Spacecraft or The Sound Pool unleash volleys of metal and glass amplified with contact microphones, howling winds, primitive synthesizer bleep and raucous audience participation, the intensity of which puts much later ‘noise’ to shame. In later decades, the ensemble would go through many iterations, often including legendary free players like Steve Lacy and George Lewis. In its final years, MEV settled into the core trio of founding members heard here: Alvin Curran, Frederic Rzewski, and Richard Teitelbaum, using piano, electronics, and small instruments.

Curran, Rzewski, and Teitelbaum were life-long friends blessed, as Curran says, with ‘incompatible personalities’: major figures in the post-Cagean experimental tradition, they explored countless divergent and even contradictory paths as composers and performers, from agitprop songs to brainwave-controlled synthesis. MEV is the sound of these three personalities coming together, their contributions radically individual yet attaining a state of ‘fundamental unity’ that Rzewski, in a text written in the collective’s earliest years, defined as the ‘final goal of improvisation’. Of course, listeners familiar with aspect of the trio’s individual works might hazard some guesses about who is doing what: the crisp piano figures are probably Rzewski’s, the cut-up hip-hop samples most likely Curran’s, the sliding, squelching synth possibly Teitelbaum’s. But often these identities are dissolved in a constantly shifting hall of mirrors, the listener unable to tell which of these pianos is live and which is a sample of a past virtuoso, or whether a horn blast derives from ethnographic documentation or Curran cutting loose on Shofar. The two side-long sets here occupy a similar terrain of constantly shifting texture and instrumentation, unexpected interruptions, and moments of sudden beauty. The first set is sparser, at times almost ominous, as a bell repeatedly sounds across wheezing harmonica, seasick orchestral textures, and creaking wood, making room for episodes of yodelling and delicate prepared piano before exploding into a storm of buzzing synth and piano fragments. The second set is more frenetic, moving rapidly across centuries and continents: cars crash into post-serial piano pointillism, wailing voices collide with chopped and screwed hip-hop samples, Hollywood strings are buried under layers of electronic gurgles. The performance slows in its final moments, making way for a sampled voice repeating the phrase ‘protest and the good of the world’, reminding us that MEV’s idea of freedom was always more than musical. Symphony No. 107 –The Bard is a beautifully recorded example of the endlessly multi-layered later MEV sound, accompanied by new liner notes by Alvin Curran (now the only surviving member of the group) and a selection of previously unseen photographs from across the many decades of the group’s activity. Arriving in an elegant sleeve bearing a beautiful photograph by Francis Zhou of the Olin Hall at Bard College where the concert was recorded, this is an essential document from a major group in the history of experimental music. As Rzewski wrote, this music is ‘like life, unpredictable, sometimes making sense, mostly not’.

Next up is an overdue reunion with a familiar face. After his outstanding contribution to Cocoon Compilation S and his first solo EP on Cocoon Recordings, Raxon is back with a more than equally fascinating sound. The Egyptian-born and now Barcelona-based artist is back on it again, delivering two tracks that will take you on a journey through the depths of robotic soundscapes.
Intricate beats, hypnotic synthesizer melodies, deep bassline grooves, and distinctive EFX sounds create Raxon’s very special signature sound.

Straight drum programming paired with chirping percussions takes us away to embark on a travel through space and time while distinctive claps poke through a futuristic nebula of floating and shifting sequences. The twisted melody of “Robotalia” carries us to a parallel dimension of machine sound and if you listen closely, you can hear the robots’ screwing and sawing. Warping bleeps and mechanical effects complete the robotic feeling. Raxon’s understanding of structures and architectural abilities are reflected through the arrangement, slowly increasing to ecstasy.

“Kryptonite” scores with alien soundscapes. Stuttering vocals are the questions, while futuristic and dramatic chord stabs are the direct answer. A straight, radiant sound appears as an electronic trombone from outer space, offensively supporting the driving bassline. The symbiotic interplay between the euphoric synthesizer hook line and the relentless beat with pushing sharp hi-hats visualize powerful images in one's mind's eye. Suddenly the beat stagnates and results in a morphing break going head over heels developing a start-stop pitch effect that not only builds up tremendous tension but also bears an increased risk of melting your brain. We just love tape delay!

Kusōzu : Nine Death Stages is the second album by the Tokyo trio Archeus, which consists of Keiko Higuchi (voice, percussion, trombone, shamisen), Shizuo Uchida (bass strings), and TOMO (hurdy gurdy, voice). It follows their debut, self-titled and self-released CD and cassette from 2021 and is further proof – if any were needed – that these musicians, who’ve known each other for some time, but only started playing together relatively recently, share a telepathic communication, improvising together, fully in the moment, and as one. Where their debut album featured four extended improvisations, Kusōzu is an object lesson in economy and clarity – nine tracks, thirty-three minutes, everything that needs be said and nothing more.

All three musicians are incredibly active in the Japanese underground. Higuchi currently plays with Sachiko in Albedo Fantastica, adding Uchida for Albedo Gravitas; Uchida and Higuchi team up with Masami Kawaguchi (guitar) in vDBG. She’s also recorded with improvisers such as Naoto Yamagishi, Yasumune Morishige, and Shin-Ichiro Kanda. Uchida is also a member of MAI MAO, Kito-Mizukumi Rouber, Hasegawa-Shizuo, UH, and TERROR SHIT, and he’s recently recorded with improvising guitarist Takashi Masubuchi; TOMO has previously been a member of Tetragrammaton and Pouring High Water, and has recently performed live with Mick of Kousokuya, Mitsuru Tabata, Keiji Haino, and Daisuke Takaoka.

While Higuchi and Uchida have been making music together for some time now, they appear careful not to impose their previously articulated lexicon to bear on Archeus. There are trace elements of their playerly voices still present – the stretchy, plastic scrabbling on bass strings from Uchida; Higuchi’s murmurations of tone, and sudden plunges back down to earth, vertiginous and woozy – but there are other things going on here, particularly with TOMO joining in the action. His hurdy gurdy is a wild card in a group of wild cards, here cranking out burred, purring drones, there fidgeting through floods of notes, cranked up really high, ducking and weaving between Higuchi and Uchida as the three pursue the eternal now that is core to the best improvised music.

Archeus seem to work alchemically, transmuting their base matter into gold. Named after the Buddhist art practice of kusōzu, the graphic painting of nine stages of a decaying corpse in the open air, “to demonstrate the effects of impermanence,” as scholar Gail Chin once wrote.

Kusōzu : Nine Death Stages is Archeus at their most rigorously attentive to each other’s playing, and by the end, the music is itself thinking and feeling.

**BACK IN PRINT ON SINGLE LP**After three albums filled for the most part with quick song bursts and the occasional longer track, the eight-song long Bullhead found the Melvins stretching out a bit more at points, this time allowing the heavily stoned tempos plenty of time to really sprawl all over the place. There are fewer sudden shifts between fast and slow moments as well, and a lot more pure lava-flow beat-over-head feedback sludge and noise. It's not all ten mph deliberation, though - "Zodiac" shows the trio at full speed and blasting aside anything that might be so foolish as to get in its way, not to mention one unhinged Osbourne vocal lead. If grunge was achieving breakthrough status in Seattle, it was being perfected in its rawest sense on this album. Opening cut "Boris" does all this in excelsis - the band's longest recorded song at this point, nearly ten minutes long, it practically drips from the bongwater of eight million potheads, with Osbourne invoking his own brand of demons over the deep crawl of the music. Osbourne here really has got the dramatic, theatrical Ozzy Osbourne attitude down, with the occasional double-tracked vocals adding to the off-kilter intensity of the performances. Crover again shows his worth on the drums - he plays things slow most of the time but, crucially, never once sloppily - while Black keeps the bass going, however relatively unheard under Osbourne's guitar attack. "It's Shoved" is the not-so-secret highlight of Bullhead, Crover's brisker drum work and Black's sharp bass playing heralding a wild lead-guitar melody and a great ensemble performance. However, efforts like "Anaconda," with its slowly uncoiling power, and the intense "If I Had an Exorcism," which gets all the more wired and wound up as it goes (Black's bass here is some of her best), are no slouches. (All Music)

Jack Vegas is the sixth album by Swedish electro/post punk outfit Agent Side Grinder. It marks the band’s first exploration of American culture, drawing heavily on the beatnik-era works of Jack Kerouac and William S. Burroughs, as well as the proto-punk and avantgarde movements — while maintaining a contemporary storytelling perspective.

The American dream becomes a symbol for escape from a Europe ravaged by pandemics, war and financial instability. Lyrical themes revolve around boredom, resilience, government and corporate intrusion, and mental health — with the occasional glimmer of light. It’s a drum machine-driven road movie, plotting its course through the desperate heart of rural Sweden.

The name Jack Vegas’ is derived from a Swedish chain of low-stakes slot machines.

The album has been produced by former ASG member Henrik Sunbring, and recorded in Stockholm during 2022.

Genre-wise Agent Side Grinder has always existed in some kind of twilight zone. Deeply rooted in early electronic and industrial music as well as proto- and post punk, their sound is driven by iterative, suggestive beats and sudden bursts of untamed ferocity, built on equal parts dissonant samples and elegant melodies.

"As I write these notes sitting on my balcony in July 2022, it has been more than 9 years since the release of my debut album and more than 11years since it was recorded, the time since has been a personally tumultuous period of twists and turns - retreat, reflection, realization, reassessment, therapy, triumph, trial and error - entangled in a decade-long creative block that had me questioning whether
I would ever be able to compose again and though I felt there was so much I wanted and needed to say, I felt I had lost my voice, or perhaps never had one in the first place. A constant knot had grown tighter and tighter within me over time, but I did not understand what had created it or how it might be undone. In 2018, shaken awake by the collision of two transients, I suddenly saw in a new light old
patterns whose familiar presences I realized I had felt for much of my life, but had until then never seen for what they were. Following a third, I finally found the humility to surrender, and as I began re- examining and confronting myself, I slowly started to discover new answers - and new questions to ask.

Then the Covid-19 pandemic happened, and the world stopped. Like so many of us caught in the new eerie calm, I retreated into inner spaces. I began revisiting sketches of ideas I had accumulated over the years, and finally, very, very slowly, new music started to come. " - Jussi Reijonen.

"Electrifying and deeply resonant, monumental and profoundly personal, Reijonen's five- movement suite is a beautifully crafted, remarkable journey of sound and emotion performed by a knockout nine-piece ensemble." - Monarch

"He's written one hell of a piece." - The Arts Fuse

"On this remarkable and ambitious new recording, Reijonen delivers an epic transcultural suite that feels as deeply personal as it is expansive and farreaching." - All About Jazz "a remarkable sophomore album" -The Boston Globe

"This is an album meticulously pulled together into a dense fabric of diverse musical threads. It merits repeated listening; with each fresh listen, the richness of Reijonen's intercultural vocabulary becomes more apparent." London Jazz News

"Even in our present jazz moment, when the art form is worldwide and vital, albums that come as complete surprises are relatively rare. Three seconds Kolme Toista is a stunner." Jazz Times

"Three seconds Kolme Toista is spellbinding from beginning to end, and full of virtuoso performances." All About Jazz