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we will be wherever the fires are lit, a sort of sequel to Tashi"s first DC release Stateless, takes the torch and storms forward, with ten improvised acoustic guitar anthems. These musical thoughts are torn from the fabric of Tashi"s life and music. "Strumming in opposition to the towers" (as he puts it) is part of an existence that is always political, even in its most abstract iterations - a truth laid bare in these deep, raw performances.

Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur's court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word "Camelot" accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of "utopia." In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson's 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python's 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armored knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys's profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy's White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle's extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle's Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one's own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. "Back in Camelot," she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, "I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry." The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping "in the unfinished basement," an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above "sirens and desert deities." If she questions her own agency_whether she is "wishing stones were standing" or just "pissing in the wind"_it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of "multi-felt dimensions" both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of "Camelot," with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to "Some Friends," an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises_"bright and beaming verses" versus hot curses_which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020's achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory "Earthsong," bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to _ a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?) Those whom "Trust" accuses of treacherous oaths spit through "gilded and golden tooth"_cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry_sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in "Louis": "What's that dance / and can it be done? What's that song / and can it be sung?" Answering affirmatively are "Lucky #8," an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the "tidal pools of pain" and the "theory of collapse," and "Full Moon in Leo," which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and "big hair." But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle's confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on "Lucky #8," special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle's beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia's FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad "Blowing Kisses"_Pallett's crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX's The Bear_Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer_and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: "No words to fumble with / I'm not a beggar to language any longer." Such rare moments of speechlessness_"I'm so fucking honoured," she bluntly proclaims_suggest a state "only a god could come up with." (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world_including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth_but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the "charts and diagrams" of "Lucky #8," a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in "Full Moon in Leo," the bloody invocations of the organ-stained "Mary Miracle," and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with "Fractal Canyon"'s repeated, exalted insistence that she's "not alone here." But where is here? The word "utopia" itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek "eutopia," or "good-place"_the facet most remembered today_and "outopia," or "no-place," a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary. Or as fellow Canadian songwriter Neil Young once sang, "Everyone knows this is nowhere." "Can you see how I'd be tempted," Castle asks out of nowhere, held in the mystery, "to pretend I'm not alone and let the memory bend?"

. For Fans Of: The Weather Station, Weyes Blood, Adrianne Lenker, Phoebe Bridgers, Joan Shelley, Lana Del Rey, Cass McCombs, Angel Olsen & Neil Young. Camelot, the legendary seat of King Arthur’s court in Early Middle Ages Britain, was probably not a real place. A corruption of the name of a real Romano-Briton city, the word “Camelot” accumulated symbolic, mythic resonances over centuries, until achieving its present usage as a near-synonym of “utopia.” In the mid-20th century alone, Camelot inspired an explosion of representations and appropriations, among them the violent, affectless Arthurian court of Robert Bresson’s 1974 film Lancelot du Lac and the absurdist iteration of Monty Python’s 1975 Holy Grail, both of which feature armoured knights erupting into fountains of blood; the mystical Welsh world of novelist John Cowper Powys’s profoundly weird 1951 novel Porius, with its Roman cults, wizards and witches, and wanton giants; and the nationalist nostalgia of President John F. Kennedy’s White House. Unsurprisingly there are fewer Camelots in more recent memory. Camelot, Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle’s extraordinary, moving 2024 chronicle of the artist in early middle age, charts a realer, more rooted, and more metaphorical place than the fabled Camelot of the Early Middle Ages (or its myriad depictions), but it too is a space more psychic than physical. In Castle’s Camelot, the fantastic interpenetrates the mundane, and the Grail, if there is one, distills everyday experience into art and art into faith, subliming terrestrial concerns into sublime celestial prayers to Mother Nature, and to the unfolding process of perfecting imperfection in one’s own nature. Co-produced by Jennifer and longtime collaborator Jeff McMurrich, her seventh record is at once her most monumental and unguarded to date, demonstrating a mastery of rendering her verse and melodies alike with crisply poignant economy. For all their pointedly plainspoken lyrical detail and exhilarating full-band musical flourishes, these songs sound inevitable, eternal as morning devotions. “Back in Camelot,” she sings on the lilting, vulnerable title track, “I really learned a lot / circles in the crops and / sky-high geometry.” The album opens with a candid admission of sleeping “in the unfinished basement,” an embarrassing joke that comes true. But the dreamer is redeemed by dreaming, setting sail in her airborne bed above “sirens and desert deities.” If she questions her own agency whether she is “wishing stones were standing” or just “pissing in the wind” it does not diminish the ineffable existential jolt of such signs and wonders. This abiding tension between belief and doubt, magic and pragmatism, self and other, sacred and profane, and even, arguably, paganism and monotheism, suffuses these ten songs, which limn an interior landscape shot through with sunstriped shadows of “multi-felt dimensions” both mystical and quotidian. The epic scale and transport of “Camelot,” with its swooning strings, gives way dramatically to “Some Friends,” an acoustic-guitar-and-vocals meditation in miniature on Janus-faced friends and the lunar and solar temperatures of their promises—“bright and beaming verses” versus hot curses which recalls her minimalist last album, 2020’s achingly intimate Monarch Season. (In a symmetrical sequencing gesture, the penultimate track, the incantatory “Earthsong,” bookends the central six with a similarly spare solo performance and coiled chord progression, this time an ambiguous appeal to … a wounded lover? a wounded saint? our wounded planet?). Those whom “Trust” accuses of treacherous oaths spit through “gilded and golden tooth” cynics, critics, hypocrites, gurus, scientists, doctors, lovers, government, the so-called entertainment industry sow uncertainty that can infect the artist, as in “Louis”: “What’s that dance / and can it be done? What’s that song / and can it be sung?” Answering affirmatively are “Lucky #8,” an irrepressible ode to dancing as a bulwark against the “tidal pools of pain” and the “theory of collapse,” and “Full Moon in Leo,” which finds the narrator dancing around the house with a broom, wearing nothing but her underwear and “big hair.” But the central question remains: who can we trust, and at what cost faith, in art or angels or otherwise? Castle’s confidence in her collaborators is the cornerstone of Camelot. Carl Didur (piano and keys), Evan Cartwright (drums and percussion), and steadfast sideman Mike Smith (bass) comprise a rhythm section of exquisite delicacy and depth. This fundamental trio anchors the airiness of regular backing vocalists Victoria Cheong and Isla Craig and frames the guitars of Castle, McMurrich, and Paul Mortimer (and on “Lucky #8,” special guest Cass McCombs). Reprising his decennial role on Castle’s beloved 2014 Pink City, Owen Pallett arranged the strings for Estonia’s FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra. On the ravishing country-soul ballad “Blowing Kisses” Pallett’s crowning achievement here, which can be heard in its entirety in the penultimate episode of the third season of FX’s The Bear Jennifer contemplates time and presence, love and prayer and how songwriting and poetry both manifest and limit all four dimensions: “No words to fumble with / I’m not a beggar to language any longer.” Such rare moments of speechlessness “I’m so fucking honoured,” she bluntly proclaims suggest a state “only a god could come up with.” (If Camelot affirms Castle as one of the great song-poets of her generation, she is not immune to the despairing linguistic beggary that plagues all writers.) Camelot evinces a thoroughgoing faith not only in the natural world including human bodies, which can, miraculously, dance and swim and bleed and embrace and birth but also in our interpretations of and interventions in it: the “charts and diagrams” of “Lucky #8,” a daydreamt billboard on Fairfax Ave. in LA in “Full Moon in Leo,” the bloody invocations of the organ-stained “Mary Miracle,” and all manner of water worship, rivers in particular. (Notably, Jennifer has worked as a farmer and a doula.) The album ends with “Fractal Canyon”s repeated, exalted insistence that she’s “not alone here.” But where is here? The word “utopia” itself constitutes a pun, indicating in its ambiguous first syllable both the Greek “eutopia,” or “good-place” the facet most remembered today and “outopia,” or “no-place,” a negative, impossible geography of the mind. Utopia, like its metonym Camelot, is imaginary

John Mayall is often referred to as the "Father of British Blues." Born on November 29, 1933, he's primarily known for his work as a singer, songwriter, and multi-instrumentalist, particularly as a harmonica player and keyboardist. Mayall gained prominence in the 1960s as the founder and leader of the band John Mayall & the Bluesbreakers, which served as a launching pad for numerous British blues and rock musicians. Mayall's Bluesbreakers lineup famously included Eric Clapton, Peter Green, and Mick Taylor, all of whom went on to achieve great success in their own right. His band became a crucial part of the British blues movement and influenced countless musicians around the world. Over the years, John Mayall has released numerous albums both as a solo artist and with various iterations of the Bluesbreakers. His music spans a wide range of blues styles, from traditional Chicago blues to more experimental and progressive sounds. Mayall's influence on the development of blues and rock music cannot be overstated, and he will always remain a respected figure in the music industry. This John Mayall release from Indigo Records ''Through The Years Live 60's to 80's'' are live recordings presented on Blue vinyl.

From the first bars of the immediately recognizable ‘Alamode’, this album is an explosion of beauty. This first sextet iteration of Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers includes a young Wayne Shorter (tenor saxophone), Lee Morgan (trumpet), Curtis Fuller (trombone), Bobby Timmons (piano) and Jymie Merritt (bass). The band ferociously pushes the pace with each track, leaving no prisoners in their wake. This Verve By Request title is pressed on 180-gram vinyl at Third Man in Detroit.

Recital presents an artists’ record from the two giants Richard Hamilton and Dieter Roth. Hamilton (1922-2011) is revered as the father of British Pop Art as both theorist and practitioner, in addition to famously designing the artwork for The Beatles’ White Album. Dieter Roth (1930-1998) was a Swiss German artist who blithely ignored all artistic boundaries and aesthetic dictums. His oeuvre includes hundreds of artist books, almost half a thousand prints, sculptures, multiples and records, all balanced between magnetic playfulness and self-deprecating paranoia. Roth also ran his own record/book press Dieter Roth's Verlag and was a major force in the reckless improvisational music group Selten Gehörte Musik (1973-1979).

The two artists most significant collaborations happened between 1976 and 1978, beginning with a series of 74 paintings in which they reworked each other’s art. The paintings were made for an exhibition for dogs (as suggested by the late Marcel Broodthaers, to whom the works were dedicated) in Cadaqués, Spain. Hamilton and Roth then produced the catalogue Collaborations of Ch. Rotham with reproductions of all the paintings alongside four brilliant new collaborative texts. The narrative of the texts sprung from the “fairy story” (Hamilton) quality that emerged from these dog paintings – a hallucinatory tapestry of sausages, gestating giants, Sancho Panza, Don Quixote, and a donkey. Together they gallop, humorous and beautifully absurd, across the wild field of an imaginary seaside backdrop with endless garbled iterations of ever-mutating names riddled with mad typos.

For these recordings the individual texts were read by Roth and Hamilton, actor friend Duncan Smith, and a huge cast of British artists for the final play Die Grosse Bockwurst, performed at the Whitechapel Gallery in London in 1977. The recordings were first released on cassette on the Audio Arts label in 1978, and have now been remastered from the original ¼″ tapes for this double vinyl edition.

Also included are two booklets: one is a new essay written for this edition by artist and co-producer Malcolm Green (Red Sphinx, Atlas Press), alongside full reproductions of the Roth / Hamilton collaborative Ch. Rotham texts. Thanks to Björn Roth, Rita Donagh, Hansjörg Mayer, William Furlong, Tate Modern, and Hauser & Wirth.

Limited edition double-vinyl record of 300 copies in full color gatefold sleeve with over 70 minutes of audio recordings. Including two booklets: a 16-page new essay on Roth & Hamilton by Malcolm Green that includes new Roth translations, and a 20-page complete reproduction of the collaborative Ch. Rotham texts.

Papa Nugs & Suckerpunch return with the second iteration of
the Nug Nation series; Nug Nation Vol. II. A break-neck four
track exploration of club friendly sonics Nug Nation Vol. II
picks off where it’s predecessor left off, borrowing from the
fundamentals of golden era house and progressive through
a modern lens. All composed in the past 6 months, the EP is
an illustration of the current sound of Papa Nugs with the Aside focusing on groove heavy tracks punctuated by diva
and hip house vocals respectively, while the §ip highlights
the more playful, energetic elements of his production aimed
for the peak hours.

You could call Wishy's story a lucky one. After prior monikers and iterations, Wishy was born as a kaleidoscope of alternative music's semi-recent history, with traces of shoegaze, grunge and power-pop swirling together. On Triple Seven, Indiana songwriters Kevin Krauter and Nina Pitchkites' musical synergy proves itself to be a rare one-the kind that sounds like someone striking gold. Part sly wink and part warm gratitude, it's only fitting their much anticipated full length debut is titled Triple Seven, where Wishy's penchant for indelible hooks is couched equally in pillowy atmospherics and scathing distortion. By day Krauter works as a music teacher, giving drum and guitar lessons to students, while Pitchkites is a seamstress by trade and often makes embroidered merch for the band. Coming up in a scene defined by hardcore and emo, Krauter and Pitchkites instead found themselves writing melodies in their heads while driving to work, pulling music from the air and arriving at a blearier, more ethereal interpretation of Midwest expanse. Initially, their music oscillated between hazy dream-pop and heavier alt-rock. The subject of their songs create a loose web of vignettes and snapshots, capturing Krauter and Pitchkites in a whirlwind couple of years _ exiting the pandemic, embarking on an embryonic project, making sense of their musical pasts while forging a musical future alongside one another, each of them on a journey of self-acceptance and self-understanding. Sometimes gorgeous, sometimes festering, and always cathartic, Triple Seven is a vibrant and exhilarating document of self-discovery with the scope and heft of the bygone big-budget rock albums that inspired it.

You could call Wishy's story a lucky one. After prior monikers and iterations, Wishy was born as a kaleidoscope of alternative music's semi-recent history, with traces of shoegaze, grunge and power-pop swirling together. On Triple Seven, Indiana songwriters Kevin Krauter and Nina Pitchkites' musical synergy proves itself to be a rare one-the kind that sounds like someone striking gold. Part sly wink and part warm gratitude, it's only fitting their much anticipated full length debut is titled Triple Seven, where Wishy's penchant for indelible hooks is couched equally in pillowy atmospherics and scathing distortion. By day Krauter works as a music teacher, giving drum and guitar lessons to students, while Pitchkites is a seamstress by trade and often makes embroidered merch for the band. Coming up in a scene defined by hardcore and emo, Krauter and Pitchkites instead found themselves writing melodies in their heads while driving to work, pulling music from the air and arriving at a blearier, more ethereal interpretation of Midwest expanse. Initially, their music oscillated between hazy dream-pop and heavier alt-rock. The subject of their songs create a loose web of vignettes and snapshots, capturing Krauter and Pitchkites in a whirlwind couple of years _ exiting the pandemic, embarking on an embryonic project, making sense of their musical pasts while forging a musical future alongside one another, each of them on a journey of self-acceptance and self-understanding. Sometimes gorgeous, sometimes festering, and always cathartic, Triple Seven is a vibrant and exhilarating document of self-discovery with the scope and heft of the bygone big-budget rock albums that inspired it.

You could call Wishy's story a lucky one. After prior monikers and iterations, Wishy was born as a kaleidoscope of alternative music's semi-recent history, with traces of shoegaze, grunge and power-pop swirling together. On Triple Seven, Indiana songwriters Kevin Krauter and Nina Pitchkites' musical synergy proves itself to be a rare one-the kind that sounds like someone striking gold. Part sly wink and part warm gratitude, it's only fitting their much anticipated full length debut is titled Triple Seven, where Wishy's penchant for indelible hooks is couched equally in pillowy atmospherics and scathing distortion. By day Krauter works as a music teacher, giving drum and guitar lessons to students, while Pitchkites is a seamstress by trade and often makes embroidered merch for the band. Coming up in a scene defined by hardcore and emo, Krauter and Pitchkites instead found themselves writing melodies in their heads while driving to work, pulling music from the air and arriving at a blearier, more ethereal interpretation of Midwest expanse. Initially, their music oscillated between hazy dream-pop and heavier alt-rock. The subject of their songs create a loose web of vignettes and snapshots, capturing Krauter and Pitchkites in a whirlwind couple of years _ exiting the pandemic, embarking on an embryonic project, making sense of their musical pasts while forging a musical future alongside one another, each of them on a journey of self-acceptance and self-understanding. Sometimes gorgeous, sometimes festering, and always cathartic, Triple Seven is a vibrant and exhilarating document of self-discovery with the scope and heft of the bygone big-budget rock albums that inspired it.

Black Truffle is thrilled to announce a reissue of Chico Mello and Helinho Brandão’s self-titled release from 1984, the first return to vinyl of this classic of Brazilian experimental music with its original cover art and complete track listing. An under-recognised figure whose work inhabits a singular terrain where radical new music techniques and music theatre meet musica popular brasileira, Mello has lived and worked in Berlin since the late 1980s. A student of Dieter Schnebel, Mello played in the 90s iteration of Arnold Dreyblatt’s Orchestra of Excited Strings alongside compatriot Silvia Ocougne, with whom he produced a radical and hilarious deconstruction of MPB classics on Musica Brasileira De(s)composta (an early and rather atypical release on Edition Wandelweiser).

On this release, his only recording predating his move to Europe, Mello works with the alto saxophonist Helinho Brandão, who appears to be otherwise unknown outside Brazil. The record’s six tracks range from solo saxophone improvisation to densely layered ensemble works bridging minimalism, acoustic sound art and a plaintive melodic sensibility that calls up Edu Lobo or Milton Nascimento. Beginning with a dramatic, dissonant wind and string surge from which emerge ominously pounding piano chords, opener ‘Água’ slowly builds in intensity, a halo of clustered vocal harmonies gradually closing in on Brandão’s squealing sax until the piece opens up to reveal a gorgeous passage of melodic singing. The piano accompaniment reduces to tolling bass notes as the voice begins a repeated incantation, suggesting a ritualistic atmosphere reminiscent of parts of Xenakis’ setting of Oresteia. Dissonant, sawing tremolos on the strings climb to a crescendo before disappearing into the sounds of water being poured and splashed into metal vessels, presented not as a field recording but as a percussive element performed by the ensemble. A child’s voice then appears, singing to piano accompaniment the same melody heard earlier in the piece. After a brief solo alto improvisation from Brandão, working with the guttural pops and fleeting melodic gestures of Braxton or Roscoe Mitchell, the remainder of the first side is dedicated to the leisurely unfolding of ‘Baiando’ over the course of twelve minutes. A trio for Brandão on soprano saxophone, Mello on a very period-appropriate phased nylon string guitar and Edu Dequech on bongos, the performance eases its way hypnotically through subtle variations on a set of rhythmic and melodic patterns, almost derailed at points by Brandão’s wild forays into extended technique but held together by Mello’s droning guitar notes.

The second side opens with another multi-part epic for a larger ensemble, ‘Matraca’, which makes use of strings, electric guitars and a wide range of South American percussion instruments. Rasping violin harmonics hover as drum hits, repeated guitar notes and triangle accompany a slowly descending bass glissando. A sudden change in direction introduces a thrumming, incessantly repeated bowed bass tone, beginning a series of episodes of minimalist phasing and pattern variation, the combinations of electric guitars and orchestral instruments giving the ensemble an ad hoc charm like the early Penguin Café Orchestra but with more percussive drive. Eventually the piece is overrun by a cacophony of the titular matracas (a kind of ratchet/cog rattle). Following a lyrical trio improvisation by Mello, Brandão and Gerson Kornin on bass, the final ‘Danca’ focuses entirely on Mello’s layered acoustic guitars and vocals, using this restricted palette to build up a haunting piece of almost orchestral density, reminiscent of the 70s work of Egberto Gismonti in how it thickens a folkish ambience with harmonic sophistication.

Arriving in a starkly beautiful gatefold sleeve and sounding better than ever in its new remaster, one might call the stunning music contained on Chico Mello/Helinho Brandão ahead of its time. But what (other than some of Mello’s own work) produced in the years since its initial release has really touched the organic fusion of minimalism, free improvisation, radical instrumental technique and popular song achieved here? Forty years after its first release, Chico Mello/Helinho Brandão remains music of the future.

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

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

Spray’s Punctuality arrives sharp for its second instalment, rolling out the velvet carpet to welcome LA’s royal rave highness Etari. Kweenie is her inauguration, a no-nonsense exhibition of prog tonkers and tech pumpers accompanied by a wild remix from Angel D’Lite.

Deep in the heart of the angel’s city resides Etari, the west coast icon of boundless rave energy. Having graced the kingdoms of 100% Silk and Delusional Records previously with a wily array of hardcore dance styles, Spray’s Punctuality is the next stop. Etari duly obliges his invitation with Kweenie, a new iteration of her sound that develops her twisted club fantasies beyond the clouds, or at least as far as the lasers will carry.

Clocking in and the title track throws down from the off, shaking its royal rump that’s fit for a Kweenie before bumping its soaring bassline along its naughty groove. Angel D’Lite heeds the remix call, kickin’ it rage style with a breakbeat pumper that harkens to jungle tekno past while straddling future prog pastures. Lulu Limon gets freakier on side B, as Etari zests its anaesthetised groove with clicks and pops while gliding down its minimalised wormhole of latent psychedelia. Racehorse is last out the gate, initiating a heads-down stomper of tech(no) consequence that gallops cute but serious with club tenacity along its majestic travels, and thus concluding Punctuality’s latest transmission.

*REMASTERED ROUGH TRADE DEBUT LP LIMITED TO JUST 500 COPIES WITH EMBOSSED OUTER SLEEVE AND ORIGINAL INNER SLEEVE ON BLACK VINYL*

Dream POP, they called it. Given AR Kane’s Alex Ayuli once worked for advertising agency Saatchi & Saatchi, it’s no surprise that he and collaborator Rudy Tambala invented their own genre before critics could stick their oar in. It was a canny move, but more importantly, it was accurate: the music of AR Kane was made for dreamers, by dreamers, and its languor and longing made it particularly bewitching listening; their music is often smeared and blurry, happily lost in its own indefinable pleasures. “We wanted dream pop,” Tambala says, “that feeling of a dream where the rules are different. Dream logic.”
-UNCUT REISSUE OF THE MONTH

"A.R. Kane carved out a unique musical path, welding elements of pop, psych, dub, electronica, funk, noise, jazz, ambient and more in a way that had never been done before. Or since. Their debut in particular is a work of unbridled brilliance."
*Electronic Sound*

‘Sixty Nine’ the group’s debut LP that emerged in 1988 had critics and listeners struggling to fit language around A.R. Kane’s sound. As a title it was telling - the year of ‘Bitches Brew’, the year of ‘In A Silent Way’, the erotic möbius between two lovers - and as originally coined by the band themselves, ‘dream pop’ (before it became a free-floating signifier of vague import) was entirely apposite for the music A.R. Kane were making. Crafted in a dark small basement studio in which Tambala recalls the duo had “complete freedom - We wanted to go as far out as we could, and in doing so we discovered the point where it stops being music”. There was an irresistibly dreamy, somnambulant, sensual and almost surreal flow to ‘sixty nine’s sound, but also real darkness/dankness, the ruptures of the primordial and the reverberations of the subconscious, within the grooves of remarkable songs like ‘Dizzy’ and ‘Crazy Blue’. Alex’s plangent vocals floated and surged amidst exquisite peals of refracted feedback but crucially there was BASS here, lugubrious and funky and full of dread, sonic pleasure and sonic disturbance crushed together to make music with a center so deep it felt subcutaneous, music constructed from both the accidental and the deliberate, generous enough to dance with both serendipity and chaos. ‘sixty nine’ remains - especially in this remastered iteration - ravishing, revolutionary – Neil Kulkarni


"A.R. Kane made some of the most exciting, forward-thinking, and science fictional music of their era".s*

*REMASTERED ROUGH TRADE DEBUT LP LIMITED TO JUST 500 COPIES WITH EMBOSSED OUTER SLEEVE AND ORIGINAL INNER SLEEVE ON BLACK VINYL*

Dream POP, they called it. Given AR Kane’s Alex Ayuli once worked for advertising agency Saatchi & Saatchi, it’s no surprise that he and collaborator Rudy Tambala invented their own genre before critics could stick their oar in. It was a canny move, but more importantly, it was accurate: the music of AR Kane was made for dreamers, by dreamers, and its languor and longing made it particularly bewitching listening; their music is often smeared and blurry, happily lost in its own indefinable pleasures. “We wanted dream pop,” Tambala says, “that feeling of a dream where the rules are different. Dream logic.”
-UNCUT REISSUE OF THE MONTH

"A.R. Kane carved out a unique musical path, welding elements of pop, psych, dub, electronica, funk, noise, jazz, ambient and more in a way that had never been done before. Or since. Their debut in particular is a work of unbridled brilliance."
*Electronic Sound*

‘Sixty Nine’ the group’s debut LP that emerged in 1988 had critics and listeners struggling to fit language around A.R. Kane’s sound. As a title it was telling - the year of ‘Bitches Brew’, the year of ‘In A Silent Way’, the erotic möbius between two lovers - and as originally coined by the band themselves,
‘dream pop’ (before it became a free-floating signifier of vague import) was entirely apposite for the music A.R. Kane were making. Crafted in a dark small basement studio in which Tambala recalls the duo had “complete freedom - We wanted to go as far out as we could, and in doing so we discovered the point where it stops being music”. There was an irresistibly dreamy, somnambulant, sensual and almost surreal flow to ‘sixty nine’s sound, but also real darkness/dankness, the ruptures of the primordial and the reverberations of the subconscious, within the grooves of remarkable songs like ‘Dizzy’ and ‘Crazy Blue’. Alex’s plangent vocals floated and surged amidst exquisite peals of refracted feedback but crucially there was BASS here, lugubrious and funky and full of dread, sonic pleasure and sonic disturbance crushed together to make music with a center so deep it felt subcutaneous, music constructed from both the accidental and the deliberate, generous enough to dance with both serendipity and chaos. ‘sixty nine’ remains - especially in this remastered iteration - ravishing, revolutionary – Neil Kulkarni


"A.R. Kane made some of the most exciting, forward-thinking, and science fictional music of their era".
*Reissue Of The Week In The Quietus*

‘SUNNY DAY’ PRO UNO presented by THE REGIME

Smooth loved-up and sun kissed soul, melting over jazzy road-trip and summertime vinyl dust. The Regime’s sophomore release is strictly vintage, playfully psychedelic, smothered in funky soul, and irrefutably ‘on the One’.

Spawned from 70s soul, jazz and funk, combined with the plethora of free time the covid pandemic demanded, THE REGIME’s jazzy-soul outfit PRO UNO rose from the ashes, dousing the public with a whiff of the good ol’ days, where music was real, authentic and pure. Their 70s aesthetic and full in house production combines sounds reminiscent of Al Green, Steely Dan, Bill Withers and America, to create a state of total nostalgia and peace love n harmony vibes. This iteration of the Funk Collective THE REGIME is their most exciting and tasteful project yet. Expanding on the original hip hop, funk niche, ‘SUNNY DAY’ in undeniably one for all, and indeed all for one.

"The wash of flangers & shimmery reverb have been the foundation in Cali psych ever since the Byrds went electric. And while that sound might've dropped off occasionally, it never dropped out. The Velvets minimalist stylings were infused into the mix by The Dream Syndicate in the early 80's & thus a game changer was born. Clay Allison, Opal, Green On Red all took their charge from that current. Then the Shoegaze scene of the 90's looked at those bands as vectors, things got a little more drenched, so yet more seeds were sown into the fertile terroir. Cut to current climes & the bay area is teeming with the latest iterations: Children Maybe Later, Now, & Cindy easily come to mind. But curiously the band most steeped in the mohair constitution is April Magazine, who (thus far) have been content in the shadows. Up till now they've seemed like characters plucked out of a Kazuo Ishiguo novel-mysterious & ethereal-but perhaps this pressing of last year's cassette only release will flush them out. 'Wesley's Convertible Tape For The South' shows the band defly balancing all those that have come before them while also incorporating flourishes of Les Rallizes DeNudes, Hallelujahs & Nagisa Ni Te into the pageantry . So in a way, April Magazine is transforming the landscape yet again; denser, fuzzier, lush & wistfully challenging. 'Wesley's Convertible Tape For The South' is the band's 1st vinyl release stateside (an LP of older tracks was released last year via a UK only label) so no import tariffs! What were once whispers are now proclamations. Just because you don't know them doesn't mean you can't love them. So grab a copy & hug it out amongst yourselves." -- Tom Lax (Siltbreeze Records)

1993 Chick Corea - the venerated 27-time Grammy winner and National Endowment for the Arts Jazz Master - unveiled the second incarnation of the Elektric Band. With the brand new lineup of guitarist Mike Miller, bassist Jimmy Earl and drummer Gary Novak, and saxophonist Eric Marienthtal (the lone holder over from the first iteration of the Elektric Band,) Corea, approached this ambitious outing in the same way he had done everything throughout his career, by pushing the boundaries of what modern jazz is.

With material written with these specific players in mind, Corea gathered this group of remarkably flexible musicians into Mad Hatter Studios in Los Angeles. Recorded almost entirely live in first takes, the album is notable for its “less is more” approach to Corea’s particular style of genre bending composition. Though the focus may have been more on acoustic piano than synths, the same proficiency, spontaneity, impeccable execution and jaw-dropping display of chops that characterize the five first Elektric Band albums applies.

Of special note here is the inclusion of the track “Final Frontier”, originally released exclusively on the Japanese and European editions. This all out burner is the lone tune on the record featuring Corea on a synthesizer.

Written as an answer to “Got A Match” from 1986’s The Chick Corea Elektric Band album, it’s an uptempo showcase for the players to stretch out and the kind of track that exemplifies the jazz fusion that Corea and his groups came to define."

"Loving You Backwards, the debut album from Blood, flourishes in the subtle, the ambiguous, the shades of gray. In winter of 2021, longtime Austin residents Blood made a fresh start, using a move into a house together in Philadelphia as a chance to reorient and spend time writing music around the clock. As they wrote, the sound of the band began to shift. Blood, in the past, made huge, angry, grandiose, operatic songs. Loving You Backwards, was not that. Instead, this debut record is quieter, less reactive, but no less powerful.

As an organism, Blood circa Loving You Backwards, was a six piece. Tim O'Brien is the lyric writer, but the song writing and arrangement is a painstakingly collaborative process in which the band aims for democracy over swiftness. The record also features the band’s first major work with the producer Daniel Enrique Howard, whom the band recorded with at his studio in Brooklyn. Howard helped guide Blood into this new sonic territory. It is not a bedroom project, but instead fully realized, somehow sounding both intimate like Liz Harris’ Grouper feels intimate and totally vast in the way that a Talk Talk record feels vast. It’s in the same universe as Ought in its earlier iterations.

The songs on Loving You Backwards exist in the realm of ballads, heart-wrenching and weird pop with a post rock sensibility. It explores, as the title implies, approaching a relationship in the reverse, dealing with your past while you try to stay in the present. Loving You Backwards is a record of ideas and big honesty, but it’s also a record of genuinely pristine pop. A definitive statement from a band that is more than on the rise as truly excellent songwriters and performers."

The current lineup of New Haven's long running Mountain Movers (guitarist/vocalist Dan Greene, bassist Rick Omonte, guitarist Kr yssi Battalene, & drummer Ross Menze) have been playing together for over a decade now, making their recorded debut on a slew of singles released from 2011-2013, but it wasn't until 2015's "Death Magic" (released on New Haven label Safety Meeting) that the potential of that iteration of the group became clear; Mountain Movers are a force of nature. The camaraderie & sensitivity to each others playing has only grown over time, cr ystallizing on the group's trio of albums for Trouble In Mind; 2017's eponymous "Mountain Movers" served as a reintroduction of the group to a larger audience, while 2018's "Pink Skies" raged like a group confident in its strengths, and 2020's prescient "World What World" - written & recorded before the world shut down - slightly shifted focus away from the jams & back toward the weight of guitarist/songwriter Dan Greene's poetic tales of magical realism. The band's ninth album "Walking After Dark" finds a happy medium between both aspects of the band's strengths; Greene's lyrical compositions and the group's long-form improvised jams. To those that are tuned in, that feeling of communion is evident in the Movers' playing. The members swap & cycle effortlessly through instruments without missing a beat, utilizing the downtime of lockdown to write & record every jam in their practice space. Those piles of tapes would eventually get edited & sequenced into "Walking After Dark", a tour-de-force double-album that balances fried, stony brilliance with outré excursions of experimental serenity. Consider the opening track "Bodega On My Mind" that ambles in like a road-worn traveller, its lysergic folk strums peppered with acidic lead lines from Battalene's Telecaster, eventually giving way to "The Sun Shines On The Moon, where the group's sizzling guitars are buoyed by Omonte's pillowy bass & Menze's percussion. From there on out, tracks like "Factory Dream" give the listener a taste of The Movers' modus operandi here; a mixture of (more) traditional song craft interspersed between long-form, improvised pieces of modern psychedelia. The group shuffles through instruments; synths, drum machines, auto-harp, various forms of percussion (and whatever else was laying around) as well as the trad guitar/bass/drums configuration to craft a suite of songs that - while not necessarily similar in composition - feel unified in their overall sonic scope. Tracks like the 14-minute "Reclamation Yard", whose deep-space electronic pulse is juxtaposed against side C opener "See The City "s persistent acoustic strum that showcase similar ideas of the `spirituality ' of losing ones self in repetition, but executed differently. In many ways "Walking After Dark"s duality feels like a merger of "On The Beach"-era Neil Young & the collective freak-outs of Amon Düül, taking inspiration in the `incorporeality ' of free music and lacing it with Greene's hazy, haunting lyricism and is an exciting step forward for a band that's already a few steps ahead. "Walking After Dark" is released on black double-vinyl in a full color gatefold jacket & includes an insert with artwork & lyrics by member Dan Greene.

The relatively short life of San Francisco's Aluminum has so far yielded a single (Spinning Backwards, 2020) and an EP (Windowpane, 2022), but their debut LP, Fully Beat, overflows with tenured confidence and a singular style that deftly comprises shoegaze, big beat, and jangle pop. With influences ranging from Orbital, to Wipers, to The Avalanches and Sly and the Family Stone, theirs is a multifaceted take on established forms, fed through fuzz and led by honeyed, male-female vocal harmonies from Bay Area post-punk veterans Marc Leyda (of Wild Moth) and Ryann Gonsalves (of Torrey). "Smile" begins with deceptive sparseness, adding neon swirls of stacked tremolo over a mesmerizing lyrical refrain, and hinting at the dynamism to come with understated grace and grit. "Always Here, Never There" is Fully Beat's first pure hit of melodic pop: its liquid bass groove winds beneath a melancholy-sweet synth hook and Leyda's plaintive vocals, while drummer Chris Natividad's deep, pillowy snare and propulsive style maintain a driving pace. Lead single, "Behind My Mouth", shifts gears into a big beat shuffle and howl of overdriven guitars, which relent to Gonsalves' rolling bassline and playful, snarky vocal. Composed across several weeks of experimentation, it is a prime iteration of Aluminum's meticulous world of sound, which nevertheless carries an air of wry nonchalance. Asking, "Do you ever see behind my mouth?", Gonsalves notes that the song "comes from a place of wanting to be understood authentically, and to communicate intentionally." This approach speaks to the album's broader theme of exhaustion amid the demands of the modern grind: working unfulfilling jobs to pay exorbitant rent, feeling society break at the seams, and trying to maintain a meaningful personal life with the remaining scraps of morale. The response, then, must be to find joy. These songs were crafted over a half-dozen months in basements and practice spaces, creating an abundance of authentic passion and catharsis that's as nostalgic and comforting as a cherished, tattered band t-shirt. The closer, "Upside Down", is a full-throttle blare of joyous release - "a straight-up love song," according to Leyda. The deliberate choice to end it with a gradual fade, rather than a dramatic climax, smartly suggests the ambivalence of acceptance - perhaps fitting, when considering the immensity of the album's subject matter. It also hints that there is much more to be said, and as such a rich and compelling debut, Fully Beat shows that Aluminum are only getting started.

"The outsized sounds emerging from the Excelsior Mill organ captured here constitute a unique chapter in the Sun Ra story, a dizzying phantasmagoria that offers a whole new view on what Ra could do. It might thrill you; it might unnerve you; it might strum your heartstrings; it might spook the living daylights out of you. Most likely you’ll experience all of the above before the jolting musical jeremiad is done. The CD includes the full uncut show with music not featured on the LP version!

When you’re Sun Ra, you don’t need synthesizers to evoke apocalyptic visions and interstellar excursions. You don’t even need a band.

Ra is most widely known for working with various iterations of his Arkestra, but he was no stranger to unaccompanied keyboard expeditions. His discography contains solo piano albums, solo Fender Rhodes records, and solo recordings on conventional organ, the latter going as far back as his home recordings from the 1940s. But none of those instruments ever offered Sun Ra the kind of sonic artillery that waited beneath his fingers and feet when he sat before the keyboards, pedals, and multicolored constellation of tabs controlling the Wurlitzer pipe organ.

Mystic and magisterial, Ra comes off here like a cross between a demonically riffing ‘50s horror movie villain and a futuristic congregation leader delivering the interplanetary gospel. Brassy stabs provide the kind of punctuation that could be graphically rendered as an endless string of exclamation marks in 500-point font. String-like swoops and swirls dance across the top of the carnage, cooling the flames just enough to keep the whole thing from combusting (for a while at least) but never dousing the fiery fury that Ra draws forth from the instrument.

As an organism, Blood circa Loving You Backwards, was a six piece. Tim O'Brien is the lyric writer, but the song writing and arrangement is a painstakingly collaborative process in which the band aims for democracy over swiftness.

The record also features the band's first major work with the producer Daniel Enrique Howard, whom the band recorded with at his studio in Brooklyn. Howard helped guide Blood into this new sonic territory. It is not a bedroom project, but instead fully realized, somehow sounding both intimate like Liz Harris' Grouper feels intimate and totally vast in the way that a Talk Talk record feels vast. It's in the same universe as Ought in its earlier iterations.

Legendary DJ SPINNA creates a cosmic future classic w/ his remix of TAMARA WELLONS' vocal masterpiece. A perfect dance floor groove drenched in intergalactic synths, in a deep & soulful setting. On the flip COFLO gives a double dose of two wildly different iterations of "YOU ARE".

In 2014, Wye Oak released Shriek, their fourth album. It was a necessary departure for Jenn Wasner and Andy Stack, who found themselves on uncertain ground after two years of constant touring for 2011's Civilian, living on opposite ends of the country and trying to revitalize their creative partnership. Wasner set aside her guitar for a bass. Stack took on the band's upper register, playing syncopated, meditative keyboard parts that interacted with Wasner's voice, which was newly freed from its call-and-response relationship to the guitar_what had been, until then, a signature of Wye Oak's sound. "This idea and the ensuing creative reworking of our band did what it was meant to do," Wasner writes in 2024. "It ended a long, painful period of creative stagnancy and reconnected me with the joy of making music." During that period, Wasner and Stack were introduced to William Brittelle, the Brooklyn-based composer whose 2019 LP Spiritual America featured Wye Oak, the Metropolis Ensemble, and the Brooklyn Youth Chorus. His orchestral reimaginings of five songs from Shriek (Shriek: Variations, if you will) are the centerpiece of this package, which serves not only to mark the tenth anniversary of a great album, but to demonstrate the richness of Wye Oak's compositions. Stack says of Shriek: Variations: "It's like looking at the songs in a funhouse mirror. The songs on Shriek can be stripped down or embellished_this is maximal embellishment. William took the album and blew it to smithereens, looking at it in a weird, prismatic way." Through Brittelle, Wasner and Stack found themselves at the intersection of classical, experimental, and pop music. Further collaborations, like the Brooklyn Youth Chorus- featuring No Horizon and Paul and Michi Wiancko's string arrangements on "My Signal" from The Louder I Call, The Faster It Runs, followed, as this connection fundamentally changed the way Wye Oak approached making records, incorporating an entirely new palette of sound into their work. That shift began here. Shriek: Variations may feel like a startling take on the material, something like light bursting into a room through drawn curtains, but Brittelle's arrangements are largely original to his first collaborations with Wye Oak a decade ago, suggesting that his maximalist arrangements have lived comfortably within the framework of Shriek the whole time, waiting for the right moment to emerge. It's a fitting reintroduction to the album, which upon its initial release was pigeonholed into the easy one-note talking point of being the "no-guitar" record. But even so, as that happened, Shriek quietly started to become a staple among Wye Oak's core fans. Here, with help from Brittelle's expansive compositions, the release draws attention back to the songwriting_how, regardless of the instrumentation, Wasner and Stack's uncanny musicwriting partnership at the core is what makes both Shriek and Wye Oak excellent. Joined by the Metropolis Ensemble, Paul Wiancko, and Lizzie Burns, Wye Oak turn songs like "Logic of Color" inside out, reaching towards a kind of pastoral bombast, Brittelle's aesthetic with Wasner and Stack as an anchor. In fact, "Logic of Color" in this iteration takes that "no-guitar" script and flips it, with Wasner playing the synthesizer ostinato on acoustic guitar at its center. If Shriek is a record that charts the depths of solemnity and inner space, its Variations, roiling in a sea of winds, brass, and strings, recolors that space and complicates it, a gorgeous, unexpected response to the original's siren call.

Desert Dictionary navigates sonic territories oscillating between language and landscape, between notation and noise. Voices responding and contributing to a complementary narrative, connecting personal memories, political considerations and psychological effects of a landscape seemingly empty and quiet. Adjacent, beneath and intertwined a modular synthesizer score based on field notes – a synthesized soundscape appearing as imaginary field recordings, at the same time resembling and unalike the place in question.

The twelve contributions presented on the LP were recorded in South Africa over a period of three months in 2020 and 2021. These recordings occurred in various locations in Kimberley, Bloemfontein, Richmond / Northern Cape, Cape Town, Grassy Park, Krugersdorp and Johannesburg.

The Desert Dictionary appears in four iterations – a situation as part of Modern Art Projects South Africa’s collection, a radio play (commissioned by Deutschlandfunk Kultur), a book edition (published by MAPSA), and the present LP.

The LP version is based on the radio play and features the voices of Richard John Forbes, Maja Marx, Phala Ookeditse Phala, Victoria Wigzell, Tubatsi Mpochmoloi, Liza Grobler, Nkosinathi Gumede, Karlien van Rooyen, Mongezi Ncombo, Ivan Messelaar, Gerhard Marx and Lindiwe Matshikiza.

The synthesized field recordings – translations of fieldnotes taken in the desert – were recorded in Johannesburg and Berlin.

Written and produced by Boris Baltschun, 2021-2022. Mastered and cut by Kassian Troyer at D&M, Berlin. Photo & map by Boris Baltschun. Graphic design by Joe Gilmore.

Following a first iteration which set the tone for our newly-minted Heimat series in explosive fashion, here comes the much anticipated second batch of our zeitgeistian take on today's scene's, its current potential and destination. Showcasing productions from artists keen to roll up their sleeves and sail into the impassible status quo, this new number packs the kind of red-hot hammering and cutting-edge punch we've been so adamant to push and defend over the past decade. Berlin-based French producer Arkan steps in first with a proper magnetic depth charge. Dwelling the darker layers of our ocean floor as its name suggests, 'Submarine' is pure hypnotic material geared up for heavy-duty boogie in the warehouse. Filling its ballast tanks with a hefty deluge of muscular bass onslaughts, sonar-like bleeps and untamed cascades of loopy arps, this one rolls and pitches like a haunted ship on predator mode. Adding his dynamic pulse and mind-bending spin to the A-side, Frameworks & Untertwegs bossman Decka cuts a path of straight mental obliteration as he smashes the doors of the club wide open and parades all guns blazing with the unapologetic crusher that is 'Circumvent'. A no-holds-barred workout for the strong stomachs, churning out fiery bars of kick-drum/squelchy bass contrast with in-your-face swagger. Switching on to the flip side, there's Manchester's Yant cruising with the ebulliently dynamic (no shit, Sherlock) tune, 'Moving'. A multidirectional concerto of pong-like modularity and racing synth arpeggios flying off like coloured bricks in a Tetris game gone absolute batshit. The kind of hi-intensity burner that'll awaken any lukewarm mid-set flow with its bouncy unpredictability and ruthless forward-pushing thrust. Rounding it off on a further minimal note, Amsterdam up-and-comer Hitam treats us to an inch-perfectly engineered finale with a stripped-back - yet, absolutely not hollow - bomb, 'Venusian Winds'. Gutsy that one sure is, with its metronomic step ticking at near-cyclonic speed and cleverly arranged, subtly FX-coated funk keeping things both suspenseful and focussed thru and thru. A sleek combo of pared-down brutalism and masterly executed analogue tailoring altogether. All dressed in clear purple marbled wax for the occasion, "Heimat II" shall please both the techno purist and visual aesthete in you with its velvet touch and effortless chic.

Returned to us from early 90s Japan are the holy holy sounds of Ghost. Their collective, clearly inspired by various forms of transcendental music throughout history, created a new syncretic psychedelia with these albums, mixing the texture and vibe of multinational forms of traditional music, with strummed antique stringed instruments and the haunting wail of a recorder on top of their heavy beats and guitars. The considerable depth of this approach was explored through 2014 over another five Ghost LPs, as well as the further explorations to the present day of leader Masaki Batoh, as a solo artist and with The Silence, Damon & Naomi, Helena Espvall and most recently, nehan. These first three Ghost titles were originally released by P.S.F. on CD in 1990, 1992 and 1994, respectively, radiating enigma and energy in palpable waves with their original sound. After the acclaim that greeted Drag City"s 1996 US release of Lama Rabi Rabi, we quickly reissued all three on vinyl - and they quickly went out of print! At which point, Ghost had Snuffbox Immanence and Free Tibet ready to go. And then, Hypnotic Underworld. And then, and then . . . . Now, it"s been 25 years since they were last offered on vinyl. In the twenty-year sweep of Ghost history, these first three releases qualify as primitive early Ghost - sort of like a German Os Mutantes (or perhaps a Brazilian Amon Düül). The subterranean presence of a diversity of progressive/avant classic rock influences (Pink Floyd, Incredible String Band, Captain Beefheart, Scott Walker, Led Zeppelin, Popol Vuh, Third Ear Band, to name but a few) provokes further synthesis, making for an entirely new meditation on the traditional order of psychedelic music. The first two studio albums, each one an iteration of Ghost"s unique lysergic folk music, were followed by the monolithic "live in various places" happening of Temple Stone, which raised the trippiness levels considerably. But this was only the end of the beginning . . .

Returned to us from early 90s Japan are the holy holy sounds of Ghost. Their collective, clearly inspired by various forms of transcendental music throughout history, created a new syncretic psychedelia with these albums, mixing the texture and vibe of multinational forms of traditional music, with strummed antique stringed instruments and the haunting wail of a recorder on top of their heavy beats and guitars. The considerable depth of this approach was explored through 2014 over another five Ghost LPs, as well as the further explorations to the present day of leader Masaki Batoh, as a solo artist and with The Silence, Damon & Naomi, Helena Espvall and most recently, nehan. These first three Ghost titles were originally released by P.S.F. on CD in 1990, 1992 and 1994, respectively, radiating enigma and energy in palpable waves with their original sound. After the acclaim that greeted Drag City"s 1996 US release of Lama Rabi Rabi, we quickly reissued all three on vinyl - and they quickly went out of print! At which point, Ghost had Snuffbox Immanence and Free Tibet ready to go. And then, Hypnotic Underworld. And then, and then . . . . Now, it"s been 25 years since they were last offered on vinyl. In the twenty-year sweep of Ghost history, these first three releases qualify as primitive early Ghost - sort of like a German Os Mutantes (or perhaps a Brazilian Amon Düül). The subterranean presence of a diversity of progressive/avant classic rock influences (Pink Floyd, Incredible String Band, Captain Beefheart, Scott Walker, Led Zeppelin, Popol Vuh, Third Ear Band, to name but a few) provokes further synthesis, making for an entirely new meditation on the traditional order of psychedelic music. The first two studio albums, each one an iteration of Ghost"s unique lysergic folk music, were followed by the monolithic "live in various places" happening of Temple Stone, which raised the trippiness levels considerably. But this was only the end of the beginning . . .

Returned to us from early 90s Japan are the holy holy sounds of Ghost. Their collective, clearly inspired by various forms of transcendental music throughout history, created a new syncretic psychedelia with these albums, mixing the texture and vibe of multinational forms of traditional music, with strummed antique stringed instruments and the haunting wail of a recorder on top of their heavy beats and guitars. The considerable depth of this approach was explored through 2014 over another five Ghost LPs, as well as the further explorations to the present day of leader Masaki Batoh, as a solo artist and with The Silence, Damon & Naomi, Helena Espvall and most recently, nehan. These first three Ghost titles were originally released by P.S.F. on CD in 1990, 1992 and 1994, respectively, radiating enigma and energy in palpable waves with their original sound. After the acclaim that greeted Drag City"s 1996 US release of Lama Rabi Rabi, we quickly reissued all three on vinyl - and they quickly went out of print! At which point, Ghost had Snuffbox Immanence and Free Tibet ready to go. And then, Hypnotic Underworld. And then, and then . . . . Now, it"s been 25 years since they were last offered on vinyl. In the twenty-year sweep of Ghost history, these first three releases qualify as primitive early Ghost - sort of like a German Os Mutantes (or perhaps a Brazilian Amon Düül). The subterranean presence of a diversity of progressive/avant classic rock influences (Pink Floyd, Incredible String Band, Captain Beefheart, Scott Walker, Led Zeppelin, Popol Vuh, Third Ear Band, to name but a few) provokes further synthesis, making for an entirely new meditation on the traditional order of psychedelic music. The first two studio albums, each one an iteration of Ghost"s unique lysergic folk music, were followed by the monolithic "live in various places" happening of Temple Stone, which raised the trippiness levels considerably. But this was only the end of the beginning . . .

From 1967-1980, Kansas City's Forte Records captured nearly every iteration of popular Black music; basement beehiver-y from The Ray-Ons and Four Darlings, funky soul from Gene Williams Lee Harris, Louis Chachere, and The Fantastiks, downtempo disco ballads from James W hitney and Sharon Revoal, and the newly independent work of James Brown's former Soul Sister # 1 Marva Whitney. Compiled here are 28 of the label's enduring sides, contextualized with copious photos, ephemera, and essay, all housed in heavy weight gatefold jacket. Who knows how to do "The Hen"?

From 1967-1980, Kansas City's Forte Records captured nearly every iteration of popular Black music; basement beehiver-y from The Ray-Ons and Four Darlings, funky soul from Gene Williams Lee Harris, Louis Chachere, and The Fantastiks, downtempo disco ballads from James W hitney and Sharon Revoal, and the newly independent work of James Brown's former Soul Sister # 1 Marva Whitney. Compiled here are 28 of the label's enduring sides, contextualized with copious photos, ephemera, and essay, all housed in heavy weight gatefold jacket. Who knows how to do "The Hen"?

Side A / Double A / Iko (Never Felt This Way)
Back once again with his signature big breaks sound, Double A dips into a multitude of sample genres for this party sure-shot.

A building intro pays off with a drop of bangin’ drums and funky
horns, and features a nod to his D&B / hardcore breaks origins with a sneaky vocal sample throwback around the halfway mark. If you’re looking for a sure-fire set-starter, you found it!

Side AA / Jim Sharp / Tell Me What To Do
The man who needs absolutely no introduction in the 45s world returns for his second release with Mountain 45s.

Jim takes a classic funk sample and with his usual polished touch, pays his respects to its earliest iteration as a New York party breaks mainstay.

Piano stabs, funky guitars and horns, mixed with call and response vocals alongside the originals make this one yet
another can’t miss from the maestro. Don’t sleep!

Khanate's self titled debut (2001) has all the pleasant ambiance of a plane crash site, a bleak urban waste of mangled and torn metal beams and hissed alarms. When Khanate first issued instructions to the void in 2001, the band was embraced as the next iteration of guitarist Stephen O'Malley's tube-cracking forays into amplifier variance; a fascinating further step of vocalist Alan Dubin and low-frequency shifter James Plotkin's space charts; and a warning for the crawling-pace hammers of Tim Wyskida's drums. But Khanate was not preaching of coming doom or offering emotional catharsis. The band was totally post-dread. The worst had already happened, and would continue to happen, over and over. The 5 songs on Khanate sound like an "orchestrated root canal" (Julian Cope).

Khanate's self titled debut (2001) has all the pleasant ambiance of a plane crash site, a bleak urban waste of mangled and torn metal beams and hissed alarms. When Khanate first issued instructions to the void in 2001, the band was embraced as the next iteration of guitarist Stephen O'Malley's tube-cracking forays into amplifier variance; a fascinating further step of vocalist Alan Dubin and low-frequency shifter James Plotkin's space charts; and a warning for the crawling-pace hammers of Tim Wyskida's drums. But Khanate was not preaching of coming doom or offering emotional catharsis. The band was totally post-dread. The worst had already happened, and would continue to happen, over and over. The 5 songs on Khanate sound like an "orchestrated root canal" (Julian Cope).

Caz Plak İstanbul proudly presents...

ONE OF JAZZ'S ALL-TIME GREATS PLAYING TURKISH RHYTHMS!

Don Cherry delves into Turkish rhythms, accompanied by his long-time Don Cherry Trio members: Turkish drummer Okay Temiz and South African bassist Johnny Dyani.

The vinyl LP is manufactured in Istanbul under the guidance of Mr. Okay Temiz, the only living member of this iteration of the Don Cherry Trio. The LP has been remastered from original material housed in BYG Records' vaults by Okay Temiz & Mert Ucer and licensed from BYG Records, France.

This LP features the recording by the Don Cherry Trio in Paris 1971 for the Sound and Vision program at the legendary ORTF studios in Paris 1971. Serving as the second chapter of our 'Turkish Jazz Trilogy', it follows Okay Temiz's magnum opus, 'Okay Temiz's Oriental Wind at Montreux Jazz Festival 1982' LP. We present one of the paramount Jazz figures of all time interpreting Turkish rhythms in Don Cherry Trio - The ORTF Recordings Paris 1971 LP

This release also stands as one of the most important recordings prior to Don Cherry's legendary "Organic Music Society" album in 1973, in which Okay Temiz also plays drums.

"Don Cherry Trio as an 'Applied Universe of Thought.'
In the spring of 1971, while we were playing as the Don Cherry Trio in Paris, Don (Cherry) seamlessly flowed from the trumpet to the piano, with improvisation as the lighthouse of the melody. This approach opened up a realm of boundless freedom for Johnny and me. It is to be observed as a melody within a melody. From the Organic Music Society album we recorded a year after this concert, up until the ECM album we recorded before Don's final departure from this planet, this principle has been the gravitational force of the Don Cherry universe.
That, indeed, is the true legacy of the Don Cherry Trio."

Excerpt from the liner notes by Okay Temiz and Haluk Damar

Legendary Dublin punk band formed in November 1978 by Maurice Foley (guitar/vocals), which had a number of iterations before disbanding in 1981. The Threat built up a following in Dublin and maintained a heavy reputation through the 1979 and 1980. Playing the legendary Dandelion on a couple of occasions towards the end of 1979 and became friendly with members of the Virgin Prunes and U2. Stano, another friend of the band, bought a synthesizer, purely as a sound generator, and joined them. As a nonmusician, his synth added noise and texture to the band's sound and brought out their experimental side.

This "Lullaby in C" / "High Cost of Living" - their sole single - recorded in 1980 with Irish traditional musician Donal Lunny producing, providing his services for free. Lunny went on tour with Planxty before the recordings were completed. Impatient to get the single out, the band completed the work themselves with cover art from Dave Clifford of Vox fanzine. Self-financed, self-released and distributed by the band around Dublin with a few making it over the sea to Rough Trade. A second single was recorded in 1981 with the Virgin Prunes Danny Figgis producing but the mastertapes are lost to the midst of time. We've added a demo from Stano recorded in 1979.

StriIn 2013, Blue Smiley officially formed in Brian Nowell and John Slavin’s rodent-infested North
Philadelphia apartment. With Nowell primarily composing from the hammock he used as a bed, Blue
Smiley created three short recordings within a year, featuring drummers Gracie Clements, Tim
McMonigle, and Joe Veltri. Matt McGraw, drummer and childhood friend of Slavin’s, later joined the
group to galvanize a sound that helped define Philadelphia indie rock of the 2010’s. Blue Smiley’s first
professionally recorded album ok released in 2015, featuring dystopian noise-pop compositions with
fuzzy effects, unique for its focus on groove and precipitous tempo changes. Slavin then relocated to
Austin, TX while close friend and bassist Michael Corso joined Nowell for the next iteration of the
group. True to the Blue Smiley ethos, their next full-length return soon followed, replete with snappy,
short songs that waste no time getting to the point. On return, Nowell’s hushed vocals settle deeper
into the band’s tapestry, like an iridescent thread that catches your eye at just the right moment.
During their last tour, the band introduced a handful of new songs, but never made it to the studio.
While celebrating his upcoming 27th birthday with his parents, Nowell expressed his intentions to put
these tracks together for a third LP. Tragically, Nowell was found unresponsive in his room the
following morning on October 8, 2017, a victim of fentanyl poisoning. In spite of the band’s premature
ending, their legacy is now immortalized with this physical recording.

StriIn 2013, Blue Smiley officially formed in Brian Nowell and John Slavin’s rodent-infested North
Philadelphia apartment. With Nowell primarily composing from the hammock he used as a bed, Blue
Smiley created three short recordings within a year, featuring drummers Gracie Clements, Tim
McMonigle, and Joe Veltri. Matt McGraw, drummer and childhood friend of Slavin’s, later joined the
group to galvanize a sound that helped define Philadelphia indie rock of the 2010’s. Blue Smiley’s first
professionally recorded album ok released in 2015, featuring dystopian noise-pop compositions with
fuzzy effects, unique for its focus on groove and precipitous tempo changes. Slavin then relocated to
Austin, TX while close friend and bassist Michael Corso joined Nowell for the next iteration of the
group. True to the Blue Smiley ethos, their next full-length return soon followed, replete with snappy,
short songs that waste no time getting to the point. On return, Nowell’s hushed vocals settle deeper
into the band’s tapestry, like an iridescent thread that catches your eye at just the right moment.
During their last tour, the band introduced a handful of new songs, but never made it to the studio.
While celebrating his upcoming 27th birthday with his parents, Nowell expressed his intentions to put
these tracks together for a third LP. Tragically, Nowell was found unresponsive in his room the
following morning on October 8, 2017, a victim of fentanyl poisoning. In spite of the band’s premature
ending, their legacy is now immortalized with this physical recording.