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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.

Known for her time as vocalist in Fairport Convention and respected
globally , Sandy Denny left a beguiling, ever-evolving body of work - Kate
Bush was to namecheck her in song, and Denny's influence can be heard
in generations of singer-songwriters
After leaving Fairport Convention in late 1969, Sandy Denny formed Fotheringay
with husband Trevor Lucas. After one UK Top 20 LP in summer 1970, the band
split while recording a follow up, leaving Denny free to make her first solo album.
A beguiling mixture of covers and originals, The North Star Grass Man And The
Ravens is one of THE essential British folk-rock albums. From the dreamlike Late
November to the plaintive Next Time Around to her reading of the traditional
standard Blackwaterside, the album is a near perfect capture of the talent on the
scene at that juncture: including Richard Thompson's unmistakable guitar playing,
John Wood's production and Harry Robinson's string arrangements. Released in
September 1971, its reputation has understandably grown exponentially over the
years. Out of print on LP for a number of years, this re-issue faithfully replicates
the original 1971 Island Records UK release with gatefold sleeve and is pressed
onto high quality 180g vinyl

Roscoe is a road dog - The 14-year-old Boston Terrier has been there for
the whole ride of Mapache, Clay Finch and Sam Blasucci's band, which
has grown from being the casual project of two longtime buds to one of
the most formidable cosmic-folk acts around
"Roscoe's been through a lot of shit," says Blasucci, the dog's formal owner. "He's
been all around the country, come on tour a little bit." With some bemused pride,
Finch points out that, for a few years, he and Blasucci bunked together in a room
in the Echo Park neighborhood of Los Angeles that was just big enough to fit two
twin beds. "It was the two of us and the dog," he laughs. Naturally, Roscoe has
found himself the subject of a good handful of Mapache songs in the past - and
on Roscoe's Dream, the band's upcoming third LP of originals, he takes center
stage.

Between the late 70s and the early 80s, pop music was in a transitional phase. After a return to the roots of punk, rock was morphing into new wave, while disco was rapidly declining and the electronic revolution, already on the rise, was ushering in the transition from analog to digital. This period also saw the emergence and relatively brief flowering of a commercially dominant style that mixed soul influences (especially Stevie Wonder and Ear th Wind & Fi re) , folk/pop songwriting and jazz sensibilities in equal measure, creating a hybrid easy on the ears but also emotionally and musically rich. It was the style represented by artists like Christopher Cross, Michael McDonald, Gino Vannelli and Kenny Loggins, who were all influenced by black music. They belonged to a larger trend that took place in all major music producing countries, including Italy where, like so many other things, the style was not merely imported or copied, but reshaped into a specifically local version based on the nation's tastes and cultural traditions. In Italy, a soulful and sophisticated approach to pop music was embraced not only by established names like Mina, Alan Sorrenti and Loredana Berté, but also, and perhaps most importantly, by an entire generation of writers, arrangers and musicians who had grown up listening to early fusion, to Steely Dan's refined recordings, and to Quincy Jones's productions. So, with this compilation we hope to give new exposure to artists and songs that, despite having moderate or little success when first released, must be regarded as among the creative peaks of Italian pop music. "Paisà Got Soul" features pop veterans Peppino Di Capri, Mario Lavezzi and Alberto Radius alongside atypical singer-songwriters (Enzo Carella, Enzo Cervo, Gino D'Eliso), Italo-disco heroes (Stefano Pulga), international hit composers (Beppe Cantarelli, who has co-written for Aretha Franklin and Mariah Carey), Brazilian-born naturalized Italians (Jim Porto) and complete unknowns (Franco Camassa, I Ricci, Massimo Stella).It brings together little gems that in most cases are no longer available on the market, or only available in their original and now very rare vinyl format. We believe they all deserve to be rediscovered today, partly because of the recently renewed interest in "yacht rock", as this music style has been retrospectively named, and partly because they provide further evidence that Italian artists rework international music styles in creative and original ways.

Compiled and conceived by David Nerattini partnered by Pierpaolo De Sanctis

We've always done things our own way and without any outside pressure,” says Paul Isherwood of The Soundcarriers. “Making music like this keeps things fresh, you always lose something and gain something as you go along but I think of it as just another chapter.”

There have been many chapters in the life of the band to date and each one is defined by the singular approach and style of the group. Since forming in 2007 the band - comprised of Isherwood, Adam Cann, Dorian Conway and Leonore Wheatley - have released three albums that position them as a distinct and unique force in British music. Eschewing fads and trends that come and go, they have instead focused on honing their own sonic world that glides between woozy psychedelia, immersive grooves, subtle pop and rich, enveloping soundscapes. They’ve consistently moved at their own pace and on their own terms and on their fourth album, Wilds, they return after seven years since their last. “The sessions started in a cottage in the wilds so there's a literal meaning,” Isherwood says of the title. “But figuratively we've pretty much been in the wild for the last few years as far as a lot of people are concerned.”

The recording was staggered over a few different locations, from cottages to primary schools, before finishing in an art gallery. “The beauty of recording in non-studio studios is you have the time for the unexpected to happen,” says Isherwood. “Which is really what keeps you coming back for more.” As a result of the timeframe of the album, it’s one that has changed and grown a lot over the years. “The record has been through a lot of stages,” says Isherwood. “It's almost been circular. We started off wanting to do an album of more shorter, concise tracks and then sort of sidestepped into some more spacey ambient ideas so in a way the album is kind of a synthesis of the two phases, overall carrying on with many of the themes and influences of the first three but with a more focused approach.”

The opening ‘Waves’ leaps out the gate with an infectious hook kissed by a touch of French pop before leaping into a devilishly catchy chorus and into a mini prog-like flute breakdown. It sets the tone for an album that is rich in adventure and unpredictability that manages to balance experimentation with accessibility. ‘At The Time’ is almost unrelenting in its grinding charge, managing to create a groove that cracks and pulses at the same time, ‘Wilds’ is a gorgeously floating piece of music that skips along with strutting bass as Wheatley’s vocals merge melody with texture magically. The closing ‘Happens Too Soon gently stirs to life with an almost pastoral folk air to it, as it slowly builds into swirling psych pop rich in texture before reaching a rousing crescendo. “I feel this album sums up a lot of our influences,” says Isherwood. “There’s a strong folk influence in the sense of the actual songwriting but musically we wanted to create songs that were like those rare oddities you find on a bizarre charity shop record. A collection of "one offs" capturing a moment rather than trying to make a hit song.”

This sense of it being an album of unique songs is clearly apparent throughout but it also maintains a natural flow and cohesion. This is something that stems from the band’s approach to songwriting for the record. “A lot of the tracks started with a feel or groove,” says Isherwood. “Then building it into a more concise arranged piece. We were conscious that we didn't want the recording to sound too over-polished so although a lot of the tracks were quite painstaking in how they evolved we wanted the actual recording to be quite raw and not be reliant on cutting things up or overly editing things. We wanted it to sound natural rather than perfect.”

‘Aloha Got Soul’ encompasses a vibrant era of contemporary music made in Hawai’i during the 1970s to the mid-1980s as jazz, rock, funk, disco and R&B co-existed alongside Hawaiian folk music. Hawai’i’s identity had undergone huge change: statehood into America in ‘59 and the Vietnam War were the backdrop as Hawai’i’s youth found inspiration in a new wave of international music led initially by The Beatles and Stones and, later, by US R&B bands like Earth Wind & Fire and Tower Of Power. Garage bands flourished during the ‘60s and, by the ‘70s, live music was at its peak. Waikiki was filled with clubs: The Point After, Infinity’s, Hawaiian Hut, Spats and more.
For the ‘70s generation of artists, some came through the talent contest ‘Home Grown’ and its accompanying compilation LP. In 1978, Hawaiian was made the official state language and a huge movement arose to revive hula and traditional music. Steve & Teresa’s ‘Kaho’olawe Song’ longs for an island long gone: the US military had used Kaho’olawe as a bombing range since Pearl Harbor. Nohelani Cypriano sang about the once sleepy town of Kailua, now a popular tourist destination: “Kailua needs no high-rise with her blue skies, not for our eyes. Can you realize?” Leading Hawaiian artists like Aura, Mike Lundy and keyboardist Kirk Thompson’s Lemuria took time in high quality facilities like Broad Recording Studio to make albums. Others grabbed studio time when they could: Tender Leaf’s Murray Compoc worked for the city bus by day and recorded an album during night sessions. Other albums were spontaneous. In 1983, Steve Maii & Teresa Bright recorded an acoustic set in just 3 hours after being invited to a studio following a gig.

For the artists of the ‘70s, the climate for music changed rapidly during the mid-‘80s as DJ culture grew and live venues shut down. Hawai’i’s R&B era shone brightly and relatively briefly but, despite brilliant musicians, regular gigs and LP releases, most of the music barely made it to the mainland. Thanks largely to Aloha Got Soul’s Roger Bong, a new interest in this fertile era of Hawaiian music has grown, culminating in this compilation of overlooked gems. ‘Aloha Got Soul’ is compiled and annotated by Bong and features rare photos and original artwork.

Omowale is the powerful new album from Wildchild, one third of the legendary Lootpack crew and a formidable solo artist who released many projects on the iconic Stones Throw Records. Across the 15 tracks, the Cali rapper deftly explores what it means to be a Black man in the U.S. today with timely, poignant lyrics. It’s a hard-hitting look at this country and its decades of wrongdoing, all with an air of optimism for the future. This album is Wildchild’s first solo release since 2016’s T.G.I.F., though he’s clearly kept busy in the interim by working on Omowale and making a number of standout guest appearances. Many of his past collaborators are returning the favor, as we’re treated to dope features from Posdnuos (of De La Soul), Big Daddy Kane, Guilty Simpson, Ras Kass, Murs, and more. Plus, there’s head-nodding production from Madlib, Nottz, Georgia Anne Muldrow, and Mr. Brady, among others. They’re all bringing their A-game on Omowale, an impeccably produced album beyond its instrumentation and rhymes. Wildchild builds on the project’s narrative by incorporating audio from newscasts, protests, and other live events. He also brings that real-world feel to his lyrics, from joyful raps with his son (Black-ish actor/emcee Miles Brown) on the funky “G.O.A.T.” to raw rhymes about police brutality on “Breathe.”
When the album culminates with “Say Their Name”—a moving tribute to the rap legends we’ve lost over the years—Wildchild proves on Omowale that you can balance hope with the harsh, unjust realities of the world.

As funny as it may sound, Anaïs Mitchell has spent the past 15 years in some kind of hell. OK, not actual hell, but the multi-faceted world of Hadestown, a musical project she began in Vermont in 2006 that has grown into a Tony®- and Grammy®-award-winning Broadway phenomenon with touring editions now delighting audiences as far away as South Korea.

“I experienced so much joy working on Hadestown, but it just kept ramping up and up and requiring more and more attention,” Mitchell admits. “I had to become so single-minded and really put blinders on to my other creative life.” As it did for many artists, the COVID-19 pandemic unexpectedly offered Mitchell a blank slate to reconnect with her own music. The result is a new self-titled album made with close collaborators from Bon Iver, The National and her own band Bonny Light Horseman, Mitchell’s first collection of all-new material under her own name since 2012’s Young Man in America.

“I was nine months pregnant when the pandemic reached New York, so we made an 11th hour decision to leave and have the baby in Vermont,” Mitchell recalls. “We left the city and had the baby a week later, and then like everyone, we were in the midst of this unprecedented stillness. It felt like I could see behind me: oh, there’s New York City. There’s Hadestown. There’s my life with just one kid. A certain kind of stress and expectations. In Vermont, we moved onto my family farm and lived in my grandparents’ old house, with a new baby. I’d look at pictures on my phone from a few months earlier and wonder, whose life was that? This record, and the songs that are on it, came out of that time. I got into a flow again that I hadn’t felt in a really long time.”

Dubbed by NPR as “one of the greatest songwriters of her generation,” Mitchell is a master of the worlds of narrative folksong, poetry and balladry. Those talents are evident from the first moments of the new album, as Mitchell narrates what she calls “an unbearably romantic” trip over the Brooklyn Bridge colored by Bon Iver member Michael Lewis’ heartstring-tugging saxophone accompaniment. “Having left New York, I was able to write a love letter to it in a way I never could when I was living there,” she says. “It was like, fuck it. This is how I feel. There is nothing more beautiful than riding over one of the New York bridges at night next to someone who inspires you.”

Produced by Mitchell’s Bonny Light Horseman bandmate Josh Kaufman, the album proceeds to chronicle Mitchell’s reconnection with the Vermont roots that have been so formative in her life and music. “Bright Star” finds her making peace with the idea of being at peace in the familiar setting of her grandparents’ house, while “Revenant” was inspired by paging through a box of journals and letters belonging to herself and her grandmother — “a very pandemic activity,” she says. “That house is literally my happy place. I can picture myself as a kid, in this house, laying on the carpet with a sunbeam coming through the sliding glass door. There’s something about it that is really connected in my mind to my childhood and a very free, imaginative, creative time. “Revenant” has a lot to do with that house and reconnecting with my childhood self.”

Mitchell concedes that she tends “to be someone who thinks it has to be hard in order for it to be good or beautiful,” but that feeling has changed, partly thanks to her deep connection with musicians she’s met through the 37d03d collective established by The National’s Aaron and Bryce Dessner and Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon. During the pandemic, some of those artists participated in a “song a day” writing group — an idea Mitchell says is usually “totally opposite of how I roll. But it really helped me to gain access to some kind of trust and intuition and flow. I began a bunch of these songs while doing that.”

“It unlocked something that allowed me to finish a bunch of songs I’d been sitting on, and feeling a bit paralyzed about how to finish them,” she continues. “Because no one was touring, it’s not like I was playing them for anyone before we were in the studio. In other times, I’ve trotted things out in advance. Here, it was like, here’s all these brand new songs. Let’s discover what they can be. That was really exciting.”

That discovery process took flight at Dreamland Recording Studios outside Woodstock, N.Y., which Mitchell describes as “this weird, janky, beautiful church - it’s my favorite studio in the world.” Kaufman, Lewis and Big Red Machine drummer JT Bates formed a core band around Mitchell, while Aaron Dessner and Thomas Bartlett joined the sessions mid-week on guitar and piano, respectively.

After the appropriate COVID tests came back negative, “it was a pretty extraordinary feeling to hug, kiss and share the same space playing together,” Mitchell says. “We went into that world for a week and didn’t leave the studio for any reason. I felt very safe with all those guys. It was warm and joyful.”

Mitchell says this environment brought out unexpected details in the material, which was recorded almost entirely live together in the room. “Sometimes we tried separating things out, like vocals, but we always ended up back in the room together,” she says. Indeed, after spending the better part of a day recording overdubbed versions of “Little Big Girl” that nobody loved, the musicians gave up and tracked it again live. “We got so frustrated that we went in and I was like, I’m just going to sing this as hard as I fucking can. It felt like that’s what the song wanted to be,” Mitchell says. “It felt like all those songs wanted to be recorded as live as possible.” The exception to the rule was Nico Muhly's arrangements for strings and flute, which were added from New York City afterward.

Mitchell will debut the new material during various headline tours in the U.S. and Europe in 2022, at which she’ll be accompanied by players from the album. On stage, she can’t wait to further hone the sights, sounds and scenes that bring the songs to such vivid life. “I’ve spent a lot of time trying to write in the voice of other characters, especially with Hadestown. It’s fun for me, but these songs are not that,” she says. “Weirdly, they’re all me. The narrator is me. That’s why it felt right to self-title the album. It felt like after so many years of working on telling other stories, now here are some of mine.”

As funny as it may sound, Anaïs Mitchell has spent the past 15 years in some kind of hell. OK, not actual hell, but the multi-faceted world of Hadestown, a musical project she began in Vermont in 2006 that has grown into a Tony®- and Grammy®-award-winning Broadway phenomenon with touring editions now delighting audiences as far away as South Korea.

“I experienced so much joy working on Hadestown, but it just kept ramping up and up and requiring more and more attention,” Mitchell admits. “I had to become so single-minded and really put blinders on to my other creative life.” As it did for many artists, the COVID-19 pandemic unexpectedly offered Mitchell a blank slate to reconnect with her own music. The result is a new self-titled album made with close collaborators from Bon Iver, The National and her own band Bonny Light Horseman, Mitchell’s first collection of all-new material under her own name since 2012’s Young Man in America.

“I was nine months pregnant when the pandemic reached New York, so we made an 11th hour decision to leave and have the baby in Vermont,” Mitchell recalls. “We left the city and had the baby a week later, and then like everyone, we were in the midst of this unprecedented stillness. It felt like I could see behind me: oh, there’s New York City. There’s Hadestown. There’s my life with just one kid. A certain kind of stress and expectations. In Vermont, we moved onto my family farm and lived in my grandparents’ old house, with a new baby. I’d look at pictures on my phone from a few months earlier and wonder, whose life was that? This record, and the songs that are on it, came out of that time. I got into a flow again that I hadn’t felt in a really long time.”

Dubbed by NPR as “one of the greatest songwriters of her generation,” Mitchell is a master of the worlds of narrative folksong, poetry and balladry. Those talents are evident from the first moments of the new album, as Mitchell narrates what she calls “an unbearably romantic” trip over the Brooklyn Bridge colored by Bon Iver member Michael Lewis’ heartstring-tugging saxophone accompaniment. “Having left New York, I was able to write a love letter to it in a way I never could when I was living there,” she says. “It was like, fuck it. This is how I feel. There is nothing more beautiful than riding over one of the New York bridges at night next to someone who inspires you.”

Produced by Mitchell’s Bonny Light Horseman bandmate Josh Kaufman, the album proceeds to chronicle Mitchell’s reconnection with the Vermont roots that have been so formative in her life and music. “Bright Star” finds her making peace with the idea of being at peace in the familiar setting of her grandparents’ house, while “Revenant” was inspired by paging through a box of journals and letters belonging to herself and her grandmother — “a very pandemic activity,” she says. “That house is literally my happy place. I can picture myself as a kid, in this house, laying on the carpet with a sunbeam coming through the sliding glass door. There’s something about it that is really connected in my mind to my childhood and a very free, imaginative, creative time. “Revenant” has a lot to do with that house and reconnecting with my childhood self.”

Mitchell concedes that she tends “to be someone who thinks it has to be hard in order for it to be good or beautiful,” but that feeling has changed, partly thanks to her deep connection with musicians she’s met through the 37d03d collective established by The National’s Aaron and Bryce Dessner and Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon. During the pandemic, some of those artists participated in a “song a day” writing group — an idea Mitchell says is usually “totally opposite of how I roll. But it really helped me to gain access to some kind of trust and intuition and flow. I began a bunch of these songs while doing that.”

“It unlocked something that allowed me to finish a bunch of songs I’d been sitting on, and feeling a bit paralyzed about how to finish them,” she continues. “Because no one was touring, it’s not like I was playing them for anyone before we were in the studio. In other times, I’ve trotted things out in advance. Here, it was like, here’s all these brand new songs. Let’s discover what they can be. That was really exciting.”

That discovery process took flight at Dreamland Recording Studios outside Woodstock, N.Y., which Mitchell describes as “this weird, janky, beautiful church - it’s my favorite studio in the world.” Kaufman, Lewis and Big Red Machine drummer JT Bates formed a core band around Mitchell, while Aaron Dessner and Thomas Bartlett joined the sessions mid-week on guitar and piano, respectively.

After the appropriate COVID tests came back negative, “it was a pretty extraordinary feeling to hug, kiss and share the same space playing together,” Mitchell says. “We went into that world for a week and didn’t leave the studio for any reason. I felt very safe with all those guys. It was warm and joyful.”

Mitchell says this environment brought out unexpected details in the material, which was recorded almost entirely live together in the room. “Sometimes we tried separating things out, like vocals, but we always ended up back in the room together,” she says. Indeed, after spending the better part of a day recording overdubbed versions of “Little Big Girl” that nobody loved, the musicians gave up and tracked it again live. “We got so frustrated that we went in and I was like, I’m just going to sing this as hard as I fucking can. It felt like that’s what the song wanted to be,” Mitchell says. “It felt like all those songs wanted to be recorded as live as possible.” The exception to the rule was Nico Muhly's arrangements for strings and flute, which were added from New York City afterward.

Mitchell will debut the new material during various headline tours in the U.S. and Europe in 2022, at which she’ll be accompanied by players from the album. On stage, she can’t wait to further hone the sights, sounds and scenes that bring the songs to such vivid life. “I’ve spent a lot of time trying to write in the voice of other characters, especially with Hadestown. It’s fun for me, but these songs are not that,” she says. “Weirdly, they’re all me. The narrator is me. That’s why it felt right to self-title the album. It felt like after so many years of working on telling other stories, now here are some of mine.”

Written and recorded over the past year, Penny and Sparrow’s remarkable new album, Olly Olly, is a work of liberation and revelation, a full-throated embrace of the self from a band that’s committed to leaving no stone unturned in their tireless quest for actualization. The songs here are fearless and introspective, embracing growth and change as they reckon with desire, intimacy, doubt, and regret, and the arrangements are similarly bold and thoughtful, augmenting the duo’s rich, hypnotic brand of chamber folk with electronic flourishes and R&B grooves. The duo — Andy Baxter and Kyle Jahnke — produced Olly Olly themselves, working on their own without an outside collaborator for the first time, and the result is the purest, most authentic act of artistic self-expression the pair have ever achieved. “Andy and I talk about the process of making this record like a sort of musical Rumspringa,” Jahnke says. “It was an opportunity to truly become ourselves, to evolve outside of the roles we’d been put in — or put ourselves in — because of the way we’d grown up.” Texas natives Baxter and Jahnke first crossed paths at UT Austin, where they developed a fast friendship and a deeply symbiotic musical connection. Jahnke was a gifted guitarist with an ear for melody, Baxter, an erudite lyricist with a mesmerizing voice and crystalline falsetto, and the duo quickly found that their vocals blended together as if they’d been singing in harmony their whole lives. Beginning with 2013’s ‘Tenboom,’ the staunchly DIY pair released a series of critically lauded records that garnered comparisons to the hushed intimacy of Iron & Wine and the adventurous beauty of Bon Iver, building up a devoted fanbase along the way through relentless touring and word-of-mouth buzz. NPR praised the band’s songwriting as a “delicate dance between heartache and resolve,” while Rolling Stone hailed their catalog as “folk music for Sunday mornings, quiet evenings, and all the fragile moments in between.” The duo’s most recent album, 2019’s Finch, marked a turning point in their career, pushing their sound to experimental new heights as it wrestled with notions of masculinity and religion and transformation in deeper, more personal ways than ever before. The record debuted at #2 on the Billboard Heatseekers Chart and was met with a rapturous response from critics and audiences alike, racking up more than 40 million streams on Spotify and earning the band their biggest headline tour to date.

Michael Hurley's first new studio record in 12 years features eleven songs recorded in Astoria, Oregon during the brief time of year when the foxgloves bloom. Hurley had been workshopping the set at home for the past few years. Friends and collaborators came into town and contributed from afar. The songs are lifted by violin, organ, upright bass, banjo, percussion - but at the center, of course, is the enigmatic Snock, whose songs have grown only more unique and more 57 years after his debut album (First Songs - Folkways, 1964). It could only be Snock. Heartbreaking, heartfelt, easy and carefree. The glorious opener “Are You Here For The Festival” – punctuated by a pair of violins – came to him while working in the garden. “Little Blue River” floats by on a cloud. The haunting “Jacob’s Ladder” sounds beamed in from another era. Or dimension. Foxgloves is as comforting and wonderful as any Hurley record that has come before it.

In the fleeting moments between the state of being awake and reaching the doors of dreamworld lies a borderland whence comes the mood music of ancient stories told – the celestial unison of three creative souls known as AURI.
Originally born in 2011 from the special connection of Johanna Kurkela, Tuomas Holopainen and Troy Donockley, AURI was first introduced to the world as late as 2018. Now complemented by the dynamic percussive talents of Kai Hahto, the threesome carves fantastical worlds entirely their own.

Comprised by Tuomas’ keys and infinite imagination, Troy’s arsenal of flutes, other folk instruments and magical touch, and Kurkela’s youthful and tender voice full of childlike wonder – fragile and gossamer, yet powerful and moving beyond words – the flow of AURI’s celestial, uplifting mood music captures from the first notes and does not let go.

To its key members AURI is a creative outlet unconfined by the preconceptions caused by their other bands and their respective audiences. Leaning to Celtic folk and cinematic pop yet not shackled by any specific genre, AURI isn’t the kind of music that can be described by words alone. No, an equal effort of the enchanted three, AURI runs a lane of completely their own. Unburdened by anyone’s expectations but their own. This is the sort of music that taps directly into emotions.

Embrace the atmospheric auditory imagery of fantastical valleys of other fairytale dimensions and soon gone fireside bards. Dwell for just a moment in treasuries of dreamlands and ponderings that see mundane things turning into otherworldly miracles.Feel welcomed to embark on endless adventures on long roads untrodden and ships never sailed.
As if frozen in time, you’ll be captivated by heart-burstingly elating fare-thee-wells for those dearly departed.
Hear the soft words that empower those feeling inadequate and reassurance to others fearing death.AURI’s are the keys to a dimension of awe no one else sees. Only theirs to offer are the mystical, soundscapes and ethereal vocals.
Theirs to hold are the magical powers that can melt the steeliest of hearts and make grown men cry. AURI invites the listener along for journeys no other band can provide.

Come, my love – now it‘s calm enough to go.

“John Andrews is picking flowers from each corner of his life and
presenting you with an unusual bouquet. His imaginary band ‘The
Yawns’ are back! Third time’s a charm. In hockey terms, they call it a
‘hat trick’ and you know who’s always wearing a ratty old hat? John
Andrews. Three years in the making and we have Cookbook, the third,
and most colorful record from your favorite New Hampshire based
craftsman.
“Unknowing folks usually assume he lives in New York City or
Los Angeles but confer with John for five minutes and if he’s in the
right mood he’ll talk your ear off about the granite state and the old,
seedy colonial barn where he’s tracked his records with his weird and
wonderful friends.
“Take a listen to his previous effort, 2017’s Bad Posture. It was the
grassroot slacker’s pie in the sky. His head was stuck in the past. He
probably excessively listened to ‘Cripple Creek Ferry’ and he most
likely wasn’t keeping up with household chores. Time moves on,
but just look at him now! All grown up yet likely still feeling those
growing pains. After a few more years of traveling we now have
Cookbook, fresh out the oven…phew! About nine or ten new tracks,
but who’s really counting?
“The lyrics are simple and endearing, inspired by mid-century love
songs. His inspirations are all across the board. If his subconscious
was a bootleg taper, life would be the show.
“At any rate, it doesn’t sound like a record made in New
Hampshire, but make no mistake, this is a dyed-in-the-wool Yawns
record, refreshingly straightforward yet full of character. It’s less of a
crowded honky tonk, and more of an empty, poignant speakeasy. You
can finally relax indoors after a weary day out in the cold. Have you
ever seen that painting of dogs playing poker? It might as well be what
they were listening to as the bulldog pushed his chips forward.”

Electronic producer Intriguant with his 3rd album Spirits on vinyl as a limited release under record label from Singapore, TAV Records.
When it comes to the relationship between electronic music and its interaction with Singapore, we always find the theme of longing connectivity through its panorama even within the many concrete walls and high-rises we have grown accustomed to living in. With Spirits, Intriguant takes the role of an observer and explores the landscapes of many different cultures and sounds that have taken habitat past and present. Driven by hauntingly futuristic break-beats of the 90s, shaped 808s, imagined club sounds of dancing folks, bass-heavy textures reminiscent of Burial, Spirits is both for the late- night vanguards and personal home listening rooms. Intriguant's third album encompasses his experiences as an artist most vividly, highlighting his ability to use the flexibility of electronic music to link floating ideas to the physical world.

The Analog Vault is honoured to be working with Intriguant for our third release as TAV Records.

Ryley Walker currently resides in New York City. But his latest LP is a Chicago record in spirit. The masterful Course In Fable, the songwriter’s fi@h solo effort,
draws from the deep well of that city’s ferCle 1990s scene, when bands like Tortoise, The Sea and Cake and Gastr del Sol were reshaping the underground,
mixing and matching indie rock, jazz, prog and beyond.
Walker spent his formaCve years in Chicago, absorbing those heady sounds and finding ways to make them his own. Even though he emerged at first in folkrock
troubadour mode, it makes sense that he’s arrived at this point; each LP has grown more intricate and assured, his influences disClling into something
original and unusual. To put it simply: Course In Fable is Walker’s best record yet, full of acCve imaginaCon and endless possibiliCes.
Last October, Ryley went straight to one of the primary architects of the Chicago sound to make the LP. John McEn:re, Course In Fable’s producer/engineer/
mixer, can rightly be called a legend for his work with Tortoise, Stereolab, The Red Krayola, Jim O’Rourke and countless others over a prolific career that now
spans more than three decades. Seeing his name in an album’s liners is preVy much a trademark of quality.
Another Windy City exile, McEnCre is based on the west coast these days, working out of the Portland, OR studio he’s dubbed Soma West. On the seven songs
here, he delivers the signature shimmering and prisCne sonics he’s become known for over the years. But McEnCre was also inCmately involved with Course
In Fable’s overall creaCve process. “I told him to take the mixes and have at it,” Walker says.
The result is a rich, immersive affair — a headphones record if ever there was one. Course In Fable’s songs are twisty, labyrinthine things, stuffed full of ideas
(Walker half-jokingly calls it his “prog record”). But no maVer how complex it gets, the album is never overwhelmingly busy. Wiry guitars melt into gorgeous
string secCons (arranged by Douglas Jenkins of the Portland Cello Project). Tricky Cme signatures abound but feel as natural as can be. Melodies o@en dri@ in
unexpected direcCons but remain downright hummable. Like Walker’s beloved Genesis, the pop element is never too far from the surface even when shit
gets weird. (And speaking of weird, Ryley says that in addiCon to Genesis, much of the album’s inspiraCon comes from “Australian extreme scooter riders on
YouTube and balding gear heads on Craigslist.” Go figure.)
To help put together these various puzzle pieces, Ryley assembled a band made up of several longCme collaborators. Bill MacKay (another Chicago mainstay)
and Walker have made two excellent instrumental duo records of interlocking guitars and warm give-and-take — a rapport very much in evidence
throughout Course In Fable. The freakishly talented drummer Ryan Jewell has performed with Walker for years now in a variety of seangs, from
straighborward song-centric sets to blown-out improv extravaganzas. Bassist Andrew ScoJ Young (Tiger Hatchery, Health&Beauty) has logged many miles on
tour with Walker; he and Jewell are frequently astonishing, a buoyant-but-always-locked-in rhythm secCon, able to navigate someCmes dizzying turnarounds
with apparent ease. Listening to the interplay between Walker and these musicians and you might be fooled into thinking they’d spent a year roadtesCng
Course In Fable’s songs. But it all came together relaCvely fast, thanks to demos, rehearsals and the kind of musical empathy that comes from years of
playing together.
Beneath the wondrous interplay, you’ll find some of Walker’s most personal – if sCll typically crypCc — lyrics, hinCng at some of the trials the songwriter has
been dealing with in recent years. Balanced with necessary doses of dark humor and oddball poetry, Course In Fable feels most of all like a life-affirming
record, fresh air in the lungs, sun on your skin. “Fuck me, I’m alive,” Ryley sings at one point, a moment of both disbelief and pure joy.
Walker has released his albums on a who’s-who of independent labels over the past decade — Tompkins Square, Dead Oceans, Thrill Jockey and Drag City
among them. This Cme around, he’s doing it DIY-style, puang Course In Fable out on his own Husky Pants imprint. You’re in good hands. This is an album that
sounds great (mastered by Greg Calbi), looks great (artwork by Jenny Nelson and design by Michael Vallera). It probably even smells great. Whether you’ve
been onboard since the beginning or are new to the Ryley Walker universe, you’re in for a treat.

Kënnlisch, one of the rarest haunting psychedelic acid folk LPs from France, was the work of brothers Philippe and Jean-François Macherey.

Originally released in 1976 on the mega collectable label Le Kiosque d'Orphée, it contains some of the most beautiful sounds to come out of the 1970s alternative music scene.

An instrumental album, it opens with a burst of sunshine vibes and takes them into the experimental scene of French alternative folk avantgarde with a strong Cosmische influence. Beauty is the word, grown over acoustic guitar parts harmonised with the most elegant Moog Satellite lines you'll ever hear to create atmospheres of sound that make this is the perfect record for your mind to float away on a peaceful Sunday morning under a clear blue sky - it does have that therapeutic quality that we miss so much in modern music.

Wah Wah presents the very first official reissue of this mega rare LP, housed in it's original minimalist hand made artwork with the little upgrade twist of silk-screen printing and including a 4-page colour booklet with photos and text provided by the Macherey brothers themselves.

500 copies only!

Fusing dexterous hand-percussion, hypnotic guitar riffs & soaring melodies, Waaju rise from London’s rich cultural palette with their latest album ‘Grown’, proving UK Jazz doesn’t have to sound the way we expect it to. Led by drummer and percussionist Ben Brown (Alfa Mist, Dizraeli, Ashley Henry), the band comprises percussionist Ernesto Marichales (Jordan Rakei, Sigala), guitarist Tal Janes (Nubiyan Twist, Bahla), Sam Rapley (Fabled, Maria Chiara Argiro) and Joe Downard (China Moses, Judi Jackson), each with their own strong presence on the UK’s extensive music scene. Waaju’s refined and divergent sound connects the dots between the likes of Ali Farka Touré, Alain Peters, Los Muñequitos de Matanzas, Oscar D’Leon and Beth Carvalho. Waaju formed as a means of exploring music’s hidden connections, from trance-inducing Moroccan Gnawa to Caribbean carnival music, and embracing them to reflect different shades of London’s own musical culture. It was the band’s love for Mali’s folk music – and Ali Farka Touré’s stylistic prowess in particular – that first set the project in motion. London’s Jazz Cafe invited Waaju to reinterpret classic tracks from Farka Touré’s catalogue to sold-out audiences in 2018 and 2019. According to Brown: “Ali’s one of the best. He has such a unique sound. His playing is so gnarly. His spirit and attitude are things I always think of when making music.” Waaju (meaning ‘to urge, inspire or influence to take action’ in Malian language Bambara) blends pulsing Latin polyrhythms, psychedelic Malian blues licks and cinematic textures. Following the group’s 2018 self-titled debut record, Grown presents a group more unified and distinctive-sounding than ever with six fresh, bold compositions. The record begins with Moleman, a potent reminder of the intricacy and energy Waaju’s become known for. Gritty, clattering metal defines the landscape for sizzling builds, hinting at rave culture styles like Bashment and Jungle. Listening Glasses follows and it’s clear why this is the album’s lead single – its Afrobeat-like energy and joyful interplay between guitar and tenor sax lies somewhere between Tony Allen’s grooves, Chimurenga guitar and Headhunters’ funk. On late night jam Rollando, Joe Downard’s skulking bass frequencies rule and wonkiness reaches new heights as heavy dub grooves almost tear themselves apart. Time’s Got a Hold was co-written by Waaju and Jordan Rakei for a show together in November 2018. Kicking off side B, this version features special guest vocalist Will Heard over bouncing triplets evocative of 1970’s Sega from La Reunion. A kind of looseness found only at night, the quiet drive of Wassoulou is sparse yet purposeful. Pulling back the tempo and dimming the lights, cavernous percussion fills each corner of the room, springing back as spectral reverbs. The title and final track shows the many dynamic sides of the outfit’s far-reaching sound, with its expansive harmonies and explosive psychedelia, spanning Yoruba Andabo to Hendrix, signing off an exciting and energetic second LP from Waaju at their most scintillating.

I remember the first time I read W.E.B. DuBois eclectic masterpiece The Souls of Black Folk. The way in which this Weberian scholar flowed from personal account to prose to sociological analysis to music and even political intervention has had a lasting impact on my own work as a cultural anthropologist. It made me understand that as scholars we must use different means in order to give expression to the totality of the lived experience: There is only so much in an academic text.

The experience of alienation has always been at the heart of my scholarly and artistic practice. I have used academic writing, lecturing, theatre performance and electronic improvisation to understand and represent it as a theoretical concept, postcolonial condition and lived experience. I believe, some issues need to be told like a story, some analyzed in most abstract terms and others need to be sung like a gospel. The medium changes the message.

In this sense, I guess, I’m a singing cultural anthropologist.

For some time now I have been engaged in the use of dystopian themes and sounds to paint a sonic picture of structural racism and whiteness of our present. But recently I have grown weary of this Ballardian idea of Future Now and the resulting phantasmagorian aesthetics myself and others have been invested in. The widespread availability of Digital Audio Workstations, sequencers, loopers and delay pedals has lead us into a futuristic cul de sac best described by Mark Fisher as the very absence of future.

Likewise, I am most skeptical of the “naturalist” countermovement, the return of folk. Especially in Germany, I am convinced there is no such thing as an innocent or progressive folk musical expression as it is always connected to the idea of the homeland (“Heimat”) which in turn produces the colony. It seems to me, the current zeitgeist is stuck between a “museum of a dystopian future” and a “museum of an idealized past”, but I wanted to sing about the present.

So, I involuntarily returned to pop music in its two-folded meaning of something popular and addressing not an essentialist notion of “Volk” or its woke cousin “communities”, but society as a whole.

I entered the studio just with a few lo-fi sounding melodies and rhythms from my circuit bent CASIO synthesizer. I had no clue what the finished product would sound like. But as soon as Markus started drumming, in a way strangely reminding me of CAN’s Ethnographic Forgery Series, my uptight sounds were suddenly embedded within a warmer global sound spectrum. The alien at home and abroad and the strange overlapped: We were seeing one and the same sound differently but were gently held together by Tobias’ producing.

Making music is about building coalitions. It’s about suggesting an articulation of styles, sounds and people, that hasn’t materialized, yet, but may help us in the current crisis: I wanted Amon Düül II to send their drug induced archangel thunderbird to rescue the refugees, that had tried to escape the police by climbing up a tree in Munich in 2016. I wanted Sun Ra to taunt far-right protesters in Chemnitz in 2018. And I wanted to mourn the loss of a former kebab shop cum discotheque that served as proof that there is such a thing as a minoritarian universalism.

SCHLAND IS THE PLACE FOR ME is a pop album featuring songs of alienation, not only as a tragic experience, but as a pop-cultural promise. Maybe Bill Callahan sung it best, “I am Star Wars today, I am no longer English grey”. I want those who suffer from alienation to stand in alliance with those who seek alienation, and vice-versa. A coalition, that tolerates the possibility that we are moved by the same groove for contrary reasons.

Fehler Kuti
Munich, Autumn 2019

Music by Julian Warner, Markus Acher & Tobias Siegert
Saxophone on RINDERMARKT by Franz Brunner
Trombone on RINDERMARKT and IL by Matthias Götz
Recorded and mixed by Tobias Siegert in Munich.
SONTAGSFAVORIT mixed by Dario Albiez in Dusseldorf.
Mastered by Duphonic in Augsburg.
Artwork by Atelier Grande, Munich.

A year on from the highly-acclaimed album 'It's A World Before You', Kaidi Tatham brings more new music to First Word Records - a continuation of his previous EP's for the label (2017's 'Changing Times' & 'Hard Times'), here we enter 'Serious Times'.

Kaidi Tatham is one of the most revered multi-instrumentalists in the game. Dubbed by Radio 1's Benji B last year as "the UK's Herbie Hancock", his versatility as a musician is actually more akin to Prince in the sense that he can play most instruments, and play them well. His contributions as a musician, composer & producer have included work with Bugz In The Attic, Amy Winehouse, Slum Village, Mulatu Astatke, Soul II Soul, Moonchild, Leroy Burgess, Amp Fiddler and loads more over the years, additionally to being a key player on Jazzy Jeff's PLAYlist album 'Chasing Goosebumps' along with Masego, Stro Elliot, 14KT, Tall Black Guy, Rich Medina and the like, and various projects alongside Dego (2000 Black) and First Word label-mates Eric Lau, Darkhouse Family & Children of Zeus.

'Serious Times' is another 4-track set comprised of Kaidi's unmistakable style, encompassing broken beat, jazz, boogie and hip hop. The EP starts off with the hype jazz-funk bruk of 'Cost of Living', maintaining the tempo into 'Don't Cry Now' which leads with a sweet latin-tinged piano riff. Onto the flipside, and we're treated to the slinky synth-boogie of 'Sugar' before dropping the tempo down & closing the selection with a warped but jazzy instrumental boom bap piece entitled 'Zallom'.

Kaidi is a national treasure quite frankly, and this EP is another mere taster of this man's endless talents and unique vibes. Some grown folk music, perfect for these 'Serious Times'…

Vinyl & digital released on Friday 19th July 2019 on First Word Records (Worldwide Awards 'Label of the Year 2019').

Patience began as bedroom synth project for songwriter Roxanne Clifford after the break up of her acclaimed indie pop band Veronica Falls. Born out of a desire to experiment with a new sound and analogue synthesizers, the project has since grown to become an all-encompassing persona and serves as the main vehicle for the full emotional spectrum always latent in Clifford’s songwriting. From her first long-sold-out 7” singles on Night School, her knack for melodic hooks and oblique emotional stances already contained a glistening sheen of promise. ‘Dizzy Spells’ serves as an intimate portrait of Clifford’s creative adventure, almost diaristic, conceived and recorded in her home studio, as well as with collaborators Todd Edwards (Daft Punk/Uk Garage fame), Lewis Cook (Free Love/Happy Meals) and engineer Misha Hering (Virginia Wing). Dizzy Spells delivers a debut album that twists Clifford’s songwriting into new shapes and ecstasies. The album dances around melancholy, thrown to the floor like a bad dream to be circled, emerging bright-eyed into the early morning full of hope. The Girls Are Chewing Gum (produced by Todd Edwards) bursts open Dizzy Spells like fresh fruit: sweet and rich with a synth-bass line beamed down from Chicago House heaven. Exquisitely sung by Clifford, it’s a wonderful, funky, instant-classic hinting at sexuality and memories dredged from our bodies’ secrets. The bouncy production expertly renders the addictive power of our ephemeral pleasures. Living Things Don’t Last chases themes of longing and loss, opening up into a life affirming chorus that sings of transience, the passing of time and railing against inertia. It’s the perfect example of a song formula that Roxanne Clifford has almost patented: simple and cutting straight to the point. There are shades of Strawberry Switchblade or French synth pop pioneer Jacno in the happy/sad dichotomy and it is all the better for it. Dizzy Spells features all three long-sold out singles, embedded in the full depth of Patience’s soundworld they fit like pieces of a puzzle. White Of An Eye, The Church and The Pressure—all recorded in Clifford’s former home of Glasgow—crackle with razor sharp melodies and dancefloor-ready dynamics. There are exciting additions to Patience’s sonic palette, brought into sharp relief on Voices In The Sand. In this song, a plaintive Clifford enunciates a heart-torn plea to the antagonist, a mournful cascade of synths and haunting vocals evocative of AC Marias, a sepia-toned ode to anxiety, “a storm is on the way”. On No Roses, a Vince Clarkesque production belies a sunburnt sadness. Clifford defiantly sings “you would go out tonight, but there’s nowhere you like,” describing a disenchantment with her adopted city of Los Angeles, she longs for home in a singular refrain “No roses… no roses for us.” An ode to English folk singer Shirley Collins, a surprising yet innate influence throughout Clifford’s work. On Moral Damage, former Veronica Falls bandmate Marion Herbain joins Clifford on an anglo-french duet that feels instant and spontaneous, a cutting comment on emotional accountability. More than a vehicle for Roxanne Clifford’s songwriting prowess, Patience is holding our hand through the night, dancing with tears in our eyes, dizzy and spellbound.

Alien Transistor and Tokyo-based label Afterhours release a vinyl-version of tenniscoats' masterpiece "music exists". It consists of 4 LPs, which will be released over the year, full of intimate, wonderful, psychedelic folk-music. With the fourth LP, there will be a strictly limited box available, either for putting in your already purchased other 3 records, or as the whole glorious 4-LP-package.

Tenniscoats have devoted followers allover the world, but their releases were always hard to find outside of Japan. Except for their album "Tokinouta", which saw a very limited run on vinyl, and the seminal "Two Sunsets", their collaboration with the Pastels (and a small handfull of 7"s ), there were never any vinyl-releases, and also the CDs were hard to get for any-one, who doesn't speak or read japanese.

So, this is the chance to dive deep into the beautiful, unique world of the tenniscoats and their opus magnum "music exists".

The Tenniscoats are a duo that have enjoyed a long career in the music scene of their home country of Japan. They have collaborated with unique artists from different backgrounds (Tape, Pastels, Pastacas and Jad Fair), while maintaining their own laid back approach and sound. Their songs are built primarily from guitar and vocals with lyrical themes focusing on everyday life. It could be their expansion on simplicity that has captivated music lovers of all ages throughout their existence.

While the aforementioned collaborations produced bold and sensitive experiences and results, it has taken Tenniscoats five years to release an entire studio album of their own. The wait has not been in vain, as four discs will be released consecutively beginning with 'Music Exists - disc 1'. Music Exists saw a previously limited release on the Tenniscoats' own majikick label.

'We started recording around January of 2013 with just the two of us in our 10 tatami-room in Tokyo we were using as a private studio. Arrangements were produced without computers by overdubbing on an analog console with mixing assistance provided by Saya. As we sent selected songs to be mastered by Yasushi Utsunomia, we were able to see the tracks grown into a full length album.'

What turned into a huge 4 disc project began in earnest three years ago. Tenniscoats wrote and recorded themselves using an analog console, a microphone, and what few instruments they had. As the project developed, they were surprised to find that they had amassed several albums' worth of material.

'We tried throwing up the ideas we had in the beginning and not put too much of our strength into playing in order to develop the ideas of each song. Utsunomia, who did the mastering was the first person to ever hear the material for this album outside of the band. We sent songs to him carefully choosing an order that we felt would not make him bored. Thanks to his distinctive way of mastering, we were inspired to go further and further into the process.'

2016 marks the Tenniscoats' 20th anniversary together. You could consider 'Music Exists' as a sort of compilation of material stemming from these years spent together. With their unique combination of melodies, unexaggerated arrangements, and detailed mastering, Alien Transistor are extremely delighted to make this recording available to the public!

For the last decade, Argentina has become the epicenter of a musical explosion that characteristically blends folk music from the surrounding Andes and electronic beats. The artist arguably responsible for its emergence on a global platform is one named Chancha Via Circuito- a Buenos Aires native named Pedro Canale whose first album Rodante (2008) opened the floodgates by pushing the borders of Cumbia listeners weren't even aware existed. He's gone on to release other highly acclaimed albums such as Rio Arriba (2010), which Resident Advisor described as 'aural magical realism', and Amansara (2014), which catapulted him onto acclaimed international stages and received praises from Pitchfork to the New York Times.

Four years later, in the midst of some very notable global turbulence, Chancha Via Circuito brings us his highly anticipated new album Bienaventuranza- a word that essentially means bliss. Replete with his signature touches of Andean instruments (think lots of flute and charango), the folkloric elements on this album blend fluidly with danceable and digestible electronic beats. He's been cooking this record slowly, with unprecedented amounts of care and in a much more collaborative manner than his past albums.

Appearing on the album are heavy hitters in the digital cumbia scene, including Mateo Kingman, Kaleema, and Lido Pimienta, all of whom contribute their highly distinguishable sounds to the natural flow of the album. Most of these collaborations came about almost effortlessly. La Victoria is a track that blends cumbia, dancehall, and a bit of mysticism- carried by Lido Pimienta's luminous voice, Colombian Dancehall wizard Manu Ranks happened to be in town and slipped into the song naturally. Kawa Kawa came from an improv jam during rehearsal one day with Kaleema (Heidi Lewandowski) and Federico Estevez (percussionist in Chancha Via Circuito). Niño Hermoso, which is lyrically a fable, sounds the way it does because Pedro saw a video of Gianluz (Gianluca Zonzini), who he knows from dance classes, singing a Pocahontas song on Youtube.

As dancefloor-friendly as it is mystical, Bienaventuranza is as Chancha as it gets- with elements from Cumbia to Dancehall to Andean Folk to Global house, crystal clear production, and collaborations that are evidently natural and genuine, the record holds true to the sound that Canale has played such a huge part in creating. Since the release of his last album, the digital folk scene has also grown exponentially. From a new generation of producers to more listeners in unassuming parts of the globe, Pedro has been humbled to see the sound develop- and proves with this album that he's grown swiftly alongside it.

In recent years the clamour for the funkier side of AOR, Blue eyed soul, funky rock or any other description you'd care to imagine has reached heightened places. The hardest diggers have been endlessly searching for breezy, soulful and rock-infused R&B gems hidden away in the recesses of the major and independent label archives. Miami's CAT Records - one such independent, and an off-shoot of the hugely successful TK Disco empire had made it's mark since the early 70's with stellar sides from Little Beaver, George & Gwen McCrae, Raw Soul Express and many more. It was later, 1977 to be precise, in the height of the Disco era when Chocolateclay appeared. Their self-titled and sole LP has long been a thing of sought after beauty, a real Miami rarity that showcases a classy blend of funk, soul and AOR stylings delivered by the solid pairing of George 'Chocolate' Perry and Clay Cropper. Perry's name is well known among rare soul aficionados due to his involvement in some classic underground records from that scene (Wizzdom 'I'm So In Love With you' etc) and his part in writing, producing and arranging for artists like Blowfly, Milton Wright, King Sport, Bobby Caldwell, Latimore, Joe Walsh and many more. Cropper was also well known as a solid Miami session man who played keys, wrote and produced for a plethora artists from that part of the world throughout the 70's and 80's including Betty Wright, George McCrae, Frederick Knight and more. To say these 2 guys were seasoned pro's would be an understatement. No surprise then that their contribution to the CAT catalogue is a finely tuned, funky, sunkissed LP of jams that will bring unlimited joy and warmth to you via your turntable. Languid, melodic, grown-up soul music here folks, drenched in that sunshine state goodness. Oozing positivity and class - Chocolateclay is as deep as it gets. Often selling on-line for tidy sums (£60 +) this LP is a true gem, now is your chance to own a %100 legit, TK Disco sanctioned, vinyl copy of this killer Soul LP. Re-issued just the way it originally came out in 1977, no tricks. Essential!

Mammal Hands are a trio of like-minded musicians: Nick Smart piano, Jesse Barrett drums and tabla, and Jordan Smart saxophones. Floa is their second album for Gondwana Records and in the 18 months since their debut, Animalia, they have carved out a growing following both here and abroad for their hypnotic fusion of jazz, folk and electronica: winning fans from Bonobo and Gilles Peterson to Jamie Cullum. Landmark live performances have included shows at King's Place in London and the RNCM in Manchester, as well as a barn-storming debut at the Montreal Jazz Festival. Drawing on a rich well of influences from Sufi and shamanic African trance music, Irish and Eastern European folk music, to Steve Reich and Philip Glass and more contemporary electronica influences, their music is built around deceptively simple sounding ideas that are lent power through the use of repetition and rhythmic loops. They have been compared to both Portico Quartet and GoGo Penguin for the way in which they navigate the choppy waters between contemporary dance music and jazz. Floa (an old Norse word that means to deluge or to flow) is the sound of a more confident, experienced band: one that has grown together naturally through touring and gigging and through mammoth writing and rehearsal sessions where all three bring rhythmic, improvisational and melodic ideas to the table. Floa was recorded at Gondwana's home from home, 80 Hertz Studios in Manchester, reuniting the band with producer Matthew Halsall and features some of the Gondwana Orchestra strings who played on Halsall's acclaimed album Into Forever. Together they have crafted a wonderful sounding record, the richness of which perfectly illuminates the band's music. Artwork is from Gondwana's in-house design maestro Daniel Halsall whose artwork of symbols created from older symbols perfectly illustrates the creative ideas that drive the band's music.
The release is supported by an extensive UK tour including dates in Norwich, Bristol, Brighton, Manchester and beyond. The band support Matthew Halsall at St John's Hackney on May 26th and have their own head-line show at the Jazz Cafe, Camden on 31st May. Confirmed airplay from Jamie Cullum BBC Radio 2, Gilles Peterson 6 Music, Radio 3 Late Junction, BBC Scotland Jazz House, Jazz FM, John Kennedy X and full servicing to all specialist and online radio stations. Reviews from The Guardian, Mojo, Record Collector, Jazzwise, Nos Magazine, Nowthen and local press. Online support from AllAboutJazz, Quietus, Access All Areas, Bebop Spoken Here and beyond.