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Vladislav Delay's complete "Hide Behind The Silence" series. Intuitive and raw music, momentary and reflective, released on Ripatti's own label Rajaton.

Stillness is a myth. Consider concepts such as ”still water”, or ”still air” for that matter. Go to a restaurant, ask them for a glass of still water, hold it against the light and see where we’re at. Even though the water itself has been captured and imprisoned in the glass, it never stops breathing. It’s filled with tiny particles, dancing. Everything can be explained on a molecular level, but since we’re not scientists – and even if you happen to be – it’s the natural world of perception that moves me.
Still air is very similar. A hot summer’s day with zero wind feels completely still. It’s the closest I have felt to complete stillness. Or for a more urban adaptation, imagine the same vibe inside a normal apartment. In those moments, revelations and mind- blowing experiences can be had with experiments in stillness.
Try this: Just sit down for a minute on a sunny day, making sure there’s enough natural light. Do absolutely nothing. Try not to breathe for a bit. (If you need a mental anchor, you can play Cage’s 4’33” in your head but nothing else.) Watch the tiny dots of dust dancing :..’ ̈.:; ́ ́*°.,’:,. ̈ ̈ ̈ ̈:,.’
The movement is crazy, but the feeling of stillness comes from witnessing how subtle it is. In (perceived) complete stillness, every act of microscopic mobility seems to speak volumes. Yet, it feels both reassuring and oddly threatening that the stillness is never complete. What if we would need absolute stillness? Or is it just enough that we can perceive something as such? Extremes attract, so for both water and air, extraordinary movement is equally fascinating. That is also a luxury item of sorts. For us to enjoy a very ”loud” body of water or air, we need to be safe, in enough control of the situation. So when you are, it’s worthwhile to pay attention and take it all in.
A rapid flowing free with extreme strength and just barely in control. Look at that water go! No still water on this one, only ”sparkling”. A windy day when birds seem surprised how hard it is to fly, but in the end they make it. Trees bend but don’t break. The wind shows you its movement but doesn’t hurt you. It feels friendly, like a big clumsy dog that doesn’t quite understand its size.
It’s beautiful to be a guest of the elements, but not at the mercy of them. A new kind of dialogue forms.

Q&A with Sasu Ripatti:

1) Tell us something about the EP series ”Hide Behind the Silence”, what’s the idea and what can we expect?

Exploration of inaction. Of many kinds. In arts and in personal life, or at bigger and more serious levels. Questioning myself as a human being as well as an artist. Acknowledging the growing activism all around, and the very clear need for it, and how it reflects my own inaction.
Musically speaking, after Rakka, Isoviha and Speed Demon, I finally found some relief, but more importantly lost the need to go musically ever more outward and intensive. I felt quite strongly certain periods/moods from the past and they made me revisit some musical ideas or states of mind I was exploring early on.
It’s about live moments being captured, not much premeditation or editing. More intuitive and raw, even though the end result (to me) feels and sounds quite introspective and calm. It’s not very ambitious. Momentary and reflective.

2) Your music doesn’t sound very silent. Does it come from somewhere behind the silence?

Oh, this time to me it sounds quite quiet and playing with space if not silence. I don’t know what’s actually behind silence, but I think silence is the source of everything. We just don’t understand it yet.

3) What kind of thoughts or experiences gave inspiration to this series?

Writing this in Nov ’22, it’s not a stretch to say the world has been really unwell. Sometimes, like Mika Vainio put it, the world eats you up. I feel a bit like that. And I try to hide in my studio and stay away from it all, but it’s getting harder by the day. I’ve been questioning myself and thinking if what us artists are doing is worth anything, and whether it’s just a selfish thing I’ve been doing for the past 25 years, running away from everything. I haven’t come to a conclusion yet.

4) Is it easy for you to be in silence, or around silence?

Absolutely. I not only hide behind silence but I also love silence. It’s only since I started going back to nature as a grown-up person that I sensed and was enveloped by silence, true silence. I have begun to appreciate it a lot. I think all the people should spend more time in silence.

All tracks composed and produced by Sasu Ripatti.
Artwork by Marc Hohmann, photography by Shinnosuke Yoshimori.
Mastering by Stephan Mathieu for Schwebung Mastering.
Vinyl cut by SST Brueggemann.
Publishing by WARP Music Ltd.

Back in the 1990s video games were still largely seen as nerdy: fun, sure, but basically a guilty pleasure that you’d soon grow out of. The release in 1995 of wipE'out'', a lightning-fast, razor-sharp, futuristic racing game that helped to launch the PlayStation in Europe and North America, changed all that. This was a game that looked and sounded both adult and cool, the kind of game you would put on display in your living room, rather than hide away under your bed. Key to this was the fact that wipE'out'' borrowed unashamedly from the clubbing experience and electronic music, in a way that put it at the heart of progressive mid 90s culture. It soon became a phenomenon.

wipE'out'' looked sensational, with Sheffield agency The Designers Republic - known for their work with Warp - creating the visuals, packaging and manual for the game, drawing heavily on the bright colours and excitable geometric shapes of the rave and club flyers of the early 90s.

wipE'out'' also sounded like a new rave dream. The European version of the game included music from The Chemical Brothers, Leftfield and Orbital, the kind of fashionable game syncs that were almost unheard of at the time. Equally striking was the game’s original music, which came from Welsh musician Tim Wright, aka CoLD SToRAGE, by this point already a veteran in the video games world, having worked on the music for Amiga titles such as Lemmings and Shadow of the Beast 2. His music for wipE'out'' was, if anything, even more extreme than the big-name syncs, mixing the accelerated beats of drum & bass with the pure synth rush of trance to make music that sounded as breathlessly exciting as playing the game felt.

These tracks were burned into the brains of millions of gamers; the soundtrack to a generation of late-night anti-gravity racing, as the sun gingerly rose beyond the curtains. But they haven’t, perhaps, quite got the respect they deserve, something that this release will address. In 2023, video game music is finally getting its dues; here, remastered and repackaged –and also remixed by cutting edge producers such as Kode9, μ-Ziq, Brainwaltzera, Simo Cell, Wordcolour, James Shinra, Surgeons Girl and Dattassette– are some of the most important, thrilling, innovative and most fun songs ever committed to game release.

Zero Years Kid is the alter ego of Joachim Badenhorst, one of the most fascinating and adventurous Belgian jazz musicians from the last 2 decades. He plays with the international band Carate Urio Orchestra but also as musician with Naima Joris or Chantal Acda.
Zero Years Kid started of as a solo project, but has grown into a full and organic live band.

Badenhorst sees Zero Years Kid as a kindergarten to explore other ideas and interests besides of jazz. Together with Jan de Vroede, Lennart Heyndels and Erik Heestermans he brings a colorful amalgam of hip-hop, pop, dance and r&b with playful and poetic lyrics in his native language: Dutch. Next to his clarinet and sax he adds samples and electronica which results in a surprising fantasy world where it is wonderful to wander.

In 2019 debut album Ongerijmde Rijmen was released. Successor Geen Grenzen is ready and will be released on November 10th of this year on Klein. Geen Grenzen is an ode to breaking boundaries, to color outside the lines and to don’t get hung up on expectations.
The title track is a rework of No Limits by 2Unlimited. The song got translated, slowed-down and distorted to the universe of Zero Years Kid. The album is a poetic and humorous trip with a melancholic twist, and themes like the covid pandemic, intense arguments that are forgiven, writers-block, desire and love.

Vladislav Delay presents the fourth EP in his "Hide Behind The Silence" series with five 10" releases coming throughout 2023. Intuitive and raw music, momentary and reflective, released on Ripatti's own label "Rajaton".

Stillness is a myth. Consider concepts such as ”still water”, or ”still air” for that matter. Go to a restaurant, ask them for a glass of still water, hold it against the light and see where we’re at. Even though the water itself has been captured and imprisoned in the glass, it never stops breathing. It’s filled with tiny particles, dancing. Everything can be explained on a molecular level, but since we’re not scientists – and even if you happen to be – it’s the natural world of perception that moves me.

Still air is very similar. A hot summer’s day with zero wind feels completely still. It’s the closest I have felt to complete stillness. Or for a more urban adaptation, imagine the same vibe inside a normal apartment. In those moments, revelations and mind- blowing experiences can be had with experiments in stillness.
Try this: Just sit down for a minute on a sunny day, making sure there’s enough natural light. Do absolutely nothing. Try not to breathe for a bit. (If you need a mental anchor, you can play Cage’s 4’33” in your head but nothing else.) Watch the tiny dots of dust dancing :..’ ̈.:; ́ ́*°.,’:,. ̈ ̈ ̈ ̈:,.’
The movement is crazy, but the feeling of stillness comes from witnessing how subtle it is. In (perceived) complete stillness, every act of microscopic mobility seems to speak volumes. Yet, it feels both reassuring and oddly threatening that the stillness is never complete. What if we would need absolute stillness? Or is it just enough that we can perceive something as such? Extremes attract, so for both water and air, extraordinary movement is equally fascinating. That is also a luxury item of sorts. For us to enjoy a very ”loud” body of water or air, we need to be safe, in enough control of the situation. So when you are, it’s worthwhile to pay attention and take it all in.
A rapid flowing free with extreme strength and just barely in control. Look at that water go! No still water on this one, only ”sparkling”. A windy day when birds seem surprised how hard it is to fly, but in the end they make it. Trees bend but don’t break. The wind shows you its movement but doesn’t hurt you. It feels friendly, like a big clumsy dog that doesn’t quite understand its size.
It’s beautiful to be a guest of the elements, but not at the mercy of them. A new kind of dialogue forms.

Q&A with Sasu Ripatti:

1) Tell us something about the EP series ”Hide Behind the Silence”, what’s the idea and what can we expect?

Exploration of inaction. Of many kinds. In arts and in personal life, or at bigger and more serious levels. Questioning myself as a human being as well as an artist. Acknowledging the growing activism all around, and the very clear need for it, and how it reflects my own inaction.
Musically speaking, after Rakka, Isoviha and Speed Demon, I finally found some relief, but more importantly lost the need to go musically ever more outward and intensive. I felt quite strongly certain periods/moods from the past and they made me revisit some musical ideas or states of mind I was exploring early on.
It’s about live moments being captured, not much premeditation or editing. More intuitive and raw, even though the end result (to me) feels and sounds quite introspective and calm. It’s not very ambitious. Momentary and reflective.

2) Your music doesn’t sound very silent. Does it come from somewhere behind the silence?

Oh, this time to me it sounds quite quiet and playing with space if not silence. I don’t know what’s actually behind silence, but I think silence is the source of everything. We just don’t understand it yet.

3) What kind of thoughts or experiences gave inspiration to this series?

Writing this in Nov ’22, it’s not a stretch to say the world has been really unwell. Sometimes, like Mika Vainio put it, the world eats you up. I feel a bit like that. And I try to hide in my studio and stay away from it all, but it’s getting harder by the day. I’ve been questioning myself and thinking if what us artists are doing is worth anything, and whether it’s just a selfish thing I’ve been doing for the past 25 years, running away from everything. I haven’t come to a conclusion yet.

4) Is it easy for you to be in silence, or around silence?

Absolutely. I not only hide behind silence but I also love silence. It’s only since I started going back to nature as a grown-up person that I sensed and was enveloped by silence, true silence. I have begun to appreciate it a lot. I think all the people should spend more time in silence.

All tracks composed and produced by Sasu Ripatti.
Artwork by Marc Hohmann, photography by Shinnosuke Yoshimori.
Mastering by Stephan Mathieu for Schwebung Mastering.
Vinyl cut by SST Brueggemann.
Publishing by WARP Music Ltd.

Selected Songs 1997-2003 compiles some of the finest moments in the recording history of Hydroplane, the Melbourne-based indie-pop three-piece that operated alongside The Cat’s Miaow through the second half of the nineties. It’s the third release in what feels, now, like a loosely planned series by World Of Echo, documenting the music made by this group of friends in Melbourne sharehouses (The Cat’s Miaow’s Songs ’94-’98, 2022), or in the case of The Shapiros (Gone By Fall, 2023), while traversing the International Pop Underground.

Hydroplane would be familiar to anyone already following these breadcrumb trails – Andrew Withycombe, Bart Cummings and Kerrie Bolton were the group’s core, all members of The Cat’s Miaow. With Cat’s Miaow drummer Cameron Smith itinerant, having moved to London, the trio used this opportunity to expand their music. It’s a subtle, but important shift. If The Cat’s Miaow was about the perfect, minimalist, two-minute pop song, Hydroplane’s music was far more open-ended, embracing the loops and drones, sampled house-y shuffle beats, the burbling of a Roland Jupiter-4 synth, all of which the trio joined, effortlessly, to their endless capacity for moving, elegant melodicism.

They may have only planned to release one seven-inch single, but the sound Hydroplane created was so bewitching, so compelling, that the project’s lifespan ran for around half a decade, and they ended up releasing three albums, including a self-titled debut recently reissued by Efficient Space, and seven singles. There are all kinds of compelling things happening in the music compiled here – the hazy repetition of the gentler side of Krautrock is in here, somewhere, which also suggests Stereolab at their most intimate and disarmed; the gently drifting guitars, gauzy and oneiric, set the songs adrift and floating, each one lost in its own imagined, distracted world. Songs like “The Love You Bring” set indistinct tonal floats across dance rhythms, in a way not quite heard since My Bloody Valentine’s “Instrumental” – but with the added gift of Bolton’s gorgeous voice.

This loose coalition with dance music, and the quiet experimentalism at the heart of Hydroplane, also gestures towards peers like Hood, Acetate Zero and Other People’s Children, and releases on renegade labels like Wurlitzer Jukebox and Enraptured. Like those groups and labels, The Cat’s Miaow were reconciling independent pop music’s past – sweet melody and melancholy, chiming and droning guitars – with the futures promised by DIY electronics and nascent digitalia, the interface of indie and IDM that led to some of the underground’s most blissful, texturally swoonsome music. All that is here, but also, the poise of the melodies is pure Cat’s Miaow, though, with Bolton’s voice sailing, pacifically, over some of the most pared-down, gorgeous music made during their decade.

It was a time, too, when such music could make waves – “We Crossed The Atlantic”, one of their early singles, was picked up by John Peel, who played it repeatedly on his legendary radio show, the song reaching #13 on his 1997 Festive 50. That the song itself was a cover of a tune by 1960s Australian beatnik-pop-poet Pip Proud felt even more perfect – a group of outsiders paying tribute to another outsider, played on the radio one of the few broadcasters brave and human enough to take a chance on this music. But it was a time where everything was up for grabs, and genres were flowing into each other: folk songs went drone; indie re-discovered noise; ambient pop floated, again, out onto the dancefloor. And while they may have been sequestered away in Melbourne, Australia, Hydroplane felt core to that scene, a quietly driving force.

Compiling material from across their brief but mercurial career, this double album perfectly captures the magic and mystery of Hydroplane’s dreamlike, perfect pop songs.

Miles Davis created just one studio album with his original sextet: Milestones. And he made every moment count. Pairing with Cannonball Adderley, John Coltrane, Red Garland, Paul Chambers, and Philly Joe Jones, Davis not only laid the groundwork for the modalism that immediately followed but tailored a genuine modern-jazz masterwork laden with performances among the most explosive of his distinguished career. Sandwiched between the more famous 'Round About Midnight and the epochal Kind of Blue, Milestones remains a seminal work of art.

Sourced from the original master tapes and pressed on dead-quiet SuperVinyl, Mobile Fidelity's numbered-edition 180g LP grants each musician their own space amid broad soundstages. Afforded the benefits of a nearly non-existent noise floor and supreme groove definition, this vinyl reissue doubles as a time machine back to the February-March 1958 recording sessions.

Colors, shapes, and dimensions appear in the manner that resembles what you'd glean from behind a studio control room's window. Davis' burnished trumpet is rendered in three-dimensional perspective and seemingly coaxes the band to play with unburdened zest. Coltrane's trademark saxophone teems with lifelike tonality and images with specificity; his solos work in tandem with and against the driving rhythms. Garland's swaggering piano lines? Visualize the keys as he hits full stride, the chords and fills slithering around skeletal frameworks.

Inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame and selected as a "Core Collection" record by the Penguin Guide to Jazz, Milestones is as famous for its title track – widely considered ground zero for modalism and bolstered by Jones' hallmark "Philly Lick" rim shot – as the players that produced it. The launching pad for many of Davis' improvisational flights, the album teases the explorations Coltrane would soon chase. Davis' own solo work broaches territories that far exceed what he had done in his bop-rooted past. Every song is a highlight.

Take the bravado "Dr. Jackle," featuring a hot-foot pace and bebop strains, or "Sid's Ahead," which continues the album's blues theme while juggling edgy harmonics and inside-out structures. On "Billy Boy," distinguished with an arco bass solo from Chambers, Garland gets a turn in the spotlight and channels the openness practised by one of his heroes, Ahmad Jamal. Even more instructive is the band's reading of Dizzy Gillespie's "Two Bass Hit." Three years removed from the version Davis and company recorded for the trumpeter's Columbia debut, this interpretation demonstrates the extent to which the group had jelled in a relatively short amount of time.



Then there's "Straight, No Chaser," the definitive rendition of Thelonious Monk's signature piece. Coltrane's marbled playing pulls at the tune's borders, Adderley takes liberty with solos, and Davis dances around his mates, at one point quoting "When the Saints Go Marching In" while demonstrating his knowledge of tradition and casting an eye towards the future.

About that future. Garland already had one foot out the door during the Milestones sessions to the extent Davis spells him on "Sid's Ahead." Jones would stick around for a bit longer but soon plot his exit. History proves Davis navigated the changes with visionary aplomb. Yet the chemistry, excitement, and beauty the sextet achieves on Milestones cannot be overstated. This reissue helps put the album in proper perspective – and presents the music the fidelity it deserves.

ENG 'Behavioural Sink Delirium' is the new studio album from MADMADMAD. Powered by their wild live parties and rooted in the sounds of mutant disco, post-punk and experimental electronics, the London-based trio's third LP is due out July 21 via Bad Vibrations. Arriving following 2019's 'Proper Music' and 2020's 'More More More', 'Behavioural Sink Delirium' was recorded and produced by Eddie Stevens (Zero7, Moloko, Róisín Murphy) in his Fulham studio. "We locked ourselves away for ten days and recorded 30 hours of music, all played live in one room, and only edited to create arrangements", MADMADMAD recall. The result of those sessions is nine unhinged techno-dystopian freak-outs that mark the trio out as a truly singular group. 'Behavioural Sink Delirium' takes its name and inspiration from the 1968-70 'Universe 25' experiment by American ethologist John B. Calhoun, looking at the behavioural effects of population growth in a 'rodent utopia'. During the studies, a perfect space was built for a colony of 3,000 mice to thrive in, with constant food and water supplies, cosy apartments and no outside threats or predators. Starting with 4 females and 4 males, the population grew rapidly before capping at a number of 2,200. At this point, a living nightmare ensued, filled with antisocial and violent mice as the utopic conditions began to collapse. The mice formed violent cliques and social hierarchies, cannibalism started becoming common practice and the population started plummeting to eventual extinction. Calhoun coined this tipping-point the "behavioural sink" effect, and it's this state of societal breakdown that the trio tap into on the record. "You can easily see the link with our species in terms of overpopulation, but also with the Internet medium or 'metaverse' and its overproduction of data, causing tremendous societal, mental and environmental shifts. What was supposed to cater for most of our needs has also turned on us. Delirium kinda states the air of it all, and the folly of the music." Pressing Info: 180g red vinyl, standard sleeve, printed inner-sleeve, download card included!

Western Massachusetts band Landowner play abrasively clean minimalist-punk. Singer Dan Shaw began Landowner in 2016, writing and recording Impressive Almanac with a practice amp and a laptop drum machine. Those available tools would inform the band’s unapologetic sound—clean, confrontational, and absurdly stark. With a stated goal to sound like “Antelope playing Discharge”, Landowner’s diamond hard structures, repetitious instrumentals and caricatured hardcore make space for lyrics that reflect on the global systems our lives are tangled in and the dark absurdities we take for granted.

Landowner’s fourth Born Yesterday full length Escape the Compound focuses on the powerful grips manipulators and reality-deniers have on their victims, examining the social, political and interpersonal damage of cult-like influence and control. “A lot of the lyrics focus on cult manipulators and narcissists: falling victim to their toxic dynamics, and the difficulty of escaping their grip” says Shaw. From climate change deniers and conspiracy theorists to deceptive narcissists and actual cult leaders, Landowner explores the ubiquity of modern unreality through evocative imagery and a keen sense of awareness. The band’s plain instrumentation sheds and subverts hardcore punk’s noisy veil in favor of a direct, unswerving examination of these themes.

Written and recorded following the release of 2020’s Consultant, Escape the Compound finds Landowner leaning into the studio through deeper experimentation with a wider palette of sounds. The group’s lineup of Josh Owsley (bass), Elliot Hughes (guitar), Jeff Gilmartin (guitar), Josh Daniel (drums) and Dan Shaw played often since coming together in 2017. But with pandemic restrictions in place, the making of Escape the Compound became a much more insular pursuit, one where the mixing and mastering process helped turn the band’s most varied batch of material into a cohesive, thematic collection of songs.

Album opener “Witch Museum” is a collage of dark Massachusetts historical imagery. The song evokes a kind of cult dynamic travelling like a shadow through time, where dark absurdities are taken for granted, toxic behaviours are excused, and normalcy begins to shift. The line “Gail's behaviour has changed” casts fictional “Gail” as the dark manipulator, whose whim we’re at the mercy of. She sheds her toxic behaviour and the crisis finally ends - “and peace returns to the Commonwealth”- an absurdity, given that cult leaders and narcissists rarely seem to change.

By considering the past, Landowner sheds light on the present. The band challenges egomaniacs reluctant to accept an uncomfortable reality with both cynicism and concern. The literal landowner described in “Heat Stroke” collapses in exhaustion, cooked by a suffocating bass line and sizzling hi-hats. “You'd rather die of heat stroke than to let anybody see you change your mind,” Shaw gasps, later pleading with the character in “Floodwatch” to “please reconsider” their brazen stubbornness as they plunge through the rising waters of a flooded road.

The character in “Swimmer of Note” refuses to admit their miscalculations, instead doubling down on an ever-growing and increasingly-unsteady tower of lies. The sneering “Damning Evidence” sets a scene all too familiar: a smoking gun scenario with zero consequences. Shaw’s exaggerated vocal refrains and sarcastic inflections mock false hope: “how will they be expected to keep their minds intact, at the shock of simply hearing such damning evidence?”

“Beyond the Darkened Library” creaks open a secret passageway into a dimly lit, endless labyrinth of conspiracy theories, in which the character becomes hopelessly lost. “Aftermath” sounds the alarms: “stare so long that you start getting used to it; one glance says you should never get used to it.” The pair of “Tactics” tracks express what Shaw calls “an interpersonal microcosm of the album’s themes.”

Perhaps the most ambitious arc on Escape the Compound loosely begins with the title track. The subject in “Escape the Compound” gradually recognizes their own victimhood and plans a calculated flight from the “captivating shepherd” – hop the fence, flee, and regain autonomy. As the narrator escapes their stifling and abusive cult microcosm, a much grander existential timeline begins to appear. “Thousands of Years in Fast Forward” narrates a psychedelic surrender to the shared human experience through space and time, an ego-death adjacent to our ancestry, our own existence, and the before and after. “At the site of the crater, molecular hands unclasp molecular hands as you lose conditioning,” Shaw sings on the title track, “Your grandmother's garden. Your grandmother's kitchen. Your grandmother's primordial ocean.” It’s a profound actualizing glimpse into a true, forgotten reality and a startling reconnection with the self.

Western Massachusetts band Landowner play abrasively clean minimalist-punk. Singer Dan Shaw began Landowner in 2016, writing and recording Impressive Almanac with a practice amp and a laptop drum machine. Those available tools would inform the band’s unapologetic sound—clean, confrontational, and absurdly stark. With a stated goal to sound like “Antelope playing Discharge”, Landowner’s diamond hard structures, repetitious instrumentals and caricatured hardcore make space for lyrics that reflect on the global systems our lives are tangled in and the dark absurdities we take for granted.

Landowner’s fourth Born Yesterday full length Escape the Compound focuses on the powerful grips manipulators and reality-deniers have on their victims, examining the social, political and interpersonal damage of cult-like influence and control. “A lot of the lyrics focus on cult manipulators and narcissists: falling victim to their toxic dynamics, and the difficulty of escaping their grip” says Shaw. From climate change deniers and conspiracy theorists to deceptive narcissists and actual cult leaders, Landowner explores the ubiquity of modern unreality through evocative imagery and a keen sense of awareness. The band’s plain instrumentation sheds and subverts hardcore punk’s noisy veil in favor of a direct, unswerving examination of these themes.

Written and recorded following the release of 2020’s Consultant, Escape the Compound finds Landowner leaning into the studio through deeper experimentation with a wider palette of sounds. The group’s lineup of Josh Owsley (bass), Elliot Hughes (guitar), Jeff Gilmartin (guitar), Josh Daniel (drums) and Dan Shaw played often since coming together in 2017. But with pandemic restrictions in place, the making of Escape the Compound became a much more insular pursuit, one where the mixing and mastering process helped turn the band’s most varied batch of material into a cohesive, thematic collection of songs.

Album opener “Witch Museum” is a collage of dark Massachusetts historical imagery. The song evokes a kind of cult dynamic traveling like a shadow through time, where dark absurdities are taken for granted, toxic behaviors are excused, and normalcy begins to shift. The line “Gail's behavior has changed” casts fictional “Gail” as the dark manipulator, whose whim we’re at the mercy of. She sheds her toxic behavior and the crisis finally ends - “and peace returns to the Commonwealth”- an absurdity, given that cult leaders and narcissists rarely seem to change.

By considering the past, Landowner sheds light on the present. The band challenges egomaniacs reluctant to accept an uncomfortable reality with both cynicism and concern. The literal landowner described in “Heat Stroke” collapses in exhaustion, cooked by a suffocating bass line and sizzling hi-hats. “You'd rather die of heat stroke than to let anybody see you change your mind,” Shaw gasps, later pleading with the character in “Floodwatch” to “please reconsider” their brazen stubbornness as they plunge through the rising waters of a flooded road.

The character in “Swimmer of Note” refuses to admit their miscalculations, instead doubling down on an ever-growing and increasingly-unsteady tower of lies. The sneering “Damning Evidence” sets a scene all too familiar: a smoking gun scenario with zero consequences. Shaw’s exaggerated vocal refrains and sarcastic inflections mock false hope: “how will they be expected to keep their minds intact, at the shock of simply hearing such damning evidence?”

“Beyond the Darkened Library” creaks open a secret passageway into a dimly lit, endless labyrinth of conspiracy theories, in which the character becomes hopelessly lost. “Aftermath” sounds the alarms: “stare so long that you start getting used to it; one glance says you should never get used to it.” The pair of “Tactics” tracks express what Shaw calls “an interpersonal microcosm of the album’s themes.”

Perhaps the most ambitious arc on Escape the Compound loosely begins with the title track. The subject in “Escape the Compound” gradually recognizes their own victimhood and plans a calculated flight from the “captivating shepherd” – hop the fence, flee, and regain autonomy. As the narrator escapes their stifling and abusive cult microcosm, a much grander existential timeline begins to appear. “Thousands of Years in Fast Forward” narrates a psychedelic surrender to the shared human experience through space and time, an ego-death adjacent to our ancestry, our own existence, and the before and after. “At the site of the crater, molecular hands unclasp molecular hands as you lose conditioning,” Shaw sings on the title track, “Your grandmother's garden. Your grandmother's kitchen. Your grandmother's primordial ocean.” It’s a profound actualizing glimpse into a true, forgotten reality and a startling reconnection with the self.

Vladislav Delay presents the third EP in his "Hide Behind The Silence" series with five 10" releases coming throughout 2023. Intuitive and raw music, momentary and reflective, released on Ripatti's own label "Rajaton".

--

Stillness is a myth. Consider concepts such as ”still water”, or ”still air” for that matter. Go to a restaurant, ask them for a glass of still water, hold it against the light and see where we’re at. Even though the water itself has been captured and imprisoned in the glass, it never stops breathing. It’s filled with tiny particles, dancing. Everything can be explained on a molecular level, but since we’re not scientists – and even if you happen to be – it’s the natural world of perception that moves me.
Still air is very similar. A hot summer’s day with zero wind feels completely still. It’s the closest I have felt to complete stillness. Or for a more urban adaptation, imagine the same vibe inside a normal apartment. In those moments, revelations and mind- blowing experiences can be had with experiments in stillness.
Try this: Just sit down for a minute on a sunny day, making sure there’s enough natural light. Do absolutely nothing. Try not to breathe for a bit. (If you need a mental anchor, you can play Cage’s 4’33” in your head but nothing else.) Watch the tiny dots of dust dancing :..’ ̈.:; ́ ́*°.,’:,. ̈ ̈ ̈ ̈:,.’
The movement is crazy, but the feeling of stillness comes from witnessing how subtle it is. In (perceived) complete stillness, every act of microscopic mobility seems to speak volumes. Yet, it feels both reassuring and oddly threatening that the stillness is never complete. What if we would need absolute stillness? Or is it just enough that we can perceive something as such? Extremes attract, so for both water and air, extraordinary movement is equally fascinating. That is also a luxury item of sorts. For us to enjoy a very ”loud” body of water or air, we need to be safe, in enough control of the situation. So when you are, it’s worthwhile to pay attention and take it all in.
A rapid flowing free with extreme strength and just barely in control. Look at that water go! No still water on this one, only ”sparkling”. A windy day when birds seem surprised how hard it is to fly, but in the end they make it. Trees bend but don’t break. The wind shows you its movement but doesn’t hurt you. It feels friendly, like a big clumsy dog that doesn’t quite understand its size.
It’s beautiful to be a guest of the elements, but not at the mercy of them. A new kind of dialogue forms.

Repress!

Silver Sleeve 2012 Version

This special edition 2LP package comes housed in an a silver jacket featuring DOOM’s infamous metal mask icon embossed on it.

Each record is pressed on black vinyl. An absolute must have for the DOOM completist. The long awaited reissue of DOOM's first solo gem, Operation: Doomsday. Remastered from the original Fondle 'Em 1999 issue. Side A is listed as "Side Zero". Side B is "Side One". And so forth. Underneath his mysterious metal mask, MF DOOM hides the cachet underground legends are made of. After KMD (his first group)’s 1994 sophomore album Bl_ck B_st_rds was shelved by Elektra in 1994 and his blood brother Subroc (one half of the sibling rap duo) passed away, surviving frontman Zev Love X mutated into the MC Avenger known as MF DOOM and the Rap world is better for it. This 19-cut deep album is ridiculously dope, in a bizarro Ol’ Dirty Bastard kind of way. Doom sounds either high or drunk on most of the tracks, his self-produced beats are gritty, and his rhyme styles are almost indecipherable. On arguably the best track, “Rhymes Like Dimes,” Doom weaves some pointed lyrics through his abstract wordplay, spitting ‘only in America could you find a way to earn a healthy buck / And still keep your attitude on self-destruct.’ Who You Think I Am? features DOOM‘s crew M.onster I.sland C.zars, while on “?” he trades hot verses with former Columbia artist Kurious Jorge. Doom’s avant-garde ghetto-rhyme philosophies take even more intentionally weird twists on “Tick, Tick...” where he and guest MC MF Grimm’s flows warble over a rhythm track whose tempo speeds up and slows down continually. The comic-book themed skits, will help take you deep into the mind of an MC who is as otherworldly as they come. And in today’s bland commercial Rap universe, Operation Doomsday’s left-of-center beats and rhymes are the perfect remedy.

Less of Everything was released on April 3rd 2020 on Upset The Rhythm and sold out quickly. This limited repress on sun-yellow vinyl sees the album finally available on vinyl again, around the release of the group's new EP and upcoming tour plans.


Less of Everything. The title of Es’ first full length LP could be interpreted as a manifesto pledge, an outright demand or a purely literal sonic descriptor of the London quartet’s glacial form of punk rock music. This tension between intent and interpretation has been a fundamental element of the group’s output from their formation.

Es is Maria Cecilia Tedemalm (vocals), Katy Cotterell (bass), Tamsin M. Leach (drums) and Flora Watters (keyboards). Their 2016 debut EP, Object Relations, released on influential London punk label La Vida Es Un Mus, was described as “mutant synth-punk for our dystopian present” (Jess Skolnik, Bandcamp, Pitchfork). The band has since become a vital presence in London’s underground DIY music scene, as well as having toured the UK with the Thurston Moore Group in 2017.
After a period with members split between Glasgow and London, Es recorded Less of Everything with Lindsay Corstorphine (Sauna Youth, Primitive Parts) in Tottenham in 2019. As in Object Relations, the dynamic between Cotterell’s bass and Watters’ keyboard is at the heart of Less of Everything’s sound: intertwining sub-zero melodies, gothic anarcho-punk influences (think KUKL, MALARIA, X-MAL DEUTSCHLAND) and some kind of entirely unlocatable aquatic component. When combined with Murray Leach’s precise drumming, the outcome is original and immediately recognisable. Es are a group who know how to leave space, how to strive for minimalism without sacrificing aggression or dynamism. This dynamic provides the perfect backdrop for Tedemalm’s relentless, pointed vocal style. While comparable ‘cold’ sounding groups might affect an impersonal, safer mode of lyrical or vocal detachment, Tedemalm’s strategy is to “push the lyrics as far as I can thematically until they become absurd … overly dramatic ... while still being sincere in the feeling they’re trying to invoke. I try to apply as much emotion as I can.” The result is something intense but nuanced, confrontational but complex. Owen Williams, 2020

RED APPLE MARBLE VINYL REPRESS.

Everything changed for The Beths when they released their debut album, Future Me Hates Me, in 2018. The indie rock band had long been nurtured within Auckland, New Zealand’s tight-knit music scene, working full-time during the day and playing music with friends after hours. Full of uptempo pop rock songs with bright, indelible hooks, the LP garnered them critical acclaim from outlets like Pitchfork and Rolling Stone, and they set out for their first string of shows overseas. They quit their jobs, said goodbye to their home town, and devoted themselves entirely to performing across North America and Europe. They found themselves playing to crowds of devoted fans and opening for acts like Pixies and Death Cab for Cutie. Almost instantly, The Beths turned from a passion project into a full-time career in music.

Songwriter and lead vocalist Elizabeth Stokes worked on what would become The Beths’ second LP, Jump Rope Gazers, in between these intense periods of touring. Like the group’s earlier music, the album tackles themes of anxiety and self-doubt with effervescent power pop choruses and rousing backup vocals, zeroing in on the communality and catharsis that can come from sharing stressful situations with some of your best friends. Stokes’s writing on Jump Rope Gazers grapples with the uneasy proposition of leaving everything and everyone you know behind on another continent, chasing your dreams while struggling to stay close with loved ones back home.

"If you're at a certain age, all your friends scatter to the four winds,” Stokes says. “We did the same thing. When you're home, you miss everybody, and when you're away, you miss everybody. We were just missing people all the time.”

With songs like the rambunctious “Dying To Believe” and the tender, shoegazey “Out of Sight,” The Beths reckon with the distance that life necessarily drives between people over time. People who love each other inevitably fail each other. “I’m sorry for the way that I can’t hold conversations/They’re such a fragile thing to try to support the weight of,” Stokes sings on “Dying to Believe.” The best way to repair that failure, in The Beths’ view, is with abundant and unconditional love, no matter how far it has to travel. On “Out of Sight,” she pledges devotion to a dearly missed friend: “If your world collapses/I’ll be down in the rubble/I’d build you another,” she sings.

“It was a rough year in general, and I found myself saying the words, 'wish you were here, wish I was there,’ over and over again,” she says of the time period in which the album was written. Touring far from home, The Beths committed themselves to taking care of each other as they were trying at the same time to take care of friends living thousands of miles away. They encouraged each other to communicate whenever things got hard, and to pay forward acts of kindness whenever they could. That care and attention shines through on Jump Rope Gazers, where the quartet sounds more locked in than ever. Their most emotive and heartfelt work to date, Jump Rope Gazers stares down all the hard parts of living in communion with other people, even at a distance, while celebrating the ferocious joy that makes it all worth it -- a sentiment we need now more than ever.

3x12" 2023 Repress

To celebrate its landmark 20th release, Monnom Black invites you to enter The World of Monnom Black II - a return trip to techno's most uncompromising landscape. The triple vinyl release features 14 hand-picked contributions from the label's trusted collaborators alongside cutting-edge artists new to the roster; making this compilation one of the label's most varied and innovative collections yet.

On The World of Monnom Black II, new artists including VTSS, DIMI (AnD), Vladimir Dubyshkin, Hadone, Fractions, LDS, Aahan and Buried Secrets all throw down tracks which fuse tight machine rhythms with intricate detail. There's also a return for many established label favourites such as UVB, Dax J, Zanias and Thomas P. Heckmann as Knarz.

To round out the compilation there's a re-release of the timeless 1998 hip hop cut, "Devious Methods", from legendary drum and bass producer, Hive, and Tellurian's hardcore classic, "Big Bad City", gets a new mix from Dax J.

This release further confirms Monnom Black's reputation for representing raw analogue music and cements the label's place as the home of some of the roughest and classiest contemporary sounds in techno.

Welcome to the world of Monnom Black.

Stillness is a myth. Consider concepts such as ”still water”, or ”still air” for that matter. Go to a restaurant, ask them for a glass of still water, hold it against the light and see where we’re at. Even though the water itself has been captured and imprisoned in the glass, it never stops breathing. It’s filled with tiny particles, dancing. Everything can be explained on a molecular level, but since we’re not scientists – and even if you happen to be – it’s the natural world of perception that moves me.

Still air is very similar. A hot summer’s day with zero wind feels completely still. It’s the closest I have felt to complete stillness. Or for a more urban adaptation, imagine the same vibe inside a normal apartment. In those moments, revelations and mind- blowing experiences can be had with experiments in stillness.

Try this: Just sit down for a minute on a sunny day, making sure there’s enough natural light. Do absolutely nothing. Try not to breathe for a bit. (If you need a mental anchor, you can play Cage’s 4’33” in your head but nothing else.) Watch the tiny dots of dust dancing :..’ ̈.:; ́ ́*°.,’:,. ̈ ̈ ̈ ̈:,.’

The movement is crazy, but the feeling of stillness comes from witnessing how subtle it is. In (perceived) complete stillness, every act of microscopic mobility seems to speak volumes. Yet, it feels both reassuring and oddly threatening that the stillness is never complete. What if we would need absolute stillness? Or is it just enough that we can perceive something as such?

Extremes attract, so for both water and air, extraordinary movement is equally fascinating. That is also a luxury item of sorts. For us to enjoy a very ”loud” body of water or air, we need to be safe, in enough control of the situation. So when you are, it’s worthwhile to pay attention and take it all in.

A rapid flowing free with extreme strength and just barely in control. Look at that water go! No still water on this one, only ”sparkling”. A windy day when birds seem surprised how hard it is to fly, but in the end they make it. Trees bend but don’t break. The wind shows you its movement but doesn’t hurt you. It feels friendly, like a big clumsy dog that doesn’t quite understand its size.

It’s beautiful to be a guest of the elements, but not at the mercy of them. A new kind of dialogue forms.

10 atemberaubende Neuinterpretationen für Klavier von Ólafur Arnalds’ Erfolgsalbum some kind of peace
von akustischem Soloklavier bis hin zu verträumten elektronischen Klängen.
Kreative Zusammenarbeit ist der Eckpfeiler von Ólafurs Arbeit. Er beruft sich auf seine kreative Gemeinschaft und glaubt, dass Musik als ein sich bewegender, atmender Organismus weiterlebt. ”Das Herz eines
Songs lebt im Interpreten”. – Ólafur Arnalds
So lud der isländische Künstler eine vielfältige Mischung von musikalischen Freunden und Wegbegleitern aus der ganzen Welt ein seine Musik neu zu interpretieren. Sein letztes Album ”some kind of peace”
- ein Album, auf dem zwei Grammy-nominierte Tracks, ”The Bottom Line” (feat. Bonobo) und ”Loom”
(feat. Josin) zu hören sind – dient hier als Interpretationsgrundlage für zehn Künstler. So finden sich unter
anderem Piano-Bearbeitungen von Hania Rani, Lambert, Dustin O‘Halloran, JFDR, Eydís Evensen u.a. auf
dem neuen Album.

“I’ve been coming a thousand years / you could call me the endless fuck,” goes the memorable opening line of Rubblebucket’s Earth Worship, a dance-forward, joyously layered collection of songs which work to dissolve the imaginary lines between the natural world and its inhabitants. Kalmia Traver and Alex Toth, the group’s front persons and co-writers, first began a friendship as jazz students at the University of Vermont. Soon after, they formed a prolific band that has delved into pop, funk, dance and psychedelia over five records, with performances spanning Bonnaroo to their self-curated Dream Picnic Festival, and collaborations with kindred genre-blenders including Arcade Fire and Questlove. But Traver and Toth initially bonded over another shared passion: the two were part of UVM’s Sustainable Community Development program. Though Toth communes with nature as part of his morning routine, and Traver is adept at foraging in the band’s adopted home of New York, songwriting explicitly about environmentalism in Rubblebucket has felt immaterial—besides, the band has shared its beliefs over the years by inviting anti-fracking, reproductive justice, and other organizations to table at their shows. But Traver was interested in writing love songs for and from the natural world, and both were inspired by their parents’ work in ecology and community facilitation, from which they saw a throughline to music’s communal healing. Traver suggested “earth worship” as a lyrical prompt for their sixth record, and with this concept at its core, the duo began writing Earth Worship: a Rubblebucket album with renewed shimmer, showcasing the group’s intricately sparkling beats, hushed yet hooky vocals and infectious melodic complexity.

“I’ve been coming a thousand years / you could call me the endless fuck,” goes the memorable opening line of Rubblebucket’s Earth Worship, a dance-forward, joyously layered collection of songs which work to dissolve the imaginary lines between the natural world and its inhabitants. Kalmia Traver and Alex Toth, the group’s front persons and co-writers, first began a friendship as jazz students at the University of Vermont. Soon after, they formed a prolific band that has delved into pop, funk, dance and psychedelia over five records, with performances spanning Bonnaroo to their self-curated Dream Picnic Festival, and collaborations with kindred genre-blenders including Arcade Fire and Questlove. But Traver and Toth initially bonded over another shared passion: the two were part of UVM’s Sustainable Community Development program. Though Toth communes with nature as part of his morning routine, and Traver is adept at foraging in the band’s adopted home of New York, songwriting explicitly about environmentalism in Rubblebucket has felt immaterial—besides, the band has shared its beliefs over the years by inviting anti-fracking, reproductive justice, and other organizations to table at their shows. But Traver was interested in writing love songs for and from the natural world, and both were inspired by their parents’ work in ecology and community facilitation, from which they saw a throughline to music’s communal healing. Traver suggested “earth worship” as a lyrical prompt for their sixth record, and with this concept at its core, the duo began writing Earth Worship: a Rubblebucket album with renewed shimmer, showcasing the group’s intricately sparkling beats, hushed yet hooky vocals and infectious melodic complexity.

“I’ve been coming a thousand years / you could call me the endless fuck,” goes the memorable opening line of Rubblebucket’s Earth Worship, a dance-forward, joyously layered collection of songs which work to dissolve the imaginary lines between the natural world and its inhabitants. Kalmia Traver and Alex Toth, the group’s front persons and co-writers, first began a friendship as jazz students at the University of Vermont. Soon after, they formed a prolific band that has delved into pop, funk, dance and psychedelia over five records, with performances spanning Bonnaroo to their self-curated Dream Picnic Festival, and collaborations with kindred genre-blenders including Arcade Fire and Questlove. But Traver and Toth initially bonded over another shared passion: the two were part of UVM’s Sustainable Community Development program. Though Toth communes with nature as part of his morning routine, and Traver is adept at foraging in the band’s adopted home of New York, songwriting explicitly about environmentalism in Rubblebucket has felt immaterial—besides, the band has shared its beliefs over the years by inviting anti-fracking, reproductive justice, and other organizations to table at their shows. But Traver was interested in writing love songs for and from the natural world, and both were inspired by their parents’ work in ecology and community facilitation, from which they saw a throughline to music’s communal healing. Traver suggested “earth worship” as a lyrical prompt for their sixth record, and with this concept at its core, the duo began writing Earth Worship: a Rubblebucket album with renewed shimmer, showcasing the group’s intricately sparkling beats, hushed yet hooky vocals and infectious melodic complexity.

Mo Troper is truly one of a kind, and that’s never been more apparent than on his fifth full-length, the winkingly titled MTV. Arriving hot on the heels of his 2021 full-length, Dilettante, the album finds the Portland, OR-based power pop extraordinaire diving further into home-recorded immediacy to make a record that feels like a strikingly direct conduit to the world of Mo–where heartbreak, hilarity, and hooks all go hand-inhand.

MTV hurtles through 15 songs in just 31 minutes, with most of the tracks never even coming close to the three-minute mark. The sequence feels like a combination of a fever dream and a travel diary, intertwining tales of romantic longing with the ups and downs

of cross-country touring. Songs like “Across The USA,” “Royal Jelly,” or “Coke Zero” unravel the headaches and heartbreaks, often alternating between unflinching emotional details and legitimately funny one-liners. “I feel like I’m just in this mode of rebelling against the expectation for artists to be emotionally or aesthetically cohesive,” Troper says. “I think about all my favorite records and songwriters, and they’re often these people who would have really depressing stuff and then insane moments of levity that don’t get talked about as much. I want to make music that’s emotional but also campy or sarcastic or resonates in other ways. I’m like, ‘you know what, it’s all me.’”

2022 repress

Second album by Univers Zero originally released in 1979. A classic of chamber rock music featuring heavy use of dissonance and dark, brooding and extremely complex melodies.

"This music on this LP might have little to do with rock and might also be a massive downer, but the quality of the writing and playing is extremely high. Michel Berckmans' solo work on oboe and bassoon is magnificent, and
Patrick Hanappier's string playing (violin and viola) also demonstrates the precision of a trained classical musician, along with demonic avant-garde scraping and howling on "Jack The Ripper".

Best of all, Univers Zero never cheapens the effect of the music with any of the stock cartoon licks which are associated with the gothic genre today. Group members sound deadly serious about what they're doing, which might call their sanity into question, but which makes for an incredibly powerful listening experience. In fact,
Heresie is a stunning one-of-a-kind item that has never been duplicated by anyone -- including Univers Zero. "
- All Music

If you check the credits of The Rolling Stones' Goats Head Soup LP from 1973 you'll find a certain "Pascal" listed on the percussion section. That is none other than Los Angeles based artist Nicolas Pascal Raicevik (1933-1994), aka 107-34-8933, aka Head, aka Nik Pascal, aka Nik Raicevic. Besides his hitting the bongoes on the Stones album, Nik was a great artist on his own, both as a painter and as a musician. As a musician, he was a pioneer in the use of synthesizers, preceeding the Berlin school by some years when his Head LP was released on on Buddah in 1970. Buddah probably saw in Head the opportunity to cash in some money from the remains of the psychedelic scene - the three tracks on the LP are named after drugs used in the late sixties. The sounds, however, are accomplished works that show Raicevic as one of the most interesting pioneers in the use of synths. The album probably didn't do too well, since Buddah didn't renew the contract with Raicevic, who instead took his own way releasing his works on his very own Narco Records and Tapes label. Between 1968 and 1975 Narco would issue 4 LPs credited either to Nik Raicevic (Beyond The End... Eternity) or Nik Pascal (The Sixth Ear, Magnetic Web and Zero Gravity) plus one credited to 107-34-8933 (Numbers, which is in fact the same LP as Buddah's Head, albeit with different cover art). Copies of these LPs came with an ironic sticker over the shrinkwrap that read "Do not listen to this LP if you are stoned".

"Raicevic is clearly still in the early learning-curve stages," which it a key LP to understand Nik's evolution and setting the path for more evolved works to follow.

Besides his musical explorations, Nik was also an interesting painter. His paintings are auctioned from time to time, and are consciousness expanding works influenced by abstract cubism and surrealism, some kind of Salvador Dalí on drugs exploring the outter and inner space. All the artwork on the sleeves of his LPs is done by himself. Spacey landscapes and psychedelic colours that fit perfectly to the music they contain.

"Nik Raicevic's music is at the intersection of radical psycho-electronic weirdness and kraut kosmische music (in particular the scifi-hypno-minimal modules of Conrad Schnitzler in Grun, Rot and Blau). It presents mega epic & tripped out electronic improvisations.

"This is an absolute must for collectors and fans of visceral, neurotic soundscapes."

"As far as late-60s / early-70s American Bedroom' Electronic Music goes, these LPS have to be among the first transmissions from this sector, made all the more attractive when coupled with Raicevic's alien topographIes - the covers are high-color portrayals of Venusian lanes, knotted growths, & future-past architecture in a style you might equate with Vintage' sci-fi pulp-novel covers - & copious Downer' sentiment. This music is imbued with a sort of lonely, anti-social sensibility that's about as far as you can get from the Academic' Early Electronic vector. I will say that if the Steve Birchall, Cellutron & the Invisible, and/or Pythagoron™ seed your garden, this will likely do the same."


Never reissued before on vinyl format, the Wah Wah reissue features original sleeve artwork made of paintings and drawings by Nik himself and reproduction of the famous ironic "Do not listen if you are stoned" sticker. Limited edition, 500 copies only.

If you check the credits of The Rolling Stones' Goats Head Soup LP from 1973 you'll find a certain "Pascal" listed on the percussion section. That is none other than Los Angeles based artist Nicolas Pascal Raicevik (1933-1994), aka 107-34-8933, aka Head, aka Nik Pascal, aka Nik Raicevic. Besides his hitting the bongoes on the Stones album, Nik was a great artist on his own, both as a painter and as a musician. As a musician, he was a pioneer in the use of synthesizers, preceeding the Berlin school by some years when his Head LP was released on on Buddah in 1970. Buddah probably saw in Head the opportunity to cash in some money from the remains of the psychedelic scene - the three tracks on the LP are named after drugs used in the late sixties. The sounds, however, are accomplished works that show Raicevic as one of the most interesting pioneers in the use of synths. The album probably didn't do too well, since Buddah didn't renew the contract with Raicevic, who instead took his own way releasing his works on his very own Narco Records and Tapes label. Between 1968 and 1975 Narco would issue 4 LPs credited either to Nik Raicevic (Beyond The End... Eternity) or Nik Pascal (The Sixth Ear, Magnetic Web and Zero Gravity) plus one credited to 107-34-8933 (Numbers, which is in fact the same LP as Buddah's Head, albeit with different cover art). Copies of these LPs came with an ironic sticker over the shrinkwrap that read "Do not listen to this LP if you are stoned".

Numbers was the first reference in the Narco catalogue (NR101), each of the three tracks it contains is named after a drug: Cannabis Sativa, Methedrine and Lysergic Acid Diethylamide. The album was credited to 107-34-8933, there is no date of release on the disc, some sources take it as back as 1968 - in any case, this is the same record that was issued on Buddah in 1970 credited to Head and eponymously-titled. The Wah Wah reissue features the original cover artwork from the Narco edition.

Besides his musical explorations, Nik was also an interesting painter. His paintings are auctioned from time to time, and are consciousness expanding works influenced by abstract cubism and surrealism, some kind of Salvador Dalí on drugs exploring the outter and inner space. All the artwork on the sleeves of his LPs is done by himself. Spacey landscapes and psychedelic colours that fit perfectly to the music they contain.

"Nik Raicevic's music is at the intersection of radical psycho-electronic weirdness and kraut kosmische music (in particular the scifi-hypno-minimal modules of Conrad Schnitzler in Grun, Rot and Blau). It presents mega epic & tripped out electronic improvisations.


"This is an absolute must for collectors and fans of visceral, neurotic soundscapes."

"As far as late-60s / early-70s American Bedroom' Electronic Music goes, these LPS have to be among the first transmissions from this sector, made all the more attractive when coupled with Raicevic's alien topographIes - the covers are high-color portrayals of Venusian lanes, knotted growths, & future-past architecture in a style you might equate with Vintage' sci-fi pulp-novel covers - & copious Downer' sentiment. This music is imbued with a sort of lonely, anti-social sensibility that's about as far as you can get from the Academic' Early Electronic vector. I will say that if the Steve Birchall, Cellutron & the Invisible, and/or Pythagoron™ seed your garden, this will likely do the same."

Never reissued before on vinyl format, the Wah Wah reissue features original sleeve artwork made of paintings and drawings by Nik himself and reproduction of the famous ironic "Do not listen if you are stoned".
Limited edition, 500 copies only.

Second Sub Pop album by acclaimed UK act TV Priest finds them building on the
post-punk of their early material and maturing into a powerhouse of tense, politically
caustic, and thoughtful rock music.
Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made
their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were
established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their
political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy
on its wearer’s shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. “A lot of it did feel
like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length,” says vocalist Charlie
Drinkwater. “I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take
a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the
opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest.”
Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued
press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous
outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single ‘House of York’
followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to
Sub Pop for their debut album. When ‘Uppers’ arrived in the height of a global
pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its “dystopian doublespeak,”
but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic
Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of
tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the
personal and professional landmark of its release felt “both colossal and minuscule”
dampened by the inability to share it live. “It was a real gratification and really
cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental
health,” admits Drinkwater. “I wasn’t prepared, and I hadn’t necessarily expected it to
reach as many people as it did.”
As such, ‘My Other People’ maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking
advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using ‘Saintless’ (the closing
song from ‘Uppers’) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting
lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as
a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health.
“Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would
say, particularly well,” he says. “There was a lot of things that had happened to
myself and my family that were quite troubling moments. Despite that I do think the
record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders
for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in.”
“It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something
that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful,” agrees Bueth. “Brutality and frustration are
only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the
time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening.”
This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and
an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to ‘My Other People’, a
record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you’re
welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is
a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or
any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy on its wearer's shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. "A lot of it did feel like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length," says vocalist Charlie Drinkwater. "I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest." Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single "House of York" followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to Sub Pop for their debut album. When Uppers arrived in the height of a global pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its "dystopian doublespeak," but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the personal and professional landmark of its release felt "both colossal and minuscule" dampened by the inability to share it live. "It was a real gratification and really cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental health" admits Drinkwater. "I wasn't prepared, and I hadn't necessarily expected it to reach as many people as it did." As such, My Other People maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using "Saintless" (the closing song from Uppers) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health. "Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would say, particularly well," he says. "There was a lot of things that had happened to myself and my family that were quite troubling moments.Despite that I do think the record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in." "It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful," agrees Bueth. "Brutality and frustration are only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening." This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to My Other People, a record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you're welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy on its wearer's shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. "A lot of it did feel like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length," says vocalist Charlie Drinkwater. "I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest." Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single "House of York" followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to Sub Pop for their debut album. When Uppers arrived in the height of a global pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its "dystopian doublespeak," but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the personal and professional landmark of its release felt "both colossal and minuscule" dampened by the inability to share it live. "It was a real gratification and really cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental health" admits Drinkwater. "I wasn't prepared, and I hadn't necessarily expected it to reach as many people as it did." As such, My Other People maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using "Saintless" (the closing song from Uppers) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health. "Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would say, particularly well," he says. "There was a lot of things that had happened to myself and my family that were quite troubling moments.Despite that I do think the record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in." "It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful," agrees Bueth. "Brutality and frustration are only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening." This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to My Other People, a record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you're welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

2LP with a 4-page colour insert

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Même Soleil" is the result of a dialog between the French photographer Gaël Bonnefon and the French musician Frédéric D. Oberland initiated by IIKKI, between December 2019 and June 2021.

Self-taught multi-instrumentalist & photographer, Frédéric D. Oberland finds himself at the crossroads of image and sound, favoring a synesthetic approach. He articulates different modes of narration, combining the raw character of the documentary form with the transfigured reality of myth and poetry, allowing him to question notions such as the sacred, the monstrous, the fraternity, while at the same time returning to the political news of the present. Attentive to the pulse of the body, his work is willingly itinerant, modulating between the ripples of dreams, watching the points of incandescence and the bursts of electricity that act as revelations of our presence in the world, here and now. He’s the co-founder of leading bands such as Oiseaux-Tempête, FOUDRE!, Le Réveil des Tropiques, FareWell Poetry and is co-curating the label NAHAL Recordings.

"Fueled by travels and their emanations, Frédéric D. Oberland’s music had to build new horizons this year, outlined by the curves of semi-modular synthesizers, the avalanches of effect pedals and the zigzagging paths of electric circuits. Même Soleil, his third solo album, manages to merge mystical visions of the unconscious and the absurdity of an apocalyptic present in a sensory whirlwind, operating an astonishing mutation with tones still unexplored in his previous releases. A visual as well as a musical journey that takes shape in a book and a record of the same title, Même Soleil is the result of a collaboration with the photographer Gaël Bonnefon. Seeking the tension between the blinding light of day and the glittering visions of saturated night skies, the two pieces in dialogue transcend reality to deliver their own truth, as bright as the first light of the sought-after morning." (Alice Butterlin)

Gaël Bonnefon graduated with highest honours from the Fine Arts School of Toulouse (Isdat) in 2008. He has exhibited at Villa Pérochon, at the Eté photographique in Lectoure, at the 104 in Paris during Jeune Création 2012, at Rencontres Internationales de la Photographie d’Arles and at PhotoEspaña, at the Abattoirs Museum in Toulouse in 2014, at the Château d’Eau Gallery in 2012 and 2019 and in the Vitrine of Frac Île-de-France in 2020. His work is part of the collections of Frac Midi-Pyrénées, Château d'Eau gallery, Kulturamt in Dusseldorf and Kiyosato Museum in Japan ; he participated in Temps Zero projects Berlin, Braga, Rome, Bucarest, Groningen and Thessaloniki. He has also been granted artist’s residencies in Germany, France and Israel. His first book Elegy for the Mundane was published by La Main Donne in 2019. He continues his intimate and dense journey and presents his second publishing, Même Soleil with photographic works from 2009 to 2021.

"At first brutal and declining, the substance of Gaël Bonnefon's photography is just like a gaze that fears being one day extinguished and that is always looking to be born again. In photography as in love, recoil and desire, tension and easement, repetition, wandering and rest, flight and pursuit. Here photography allows itself to be traversed by flashes of life, renewed forces, echoes of far-off kindnesses and lost joys. It sings silently, lover of a thousand faces from which the thread of a single and same image is born, followed without relent, from the snowy peaks of childhood to the lost worlds of the present." (Michaël Soyez)

If you went down the wrong alleyway, took a shortcut through the park or crossed the wrong open space after dark in the UK in the 1970s, you stood a fair chance of being accosted by someone with a big mouth, low morals and some gurning mates to impress, usually reeking of fags and cheap booze and always ready to put the boot in. And, before you could say, “sickening violence”, a short but chaotic scuffle would ensue and a winner eventually emerge, battle scarred and bruised. The boot boy was the worst kind of hooligan. There wasn’t anything you could do or say to appease him. You had the same chance as a fly caught up in a spider’s web. Zero. Your best bet was to run. His intent was always to give you, and vicariously the rest of the world, a good kicking. Thugs, long-haired louts, short-haired louts; the anti-hippy. Birds, booze, bovver and football on their criminal minds. So fasten your braces for a white knuckle-duster ride. 14 bovver rock bruisers for all of you peace-loving losers. Somebody’s going to get their head kicked in tonight... Put the boot in.

Joshua is the follow-up album to Olympic. While the second album, typically, often shows what critics call “maturity”, here Simon has released instead an album of adolescence. The musician opened up his own memory box to contemplate his childhood souvenirs, and dust them off of all nostalgia. At that time, he would VHS-record movies from TV and tape record soundtracks directly from the TV speaker, so he could listen to them in his bedroom. This is when he “discovered the power of music, the way it makes you enter another world, far from reality. I wanted to pay tribute to the era I shaped myself in – the ’80s and ’90s”. Tangerine Dream, Kraftwerk and Soft Machine. Logically, these are the sonic signatures that seem to haunt the album. The timeless pioneers of synthetic music constitute the sound references, without any established chronological timeline, that blend with the atmosphere of typically “French Touch” movie soundtracks – long before the term was even coined. “I use a musical palette that acts as a flashback to my favourite teenage movies: the synth sounds of Close Encounters of the Third Kind; the synth pads in Jean-Jacques Cousteau’s fascinating documentaries about the sea world; the melodies in the manner of François De Roubaix; the themes that evoke the soundtracks of late-night TV sessions (those by Verneuil, those with Belmondo, Depardieu, etc.); and the sci-fi ambiences like in Blade Runner.” In short, an aesthetic was decided on by Simon very early on: French analog synths instead of North American symphonic orchestras.

The name Joshua has two meanings for French 79: one is linked to the idea of nostalgia, the other to adventure. On the one hand, the computer in the 1983 movie Wargames, and on the other, the boat of French sailor Bernard Moitessier.

The track titled Joshua synthesizes the spirit of the album – an odyssey, a neverending crossing of the world in search of oneself, a spontaneous escape into the future, under the benevolent eye of the past. This epic invites everyone of us to a specific place in our imagination, which is also the source of an indescribable pleasure for French 79: a gust of wind, a sailboat ride, a skateboarding trick, the smell of freshly fallen snow, or the dull roar of an impatient audience.

The same aesthetic preferences are found in the videos that illustrate Joshua’s first tracks: for Hold On, the skateboarder chose to recall the cult ’90s skate videos that he would watch on repeat as a teenager, while Hometown hints at Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Although he now calls Marseille home, Simon continuously draws with passion from the anachronic contemporaneity of his childhood in the Eastern French region.

“I need escape to be able to create. A two or three-day sailing trip gives me enough inspiration to lock myself in the studio for a week when I’m back on dry land.” His boat takes him far away from everything, far from the Old Port where she moors, the rest of the time Simon would escape by walking the streets of his city or climbing the Alpine mountains.

Not only does the new version French 79 reveal a few biographical pieces of Simon henner's history, but it also inaugurates the first vocal track for the musician. One feels a guilty pleasure when hearing him take the lead on the first track, The Remedy. The electronic fugue that opens the album sets the tone: Simon has found the cure for his inner turmoil and wants us to discover our own treatment too. Hold On is a sonic explosion that celebrates the feeling of freedom - what's more of a teenage dream than this feeling - and it eventually command one to feel the same way too. Echoing Olympic, the electronic argonaut invites his muse again, singer Sarah Rebecca. On By Your Side and Touch The Stars, the native of Ocean Springs, Mississippi, now based in Paris, hoisted the mainsail of dream pop. First, though a dialogue that surfaced their unfailing attachment to the bonds of friendship, then through the light hearted atmosphere that leaves us with no choice but to believe in our own dreams and do anything possible to fulfill them. The quest for peace in the midst of the daily din is heard in both Code Zero and the title track Joshua, two majestic journeys in search of hedonism, combined with introspection.

With his ongoing commitment to like-minded archivist label Finders Keepers Records, industrial music pioneer Steven Stapleton further entrusts us to lift the veil and expose “the right tracks” from his uber-legendary and oft misinterpreted psych/prog/punk peculiarity shopping list known as The Nurse With Wound List.
Following the critically lauded first instalment and it’s exclusively French tracklisting both parties now combine their vinyl-vulturous penchants to bring you the next ‘Strain Crack & Break’ edition which consists of twelve lesser-known German records that played a hugely important part in the initial foundations of the list which began to unfold when Stapleton was just thirteen years old.
From the perspective of a schoolboy Amon Düül (ONE) victim, at the start of a journey that commenced before phrases like kosmische and the xeno-ignant Krautrock tag had become mag hack currency, this compendium is devoid of the tropes that united what many would accurately argue to be the greatest progressive pop bands in Europe
(namely CAN, Neu! and Kraftwerk) and rather shatters the ingredients across a ground zero landscape for both inquisitive fans and socially rehabbing musos to begin to assemble a unique self-styled identity. If Krautrock was the music that journalist told us lurked behind schlager (German pop) in the 1970s, then this record includes the music that skulked behind Krautrock and perhaps refused to polish its backhanded name belt.
Including lesser-known artists like the late Wolfgang Dauner, whose career proceeded and outlived the kosmische movement while consistently informing and outsmarting them whenever they got stuck in their metronomic ruts, or how about Fritz Müller, the man who
was to Kraftwerk what Stuart Sutcliffe was to The Beatles but had more in common with Yoko and quite rightly couldn’t give a stuff about the Fab Four’s Hamburg roots.
Elsewhere we have a plethora of German bands made for German audiences as they try and shed secondhand flower power Americanisms and feel the benefits of much harder drugs and the realisations of difficult second album budgets while Kommune 1
newsflashes wipe smiles from everybody’s faces and replace them with opioid chic or acid-sarcastic grins. Bonzo Cockettes show us their Big Muffs and drummers ask for extra mics while Conny Plank goes for parliamentary office and gives babies good firm handshakes for the camera.
‘Strain Crack & Break: Volume Two’ is the sound of Steve Stapleton’s sponge-like mind and the dividends of anyone who was brave enough to even peek inside those brick-thick gatefold covers never mind drop the needle.
Over forty years since Nurse With Wound’s first album was released, Finders Keepers Records and Steve Stapleton take connoisseurs of our kind of music back to the disused elevator shaft towards ground zero. Arriving at the same checkout from different departments, Finders Keepers and Nurse With Wound continue to sing from the same hymnal with this ongoing collaborative attempt to officially, authentically and legally compile the best tracks from Steve’s list, where many overzealous erds have faltered (or simply, got the wrong end of the stick).
After ‘Strain Crack & Break: Volume One’ merely scratched the surface of this DIY dossier of elongated punk-prog peculiarities, this second lavish metallic gatefold double vinyl compendium drives a much deeper groove which, in accordance with Steve’s wishes, focusses exclusively on individual tracks of German origin - the country whose music forged the prototype of the NWW inventory in the form of his secondary school vinyl wantlist in the early 1970s, comprised of disassembled free jazz, unshowered stoner psych, hypnotic prog, deranged monk funk and fuzzed out Deutschmark bin bonzo beats.

Outside Ludlow / Desert Disco is the first major solo release from Australian performer-composer Sam Dunscombe, now based in Berlin after residing for the past decade in San Diego and Tokyo. A virtuoso clarinettist who has performed in composed and improvised settings with artists such as Klaus Lang and Taku Sugimoto, their practice also embraces computer music, lo-fi electronics and field recordings, in addition to their long-term commitment to archiving, studying and performing the work of Romanian spectralist composer Horatiu Radulescu.
The two side-long pieces presented on this LP began from a chance encounter in a specific geographic location (documented in the photographs that grace the record’s sleeve). Exploring California’s Mojave desert with a friend, Dunscombe made the unlikely discovery of a tangle of quarter-inch tape snared on a cactus. The digitised version of this tape, variously edited and processed, as well as Dunscombe’s own transcription and embellished performance of some of its material on Hammond organ, makes up one of the main ingredients of the LP’s first side. The other is a field recording of the area outside the ghost town of Ludlow, where the tape was found, where haunted silence is punctuated by freight trains and clusters of explosions from gold mines and the local marine corps. Far from any kind of documentary approach, the resulting composition reaches back to the smeared atmospherics and overdriven tape crunch of Hands To, Small Cruel Party or Joe Colley, before the Hammond organ rises up to cast a spectral shimmer reminiscent of 1960s tape music classics like Arne Nordheim’s ‘Warszawa’.

On ‘Desert Disco’ (its title perhaps a clue to the content of the mysterious tape), Dunscombe zeroes in on a single fragment of the tape, accompanying it with analogue synthesis to craft an immersive work based on a single chord. Throughout the course of this work, the monolithic opening sonority gradually splits apart, revealing an infinity of rhythmically phasing lines that swarm like a cloud of insects and patter like falling rain, placing Dunscombe’s piece in a lineage of patient electronic exploration that includes landmarks like Costin Miereanu’s Derives and the contemporary work of Jim O’Rourke.

Limited edition vinyl with images by Sam Dunscombe and design by Lasse Marhaug. Mastered by Joe Talia at Good Mixture, Berlin.

Joviale is a multidisciplinary artist from North London making otherworldly, immersive music that plays with “minimal textures, killer interjections and vocals that are equal parts restraint and rage.” (The Times) Looping these high vocals with heady, emotional chords, they weave a screen around the listener, pulling them into chaptered, strangely sweet variations of the artist, divided out across albums, and designed to generate a performative atmosphere, both on stage and through the recording.

For their forthcoming EP Hurricane Belle NEVER SEVEN, spring 2021, Joviale combines warm sensual exposure with a flash of teeth, as the fictional Hurricane Belle whirls onto the scene, an embodiment of the “sense of electric and spiralised chaos” erupting from the artist’s centre. Hurricane Belle is a Champion that was inspired by Peter Shenai’s “Hurricane Bell” experiment, in which he cast brass bells modelled on the five stages of Hurricane Katrina. Industrial, insatiable and metallic, Hurricane Belle is embedded in the album not only through sound, but also through sight; the first single of the project, Blow, will be accompanied by a self-directed video, reflecting Joviale’s increased interest in the visual arts, and in building multisensory experiences. As written in the accompanying prose for the album, “Let yourselves into my breath, my rhythm and my core. Take pleasure in the whiplash of this collection.”

2019 saw the release of the artist’s debut EP Crisis, in which Joviale wielded narrative and storytelling to build a dreamy, silk-wrapped universe across songs such as Dreamboat, and Taste of the Heavens. As with Hurricane Belle, Crisis was created in collaboration with the producer Bullion, and it has been widely supported by press, including interviews in The Face and Coeval, and features in Dazed, Line of Best Fit, Guardian, The Times, Fader, Crack and Clash, among others. The EP also merited radio support from Huw Stephens on BBC Radio 1, Jamz Supernova on BBC 1xtra, Selector FM, Matt Wilkinson on Beats 1, Tom Ravenscroft, Tom Robinson on BBC 6 Music, Dan Alani on Reprezent, and Worldwide FM, among others.
Joviale belongs to a generation of artists with a strong sense of collaborative, interdisciplinary practice. The artist leans into this skill-sharing, research-led community, valuing project-based work that allows for the development of concepts related to visual and sound culture. This is reflected in them having recently directed a video for Laura Groves, as well as running a bi-monthly radio show on NTS over a period of twelve months. They carry a deep interest in the connection between the arts, ecological sciences, and semi-fictive encounters, as well as the wider London scene. In 2019, The Face described Joviale’s sound and aesthetic as “building the London artist a loyal fan base”, an effect that encompasses their involvement in the city’s music circuit; Joviale built a reputation for their live shows before releasing any official music. They have played support shows for artists that include Celeste, Zsela, Kate Tempest, Nilufer Yanya, Babeheaven, Kindness, and Westerman, and, in 2019, Joviale sold out their first headline show at Folklore, Hackney.

Neutral’s seminal album, Grå Våg Gamlestaden, is widely
considered ground zero for the explosion of creativity that has
transpired in the Swedish Underground ever since. It is the noisy
experimental rock album that opened the door and welcomed in
so many artists working behind the scenes. Gothenburgers Dan
Johansson (Sewer Election) and Sofie Herner had previously
made music together in the band Källarbarnen when they started
discussing a new methodology and a fresh sound for recordings
in 2013 under a new name as a duo.
After witnessing Herner and Johansson’s live performance in
an artist’s studio in the spring 2014, Gustaf Dicksson, who was
running the Omlott record label at the time as well as performing
under his own moniker, Blod, offered to release an album by
Neutral on the spot.
Herner recorded most of the instruments and voice, Johansson
worked on manipulating the recordings, experimenting with
reel-to-reel techniques. The title of the album translates as “Grey
Wave Gamlestaden” and was chosen as an inside joke about the
neighbourhood Gamlestaden where Johansson and Herner lived.
A major theme on the recording is a certain kind of bleakness
but with a wry smile closely identified with the spirit of the
neighborhood.
In the fall of 2014 Grå Våg Gamlestaden was released,
limited to 200 copies, and sold out quickly without many copies
making it outside of Sweden. Around the same time, Johansson
and Herner joined forces with other underground artists in their
widening circle to form a sort of Gothenburg supergroup making
music together as Enhet för Fri Musik.
Grapefruit’s reissue of Grå Våg Gamlestaden is the first time
Neutral’s masterpiece has seen the light of day since it sold out
quickly in 2014. This vinyl-only gatefold reissue is limited to
300 copies.

Definite reissue of this No Wave classic, originally issued in 1979. Previous reissues of the Contortions and James White albums on Infinite Zero have been deleted for the better part of a decade. These are all officially sanctioned by the originating label, Ze Records; packaged in fold out digipaks, with deluxe 20 page booklets. The 21st century has produced a new generation of young contenders of all kinds, who have, within months, spread a new string of names across the planet such as The Rapture, Playgroup, LCD Sound system, Liars, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Radio 4 and the likes, just to name a few. Once again the heat was initiated in NYC, even though its Lower East Side epicenter 'cleaned up' by Giuliani and Bloomberg, has moved a few blocks east and across the river to Brooklyn and Williamsburg. It might be wise to remind the younger ones among us that the origins of this new musical cycle is for the most part rooted in the No Wave movement of which James Siegfried aka James White, aka James Chance is undoubtedly one of its most prominent figures. New York City was hands down the artistic telluric center of the second half of the 20th century, especially from the 70's, on. Rising from the ashes of the Velvet Underground, a slew of local bands redefined the aesthetics of rock'n'roll which the merchants of the temple hastened to rename under various designations, such as punk, new wave, no wave, jazz-funk or even disco and disco-punk without forgetting to mention the original Electro designation pioneered by the band Suicide. One of the indispensable and emblematic figures of the mid-'70s is of course James Chance.

Here it is! The first EP from "Zero Netcost", a project by Romain Bezzina with the help of Simon Mills ak Bent plus a few guests. A sweet mashup of easy-listening and downtempo tracks with nostalgic and dreamy vibes. God damn, this is some good-ass ice cream!

10” clear vinyl) Five years on since their last joint outing in Stroboscopic Artefacts Monad series, Speedy J and Lucy team up again as Zeitgeber on 'Seventeen Zero Four', a new three-tracker descending deep into the filthy, tenebrous outskirts of club music.

Five years on since their last joint outing in Stroboscopic Artefacts Monad series, Speedy J and Lucy team up again as Zeitgeber on 'Seventeen Zero Four', a new three-tracker descending deep into the filthy, tenebrous outskirts of club music. Torchbearers of techno as a life-affirming vehicle for human expression, as can be experienced through their multi-dimensional back catalogue of solo records and shared live performances at some of the finest clubs and events including Concrete, Goa Club and London’s E1, it's safe to say Jochem and Luca share a certain taste for taking things off the beaten path and into new perspectives. True to their bold approach towards production, 'Seventeen Zero Four' proudly continues the pair's tradition of chiselled floor-focused shifts and divagations outside the ringfenced domain of no-nonsense 4/4 mechanics initiated on their self-titled debut album in 2013.

Drawing first blood, the title-track 'Seventeen Zero Four' submerges us in a state of amniotic solitude as hell's all set to break loose around. Sonar bleeps drip and dissolve across invisible plateaux as thunder rumbles and roars in the distance, mirroring and shattering all linearity between the bars. 'One Zero Five' then implements a further straightforward groove, sequenced hats and kicks carving out a more familiar scenario for the dancers to appropriate, whilst maintaining that oddball, slightly off kind of minimal, dubbed-out blur. Rounding off the package, 'Twenty Zero Two' throws further jazz into the mix, letting its sine curves hula hoop into the upper layers of the outer-audio-space as a shrewdly engineered industrial swing drops the hammer for an epic last stretch.