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With his new album, Gecko Turner confirms that he is a standout artist in the global groove scene, a must for the outernational sounds aficionados.

Somebody From Badajoz is the fifth studio album in his much lauded discography and his first in seven years, eagerly anticipated by both his fans and himself: "this business of dedicating yourself to music and making songs... it's a long game."

With the release of his first two, remarkable, albums, Guapapasea! (2003) and Chandalismo Ilustrado (2006), Gecko started cultivating what one astute journalist defined as Afro-maduran soul—the "maduran" bit referencing Extremadura, a region in central-western Spain.

Badajoz, Gecko's birthplace, is the biggest city in the area, on the border with Portugal, by the Guadiana River. It is a place that oozes history, where there is constant movement at the border, and people's character is friendly and open-minded with foreign habits.

Gecko's Afro-maduran soul isbuilt on Afro-American music and drenched in Brazilian, African, Latin American and Jamaican sounds. There are also echoes of a youth marked in equal parts by our man's admiration for the Beatles and the flamenco that could be heard everywhere in Badajoz in the seventies. It makes for a singular sound and a musical language of its own—spicy, succulent, full of nuances, but with a very personal flavour.

The album opens with the Nigerian talking drums of Twenty-twenty Vision, (neo) soul in a magical falsetto, carried by a sumptuous orchestral arrangement with a cinematic flavour: "I'd been thinking about doing something called 'Twenty-twenty Vision' for some time, making a play on words with the vision we have of the world after the year 2020 and the medical expression, which, in ophthalmological terms, means 'normal or complete vision.' Beyond that particular song, I think that's the mood of the album: a look at society in the twenties of the 21st century and the feelings and demons it produces."

It's followed by De Balde, a very special song born from a posthumously discovered lyric by the great writer Carlos Lencero, a regular collaborator of Camarón, Pata Negra, and Remedios Amaya, and also from Badajoz. While conceived as a fandango, Gecko has moulded it into his sound in such a seamless way it now seems as if the words could only have been written to be embraced by the percussion, brass, and backing vocals heard on the album. It's the only lyric on Somebody From Badajoz not written by Turner, still it sits rather comfortably with the rest, sharing the same emotivity and sensitivity, as well as the trademark humour and irony.

Other tracks see more protagonism for the rhythm.The beat-driven Ain't No Fun Preachin' to the Choir features Gecko's vocals walking the thin line between singing and talking over a phenomenal afro-disco-funk-infused trailblazer. In Am I Sad? it's impossible to not bob your head to the queen of Papatosina's mongrel rhythm, as close to the banks of the Guadiana river as it is to the shores of the Mississippi. Qué Siesta Tan Buena, He Babeao Y To! is an ode to the snooze in true Afro-Maduran fashion. And in Come And Try, the Caribbean influence is evident—lovers' rock that invites you to dance in good company.

In these songs, and throughout the album, for that matter, the musicians accompanying Gecko, who himself plays many of the instruments as well, shine brightly. All hailing from Extremadura, Javi Mojave (percussion), Álvaro Fdez 'Dr. Robelto' (bass), and Rafa Prieto (guitar) have been carrying him with delicate forcefulness since he started out as a solo artist. At the same time, the wonderful and essential voices of Deborah Ayo, Astrid Jones, Fani Ela Nsue, and Miriam Solís give the album a sunny variety of colours. And there are many more—a sensational group of musicians contributes dazzling harmonic bursts to many of the songs. The palette of sounds is very diverse and rich in textures and nuances, including, for example, the ngoni, bells, and various repurposed kitchen utensils.

The groove is always around, moving between the magical border sound of Everybody Knows Somebody From Badajoz and Little Dose, the silky soul of The Sibariteo Appreciation Society, and the exultant celebration of End Of The World (which surprisingly sees Gecko turning to the occasional use of autotune), a piece that could be used for the final credits of a Monty Python film and, in fact, closes the album.

Gecko Turner has done it again with Somebody From Badajoz, looking to the future without losing sight of the roots. In times of upheaval all over the globe, when people are looking for purity, he delivers a formidable piece of work: risky, optimistic in spite of everything, and with a decidedly bastard sound. Let's rejoice.

Released to celebrate tenor jazz saxophonist Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis’ Centennial, “Cookin’ with Jaws and the Queen” showcases the influential soul-jazz partnership of Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis and Organist Shirley Scott. Bringing together the Prestige albums “Cookbook, Vol. 1-3,” “& “Smokin’”.
This 4-LP set is pressed on 180-gram vinyl at RTI and newly remastered from the Original Analog tapes by Bernie Grundman. The package also features new liner notes by journalist Willard Jenkins.

With his new album, Gecko Turner confirms that he is a standout artist in the global groove scene, a must for the outernational sounds aficionados.

Somebody From Badajoz is the fifth studio album in his much lauded discography and his first in seven years, eagerly anticipated by both his fans and himself: "this business of dedicating yourself to music and making songs... it's a long game."

With the release of his first two, remarkable, albums, Guapapasea! (2003) and Chandalismo Ilustrado (2006), Gecko started cultivating what one astute journalist defined as Afro-maduran soul—the "maduran" bit referencing Extremadura, a region in central-western Spain.

Badajoz, Gecko's birthplace, is the biggest city in the area, on the border with Portugal, by the Guadiana River. It is a place that oozes history, where there is constant movement at the border, and people's character is friendly and open-minded with foreign habits.

Gecko's Afro-maduran soul isbuilt on Afro-American music and drenched in Brazilian, African, Latin American and Jamaican sounds. There are also echoes of a youth marked in equal parts by our man's admiration for the Beatles and the flamenco that could be heard everywhere in Badajoz in the seventies. It makes for a singular sound and a musical language of its own—spicy, succulent, full of nuances, but with a very personal flavour.

The album opens with the Nigerian talking drums of Twenty-twenty Vision, (neo) soul in a magical falsetto, carried by a sumptuous orchestral arrangement with a cinematic flavour: "I'd been thinking about doing something called 'Twenty-twenty Vision' for some time, making a play on words with the vision we have of the world after the year 2020 and the medical expression, which, in ophthalmological terms, means 'normal or complete vision.' Beyond that particular song, I think that's the mood of the album: a look at society in the twenties of the 21st century and the feelings and demons it produces."

It's followed by De Balde, a very special song born from a posthumously discovered lyric by the great writer Carlos Lencero, a regular collaborator of Camarón, Pata Negra, and Remedios Amaya, and also from Badajoz. While conceived as a fandango, Gecko has moulded it into his sound in such a seamless way it now seems as if the words could only have been written to be embraced by the percussion, brass, and backing vocals heard on the album. It's the only lyric on Somebody From Badajoz not written by Turner, still it sits rather comfortably with the rest, sharing the same emotivity and sensitivity, as well as the trademark humour and irony.

Other tracks see more protagonism for the rhythm.The beat-driven Ain't No Fun Preachin' to the Choir features Gecko's vocals walking the thin line between singing and talking over a phenomenal afro-disco-funk-infused trailblazer. In Am I Sad? it's impossible to not bob your head to the queen of Papatosina's mongrel rhythm, as close to the banks of the Guadiana river as it is to the shores of the Mississippi. Qué Siesta Tan Buena, He Babeao Y To! is an ode to the snooze in true Afro-Maduran fashion. And in Come And Try, the Caribbean influence is evident—lovers' rock that invites you to dance in good company.

In these songs, and throughout the album, for that matter, the musicians accompanying Gecko, who himself plays many of the instruments as well, shine brightly. All hailing from Extremadura, Javi Mojave (percussion), Álvaro Fdez 'Dr. Robelto' (bass), and Rafa Prieto (guitar) have been carrying him with delicate forcefulness since he started out as a solo artist. At the same time, the wonderful and essential voices of Deborah Ayo, Astrid Jones, Fani Ela Nsue, and Miriam Solís give the album a sunny variety of colours. And there are many more—a sensational group of musicians contributes dazzling harmonic bursts to many of the songs. The palette of sounds is very diverse and rich in textures and nuances, including, for example, the ngoni, bells, and various repurposed kitchen utensils.

The groove is always around, moving between the magical border sound of Everybody Knows Somebody From Badajoz and Little Dose, the silky soul of The Sibariteo Appreciation Society, and the exultant celebration of End Of The World (which surprisingly sees Gecko turning to the occasional use of autotune), a piece that could be used for the final credits of a Monty Python film and, in fact, closes the album.

Gecko Turner has done it again with Somebody From Badajoz, looking to the future without losing sight of the roots. In times of upheaval all over the globe, when people are looking for purity, he delivers a formidable piece of work: risky, optimistic in spite of everything, and with a decidedly bastard sound. Let's rejoice.

„One day I was on a visit sitting in his kitchen and when we decided to change to the sofa in the music room, his girlfriend proposed to listen to these old recordings, as maybe I would be weird enough to like them. „Recorded in my homestudio, low budget style with a cheap microphone, a sampler, drum machines, vinyl and a few borrowed synths. … A commitment to the funk, a raw analogue sound and also a dedication to black music and its architects.“ the artist comments on it.
I immediately dug the rather short demos a lot. As I had to swallow the information that there never were real plans to release them, I later decided on the bus home, I just had to puke out a „label“. Soon I asked him to extend some of the songs and let me do some mixing and here is the album.“ Cid Hohner

An entire long-player on hair, representing the complete Illwig catalogue. Beautifully raw electronic funk. Obscure, bouncy and atmospheric. Right. This is F.B.Illwig with the first official release on Moonwalk X Records after a singlesided promo 12“ sporting the extended version of „Why Do My Hair“.

A travelogue that unites physical and inner space, a series of trance states rendered in vivid colour, a delirious portal into the ether.
Marlene Ribeiro’s first albumunder her own name is all of this and much more. Toquei No Sol is a fresh new chapter for this unique artist, by far the most melodic and transcendent outing yet for her hypnotic dreampop.

This is only the latest release in a long history of sonic experimentation for Marlene, which includes her previous work as Negra Branca across a series of releases on labels such as Tesla Tapes and Zamzam and a long period as a member of audial iconoclasts and Rocket mainstays GNOD, not to mention collaborations with the like of Valentina Magaletti and Thurston Moore.

Toquei No Sol is also a record with a very distinctive and potent sense of place, paradoxically despite having been woven together from recordings made in Ireland, Wales, Portugal, Madeira and Salford.
It’s genesis came via a visit to Marlene’s maternal grandmother Emilia, whose influence as well as the sounds of her kitchen in Portugal.
can be heard on the album’s first track ‘Quatro Palavras’.

“Emilia ended up getting excited about me being able to record things there and then and - total news to me - told me she used to sing a lot when she was younger to the point of getting offered studio time but refusing it as she was fearful of what that could imply in those times” relates Marlene “From that point I planned to include her in this record as sort of the chance she never had of getting her voice out there.”

Elsewhere, a disarmingly catchy and irresistible grace is married to
a utilitarian approach to sound and texture. The ritualistic “Sangue De Lua de Lobo” (first released on a Sofia records compilation Songs Of The Lunar Eclipse) contains random objects from Marlene’s then-garden in Ireland, whereas on the drifting, beatific ‘Forever’ the percussion tracks are constructed from the sounds of pots and pans in her own Salford kitchen.

Yet at all times her fleet-footed approach to melody rings through even as the tracks conjure visions of heat-hazes, meditative spaces and late-night epiphanies. Although listeners may hear echoes of the
loop-driven psychedelia of Panda Bear’s Person Pitch or the incantatory ululations of Pocahaunted in these beguiling soundscapes and magick-strewn mantras, the truth is that the aesthetic here is
very much Marlene’s alone.

“It’s all a big misty haze of nostalgia, playfulness, self-reflection and hopefulness” is what Marlene reckons herself. Yet Toquei No Sol
is also a transporting vision from an artist both returning to her roots
and looking out to new celestial horizons.

The venerable Philip Lauer (aka “Lauer”) makes his debut on Public Release this Fall with his latest EP Otto Zero. One half of T&P, another half of Tuff City Kids, and a full two halves of Lauer, we're thrilled to welcome him to the Public Release family. I’ve been rinsing his tracks in my sets over the years; a sound so recognizably his, warm and fleeting emotions — yet simultaneously cold and rigid— he masterfully toes this line. The EP is serious party music for any room, whether it be the dance floor or the kitchen... It hits wherever, whenever.

Samosa Records heads into the autumn with a crackling and enchanting EP from one of the masters of funky grooves and dusky beats, LTJ EDITS.

Opening the EP on the A-side, we have the perfectly pitched ‘Somebody’. Tight bassline merges with church- like organ chords, a sharp guitar riff and a soulful vocal that you feel in deep your bones. Meticulously constructed, this track will resonate with anyone familiar with LTJ Edits’ work (and newcomers alike).

A2 brings us the title track, Mr Man. This masterpiece has everything you want from a slow, thumping groove. At 98 bpm, it’s a trademark LTJ Edits smackdown, but oh boy - it has so much more in the trunk. Mesmeric, hypnotic - the familiar smooth mid-range tenor vocal gives you goosebumps on your goosebumps. An instant classic.

The B side kicks things off with mid-tempo stomper ‘Give All’. Make no mistake, this is LTJ Edits in the kitchen cooking soul food with a hint of blues and lashings of rare groove. A rolling, powerhouse of a track that also delivers a message to the masses, you’ll have this one thumping out of your speakers for a long, long time. Everybody needs it. Got to have it.

Finishing off this outstanding release is the cherry on top of the funky cake - simply entitled ‘James’. As soon as the guitar riff and bass starts, you get the meaning behind the title. This is all about the raspy, unmistakeable vocal, chanking guitar and funkadelic, bluesy bassline. A rhythmical, funk infused JB bath bomb from start to finish. After your first listen, you’ll want to go straight back on this ride.

The Mr Man EP is a serious chunk of vinyl and LTJ Edits has found a perfect home at Samosa Records. You have this in your record box and you’re ready for anything.

Following the success of his 2022 mod-club, soul-jazz adventure with Mick Talbot, on 27 January Acid Jazz Records will release Chris Bangs' compendium of dance-floor fillers and Latin dynamite. Chris, who coined the term 'acid jazz', has created a new solo album of 10 tracks that takes his unique spin on jazz DJ-ing and turned it to producing an album that is totally reminiscent of the classic '80s era on the UK dance scene.

Recent single 'Firebird' (Jazz FM's Breakfast show 'track of the week') encompasses a lifetime of Chris's musical influences to present a jazz-tastic smorgasbord of bossa, fusion, bop jazz funk, salsa and a myriad selection of other jazz stylings all delivered with his trademark ear for the grooves and melodies to go with it. Paying tribute to his roots, 'East Coast' is the distinctive sound of jazz-funk fusion which spread through UK clubs in the early '80s, whereas 'Dinamita's heavy duty percussion-led Montuno Salsa groove tips its hat to the sound of '70s NYC via Puerto Rico.



Elsewhere the album features a tough Batucada rework of Dom Um Romao's 'Kitchen (Cosina)', the bossa of Cal Tjader's 'Samba Do Sueno', Brazilian disco funk-jazz 'Sambara' via the epic samba fusion 'Lifetimes'. Firebird features an array of in-demand and exceptional musicians, including jazz guitarist Nigel Price (Van Morrison, David Axelrod, JTQ), supreme jazz piano stylist Janette Mason (Seal, KD Lang, Robert Wyatt), trumpeter Dave Priseman (Jeff Beck, Imelda May), bassist Ernie Mckone (Boogie Back), saxophonist Simon Bates (Elvis Costello, Chaka Khan, Carleen Anderson), and fresh from his remix work with Paul Weller, vibesman Roger Beaujolais. This brilliant team of collaborators have helped a remarkable musical maverick create a truly unique and incredibly exciting album. Independently self-produced and composed, Firebird is a set of tunes better than any Chris Bangs had ever done.

Billy Nomates, the project of the Bristol-based songwriter, producer
and multi-instrumentalist Tor Maries, announces the release of her
much anticipated second studio album, ‘CACTI’, via Invada Records.
 Recorded at her flat and Invada Studios, ‘CACTI’ is a huge step up
for the artist, who received widespread critical acclaim for her
eponymous 2020 debut album, with heavy airplay across BBC Radio
6 Music and support from luminaries such as Iggy Pop, Florence
Welsh and Steve Albini.
 Though every bit as unrepentant as Billy Nomates’ debut, ‘CACTI’
comes from a much more exposed place and sees Tor further
develop her instinctive, inventive songwriting and production.
Unafraid to wade into the traumas of the past two years and the eerie
sense of apathy that lingers, alongside heartache and more political
themes, the 12-track collection openly confronts uncomfortable truths,
as Tor puts it, “70-80% of being bold is about being vulnerable as
hell.”
 Maries said: “Writing ‘CACTI’ took just over a year. I wrote very
intensely and then none at all. (This seems to be the way I work
best). I picked up old drum machines, mapped out things in my
kitchen with the same small micro keyboard I always use and then
raided the cupboards and rooms at Invada Studios, to play and
experiment with old synths, an upright piano, this weird organ thing. I
hope everyone finds their own narrative in ‘CACTI’. I think it’s about
surviving it all.”
 ‘CACTI’ features ‘blue bones’ and ‘balance is gone’, both of which
have been playlisted at BBC 6 Music.

7" Black Vinyl in Fold-out Concertina Sleeve, 500 copies only. An anachronism in current times where individualism reigns supreme, Teeth Machine are a rare band knitted together through close camaraderie: a collective in the truest sense of the word, whose intricate, improvisational style resolutely resists being reduced to one single contributor. Teeth Machine found its beginnings in the close friendship and musical collaborations of Arthur Bently (saxophonist/lead guitarist) and Gray Rimmer (lead vocals/guitar). Having played together in various other projects since the age of 17 and disaffected with the music industry, the pair’s first furtive experimentations with the music that would later become Teeth Machine took place at a deliberate distance from the Outside world. This early incubation period, and the music made through endless bedroom sessions and demos recorded on laptops and tapes, became the spine of the project, fostering a sound that still retains both a precious intimacy and a large, expansive sonic scope. The band’s lineup as it stands today features long term friends and collaborators Anthony Boatright (Bass), Jamie Staples (Drums), and Ciara Reddy (Vocals/Synth). On their first self-assured, recorded offering to the wider world, Teeth Machine still bear the imprint of their origins, the band’s sound firmly grounded in the ethos of mutually weighted contribution, as well as the closeness cultivated in their early experiences, always retaining an air of uninhibited creativity and adolescent intimacy. ‘Gumball’, their first release on RaRaRok (Wulu, The Goa Express) was self-produced, mixed by Dilip Harris (King Krule, Mount Kimbie). It’s a song that conveys the tension and impossibility of communication and language, even when attempting to connect with those closest to us. Despite this, and however much the track itself bristles with an unmistakable air of friction, the listener gets the strong sense that there has not been a love lost, but rather one renegotiated, even expanded. Speaking about ‘Gumball’, Teeth Machine said: “‘Gumball’ is about the impossibility of talking. It was written during quite a chaotic period, and the lyrics came about after we had a big argument in the kitchen while trying to record a demo at the time - it tracks the madness and intensity of trying to make sense to someone you care about, or to yourself in your head. There’s a kind of antagonistic self help mantra that resonates throughout; it’s about internal and external conflict. It’s angry, but it’s also full of love too

In an age where most contemporary bluesmen strive to mimic the past and pattern their music after the greats, Keb' Mo' is content to be himself. Original, charismatic, and immensely gifted, the guitarist/vocalist (born Kevin Moore) brings country blues in the late 20th century on his stunning self-titled Epic debut, which quickly climbed the charts and turned the former backing instrumentalist into a household name. Replete with gritty textures, close-up vocals, and resplendent acoustics, Mobile Fidelity's scintillating version of this 1994 set finally possesses the fidelity that brings Mo's Delta strains out of the backwoods and onto a lively back porch.

Half-speed mastered from the original tapes, this numbered edition 180g LP represents the very first time that Mo's watershed album has been given a much-needed sonic facelift. Gone are the hazes that obscured his singing, artificial ceilings that blunted the highs, and digital fog that interfered with the multitude of illuminating tones, details, and notes. What's revealed is startling intimacy and soothing emotion, Mo's gorgeous vocal timbres and inflections given equal space with his guitar, harmonica, and pace. Finally, a great-sounding contemporary blues record that doesn't resort to derivative recycling and bland revivalism.

The son of Southern parents, Mo' channels his heritage via a batch of superb folksy songs that relax, refresh, and regale. While he's since traveled in a more commercialized pop-oriented direction, Mo's initial salvo is nothing but raw, pure blues played with unbridled passion, tremendous conviction, and what is best deemed the essence of heart and soul. Keb' Mo' engages with a compelling mix of tradition and modernity, the headliner refraining from any attempt at assuming an artificial personality and instead basing his reputation on quality songs. As such, Mo's material resonates with deep, mellow vibes and extraordinary National steel guitar work, which complements his fluid, acoustic finger-picking and soulful strumming.

Mo' occasionally teams with an ensemble. But this record is mostly all about the basics: guitar, voice, and harmonica. Tunes such as "Victims of Comfort" and "Angelina" testify on behalf of his phenomenal country-blues songwriting; his covers of Robert Johnson's "Come On In My Kitchen" and "Kindhearted Woman Blues" speak to his reverence for the past. Shuffles, ballads, dance songs – Mo nails them all.

Keb' Mo' remains one of the finest blues albums made in the post-Stevie Ray Vaughan era. Don't miss this American gem that so many have since tried to copy.

The trashed hotel room and communal living depicted on the cover of the J. Geils Band's sophomore album tell you all you need know about the music, spirit, and energy spilling from within The Morning After. Shot through with raw, lean rock n' roll sparked by juke-joint blues and loose rhythms, the 1971 set comes on like the most fun, party-still-raging hangover any group in the 70s enjoyed. And now it rolls with an abandon that takes you inside the sweaty, smoky roadhouses and wall-to-wall-packed clubs the group dominated in its heyday.

Mastered from the original master tapes, pressed at RTI, and limited to 3,000 numbered copies, Mobile Fidelity's 180g vinyl LP achieves a sonic acumen that brings you face-to-face with the sextet's white-hot instrumental prowess and magnetic personalities. It's always been difficult to single out just one member of the band given the cohesive bluster the ensemble achieves as a whole, but this collectible audiophile edition allows you to do just that if you so choose, by way of superb imaging and separation. As for the band's trademark dynamics? Here, they feel like they're on the verge of exploding.

So go ahead. Twist the volume knob to the right as much as you want. You'll lose none of the focus, detail, placement, or presence no matter how high the decibels climb. The Morning After spills forth with previously unheard tonalities, ranging from the distinctive swells of Seth Justman's slow-burn organ to the live-wire spark of Geils' own downed-power-line-jumpy guitar work to the mooring hi-hat/cymbal/snare combinations of arrangement-steadying drummer Steven Bladd. Friends, this is raw rhythm n' blues, this is how it should feel, and, man, this is how it should sound.

Not for nothing did the Massachusetts-based collective name the album The Morning After. The music within doesn't abide by rules, ignores speed limits, flips the bird at curfews, and digs deep down into America's blues roots to yield organic material at once fresh, exciting, traditional, and original. The back-porch punch provided by the combination of "Magic Dick" Salwitz's searing, melodic, snake-like harmonica and vocalist Peter Wolf's animated, barely controlled deliveries is alone enough to make anyone with a faint pulse to stomp their feet, climb atop a kitchen table, and kick their boot heels until the neighbors call the cops.

Just witness the deceptive smoothness of the snake-like "So Sharp" or Maxwell Street zest of the aptly titled Magic Dick showcase "Whammer Jammer," which will leave you gasping for breath before it even ends. J. Geils Band also knew its way around deep-cut soul. The ensemble's Top 40, howling, adrenaline-to-the-heart rendition of the Valentinos' "Looking for a Love" and swirling, romantic take on Don Covay's "The Usual Place" seamlessly balance drive and emotion. Coupled with rafter-shaking originals such as "Floyd's Hotel" and the riff-propelled "I Don't Need You No More," sent up with typical Wolf vocal flair, and the record parks the band's all-night festivities and go-for-broke attitudes right on your front lawn.

One last word of warning to the uninitiated: The Morning After is not the slick-pop J. Geils Band of "Centerfold." And that is a very good thing.

Genre : Indie / Pop-folk The New Yorker Adam Green’s 11th and latest solo album, That Fucking Feeling, continues his musical explorations with longtime collaborators Loren Humphrey, James Richardson (MGMT), and Jesse Kotansky. The album places large-scale 'Wall of Sound' style productions alongside home-recordings done during COVID quarantine. Adam Green was touring in Europe in 2022 spring, and will tour in USA in November. When talking about the title track, Adam says: “I wanted to release something home-recorded. Back in the Moldy Peaches days I used to record everything on my parent’s kitchen table, but it’s been 20 years since I put out something like that. I wrote a few songs in quarantine singing into my laptop, and I like how direct it feels. Not every song has to be big, this is just a little song that felt like a sweet moment captured. I think of myself as a singing man, maybe that’s how I’m most comfortable in life” Tracklist : 1. Black Out / 2. That Fucking Feeling / 3. Red Copper Room / 4.Bitter Hearts / 5. All Hell Breaks Loose / 6. What's her face / 7. Dreidels of Fire / 8. Black Out (accoustic) / 9. What's her Face (accoustic) / 10. Little Failure

The Person is back on the dancefloor and she brought the delicious Australian version of a good old Italian recipe - ITALOZ DISCO. Mouthwatering rhythms spiced with everyday hustle, cosmic boogie and the extra dose of synthesizer! Changing the Meatballs for Oddballs to worship the Magic $ properly. Sull' alto lato (aka on the B-Side) we're changing the Oddballs for the Mothballs as the one and only Hysteric warms up the magic ragout in his unique steam-powered kitchen. Now go to work!

You still need to be convinced? Take these great lines by Patrick:
"Magic $" beams into the discotheque direct from deep space; a shimmering body of squelching bass, nebulous pads and snapping percussion which hosts Minna's bewitching vocals. The arch delivery and vintage sequences flirt with kitsch, but that playful genius particular to The Person pushes this into wonderfully wonkier territories. Basslines climb, keys collapse and the whole thing chugs and bubbles through a flawless arrangement. We thought they didn't make them like this anymore, but we were wrong. Stepping in on remix duty, renowned (Moth)baller Hysteric turns out a treatment that's worth a million bucks, boosting the bottom end with an acidic sequence, supercharging the percussion and punching in some strange sampler fun to guarantee utter club chaos.
Every superhero needs a theme song, and "The Person" sees Minna step away from the dancefloor to deliver a synthetic ballad for lucid dreamers everywhere. Jamming on top of a malfunctioning Jomox, Minna channels chimes, piano and a gentle chug into the classiest chord progression this side of Mike Francis. Closing cut "Go To Work" gives us neon lights and nighthawks as The Person indulges in a little Antipodean electro, proving once and for all that Australians Do It Better.

4 Cuts Placed In "A First Quarter", the companion piece to Solos, is the sonic result of a collaboration with artist Lawrence Weiner. As Landry remembers, “I was working for Keith Sonnier at Castelli Gallery and met Lawrence. He asked ‘can you make a video for me?’ So we did "To and Fro..." At some point he was working on "A First Quarter" (1973) and wanted me to do the music. I said ‘I already have the music.’ He said ‘what do you mean?’ I had recorded several pieces with Kurt Munkcasi and walked around the set playing the music on a boom box.”

The set features one solo each by Landry and contrabassist Rusty Gilder, a duo for the tenor saxophones of Landry and Richard Peck, and an ensemble piece for Landry, Peck, Gilder, trumpeter Robert Prado, and drummer David Lee, Jr. Starting the record off is “Requiem for Some,” inspired by Gil Evans’ long, placid tones. The anchor is Lee’s dry cymbal attack and fancy footwork, dancing around overlapping and recombining horns, chords held just shy of splintering. “4th Register” is a grainy delayed solo tenor piece, presaging “Kitchen Solos” from Fifteen Saxophones by several years. “Piece for So” was, according to Landry, “a chance to give Rusty a solo”. Mostly known as an ensemble bassist, Gilder bounced between Lafayette, Charlotte, and New York, leaving a slim recorded legacy. Here, he stretches out for twelve minutes and change – with keen upper register detail and meaty up-tempo walk, he could have been mentioned in the same breath as players like Dave Holland and Barre Phillips. The closing “Duo Vivace” finds Landry and Peck sparring on tenors, the latter holding a melodic line while Landry leans into explosive glossolalia, until both become birds in flight.

Born and raised in the piney woods outside of Haynesville, Louisiana, Chris Canterbury comes from the grimy remnants of a small oil patch town, a way of life that is slowly fading but still lingers in the songs he sings. Born to a working-class blue-collar family, Chris struggled to find the middle ground between his grandfather’s Southern Baptist sermons and the honky-tonk mystics that he discovered on old vinyl records in high school. Armed with an old thrift-shop guitar, Chris began playing and writing stories about life from a unique but oddly familiar point-of-view. Songs about liquor stores, truck stops, low-rent motels, and the grifters and transients that frequent them. It doesn’t matter if it’s a pool hall or a theater, a festival or a front porch, Chris’s live sound is the whiskey-laden prospectus that anyone with a struggle can relate to.

500 copies on limited purple vinyl

By The Sea come from the lineage of firework pop, bursts of colour and squeeze-your-hand intense love aligned with grey skies & work things.
Recall the first time you heard The Chills’ ‘Pink Frost’ or Television Personalities’ How I Learned To Live The Bomb’?
That’s the encounter.

Liam Power formed By The Sea in 2011, the band’s debut single Waltz Away coming out on The Great Pop Supplement label that year. In November 2012 the band released their self-titled album through Dell’Orso and GPS. The NME noted how there was “a beautifully bruised element to this Wirral act’s debut from the subdued, morbid production to Liam Power’s heroically battle-weary vocals”.

They have also often been tagged for their kitchen-sink dramas though they’re more akin to something like ‘Wish You Were Here’, both funny and dark without being maudlin. There’s an end of pier melancholy to By The Sea records though, something more than a scribble of sentiment on a souvenir postcard.

For their second LP ‘Endless Days, Crystal Skies the band turned over production duties to their friend Bill Ryder-Jones (formerly of The Coral) and released that bounty of melodic pop in 2014. It’s a partnership they have retained for the new third album ‘Heaven Knows Magnolia’ released on limited purple vinyl, CD and digital formats on October 21st. The song

Wganda Kenya was ahead of its time, anticipating current contemporary Afro-Latin-funk trends in a prescient way that has inspired a legion of fans across the globe. As part of that legacy, "Africa 5.000" (1975) has a legendary reputation as one of Discos Fuentes' best hard-to-find Afro Caribbean funk records and is a highly prized collector's piece. This LP features several classic dance floor gems as well as some lesser-known nuggets and a non-album bonus cut, plus informative notes. "Africa 5.000" (1975) has a legendary reputation as one of Colombia's best hard-to-find Afro-funk records and is a highly prized collector's piece today. The epic 'La torta' ('The Cake') kicks things off with a lively Colombian interpretation of Haitian compas. The tune is still remembered as a big picó (amplified sound system) hit at the verbenas (outdoor dance parties). 'Fiebre de lepra' ('Leprosy Fever') was also released as a 45 single and is certainly one of Wganda Kenya's wilder tracks. Funky wah-wah guitar, makossa style bass, manic organ, and feverishly insane vocals (from Wilson "Saoko" Manyoma and Joe Arroyo) indicate that Fruko and his pals were having a ball goofing around in the studio. If for no other reason, "Africa 5.000" is sought after for being the album containing Fruko and Javier García's outrageously funky and off-kilter 'Tifit hayed', which has become a tropical dance floor favorite in recent years. Again the "kitchen sink" approach is employed, including massive Latin bass lines, tasty Farfisa organ stabs, a bluesy, jazzy piano solo, and plenty of humorous vocal sound effects (including animal noises and lip burbling). However, it's the stomping break beats and cowbell counterpoint that has kept dance floors busy. Side B leaps out of the speakers with the heavy, strutting 'El caterete', which was the flip side to the 'Fiebre de lepra' single and is based on the 1970 song 'Cateretê' by Brazilian singer/songwriter Marku Ribas. Like its sibling Fuentes studio band Afrosound, Wganda Kenya was ahead of its time, anticipating current contemporary Afro-Latin-funk trends in a prescient way that has inspired a legion of fans across the globe, and this reissue of "Africa 5.000" will only serve to further cement the band's growing reputation amongst today's diggers of tropical psychedelia. First time reissue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rare Americans 3: Jamesy Boy & The Screw Loose Zoo is the third installment of the "Rare Americans" album series by the genre-bending Vancouver punks, Rare Americans. Helmed by bandleader, James Priestner, the band consists of fellow songwriter and brother Jared Priestner, Slovak guitarists Lubo Ivan and Jan Cajka, and drummer Duran Ritz. The four piece band experiments not only with a new character-driven universe but its widest variety of instruments to date. The album features the singles "Rhythm Kitchen (feat. D Smoke)," "Baby Boy," & "Walkin' n Talkin'," each accompanied by their own self-produced animated video. This is an invitation to walk into Rare Americans' world of colorful characters and stories – So what are you waiting for?

In the kitchen of the Byron Bay home of Winston McCall stands a
refrigerator, adorned on one side by a quote from Tom Waits: "I want
beautiful melodies telling me terrible things."This, the PARKWAY DRIVE
vocalist says, is a pretty good summation of himself
It holds true, too, as one of the guiding principles behind Darker Still, the seventh
full- length album to be born of this picturesque and serene corner of northeastern NSW, Australia, and the defining musical statement to date from one of
modern metal's most revered bands.Darker Still, McCall says, is the vision he and
his bandmates – guitarists Jeff Ling and Luke Kilpatrick, bassist Jia O'Connor
and drummer Ben Gordon – have held in their mind's eye since a misfit group of
friends first convened in their parents' basements and backyards in 2003. The
journey to reach this moment has seen Parkway evolve from metal underdogs to
festival- headlining behemoth, off the back of close to 20 gruelling years, six
critically and commercially acclaimed studio albums (all of which achieving Gold
status in their home nation), three documentaries, one live album, and many,
many thousands of shows.
While Darker Still remains irrefutably PARKWAY DRIVE, it finds the band sonically
standing shoulder to shoulder with rock and metal's greats – Metallica, Pantera,
Machine Head, Guns N' Roses – as much as it does their metalcore
contemporaries. "I wanted a classic guitar tone for this record," explains Ling, who
credits much of his inspiration to the connection his riffs have with a crowd in a
live setting.
Emerging from the darkness of the past few years, this is the true face of
PARKWAY DRIVE: redefined and resolute, focused in mind and defiant in spirit.

The ‘A Day At’ concept, from Parallelle, started in 2017 when they were helping their uncle in his leather factory, manufacturing belts. The variety of melodic sounds during the manufacturing process, from small tools to big machinery, quickly became the soundtrack to their day and the inspiration behind their very first song – The Factory.

Little did they know it would lead them on a sonic expedition to explore places where unexpected sounds became the centre of their musical pieces. A carpentry, a ski station, a supermarket, an airport, or a kitchen were their creative playground. The sawing of wood, the chopping of carrots, the rustling of plants, the click of a ski-shoe and the shaking of quinoa are just some examples of sounds that inspired their creativity.

After years of gathering sounds and composing the basis of their album. They teamed up with conservatorium musicians Nicolo Ricci on Sax tenor, Alessandro Mazzieri on Base and Simone Cesarini on Guitar who helped them sculpt the final touches to the album.

A fusion of jazzy vibe with concrete sound recording and electronic elements is the foundation of their first album “A Day At”

Brighton-based Harry Smith's debut release as Thought Trails sees him capture breaks and garage at its most contemplative potential. Whether it's through broken drum phrases, acid melodies, dark garage atmospherics or ice clips borrowed from grime, 4AM EP skillfully builds moods without sacrificing an inch of danceability.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dirtiness and Divergency
It's a mystery what the handwriting of an artist is made of. What are the ties between artist and art? Why do we recognize the sound of a music producer even if they suddenly create music of a differnet genre?

On his new album "Kiss Dance Kiss" F.S.Blumm remains unmistakably himself, even if he assembles dub- infected, saturated, overdriven instrumental tracks. It may be his signature guitar sound, the disarmingly straightforward melodies, or the irresistible groove: This groove is compelling but unobtrusive. Three, sometimes four notes create timeless melodies.
F.S.Blumm unleashes his love for beats and dub by allowing the bone-dry riddims to dive deeply into the genre typical echo-chamber, combined with sweet guitar arpeggios and melodic basslines. These are friendly dub monsters. It doesn’t all fit seamlessly into the homogeneous sound. Take "Nimbb" with it's angular electronic groove, devoid of any melody, or the surprising horn timbres on "Twistert".

As with all of Blumm‘s works, there is a familiar intimacy even within big echo chambers.

His music searches for the sweet spot. He waits for the right time to record a piece, allowing for the exact degree of maturity of an idea, the magical moment when guest musicians meet, the collision between a well-planned process and happy coincidence. Finding the perfect spot for microphone placement, walking the fine-line between too slow and too fast, pinpointing the right delay-time are all inherent in Blumm's craft. It is a music full of these fragile constellations, interferences and synergies.

The concept of 'composition through duplication' is repeated visually on the cover:

Repetition creates blur and noise. Patterns rub against each other. Sound waves flutter in the wind. A simultaneous sunrise and sunset indicate the search for the perfect overlap.
Each track acts like a rhythmic serving suggestion for individual dance moves. Music for the daily dance around the kitchen table. A lookbook for kraut-dub, analog-electro or adult-instrumental-pop.

.. and now out into the sun.

Lampen is Kalle Kalima and Tatu Rönkkö. Kalle plays guitar, Tatu plays percussions and sampler. Together they're Lampen, a duo making highly addictive "post jazz" with a musical heart far beyond genre. Call it what you will, but the main point is listening, and there's a high season for that coming as Lampen is set to release their debut album on We Jazz Records on "Kintsugi Gold" vinyl and digitally. Previously a CD only release (Karkia Mistika Records, 2020), "Lampen" presents two artists who have a knack at making music which opens up with each listen, pulling you deeper and deeper. Meditative passages flow by slowly as in a peaceful river stream, erupting into full rapids of sound when the time is right. This is sonic rafting for the curious listener.

Tatu Rönkkö (b.1983) is a Finnish percussionist and drummer who has been active in the experimental music scene of Helsinki and Berlin during the past ten years and has toured Europe, U.S. and Asia extensively. He is a forming member of Liima (DK/FI) and has performed with such artists as Ilpo Väisänen (Pan Sonic), Samuli Kosminen (Múm), Jimi Tenor, Nils Frahm, Efterklang, Raoul Björkenheim, Elifantree and Islaja. Rönkkö has been playing improvised solo concerts in people's kitchens ("I Play Your Kitchen") using only kitchenware found in each home as instruments.

Kalle Kalima (b. 1973 in Helsinki, Finland) has worked with trumpeters Tomasz Stanko and Wadada Leo Smith, sax players Juhani Aaltonen, Anthony Braxton, bass players Greg Cohen and Sirone, guitarist Marc Ducret, composers Michael Wertmüller and Simon Stockhausen, pianists Jason Moran and Hans Lüdemann, drummers Jim Black and Tony Allen and singers Andreas Schaerer, Linda Sharrock as well as with Ensemble Resonanz and Jazzanova. Kalima has composed orchestral music for Opera Lyon, Ensemble Resonanz (Chamber Ensemble of Elbfilharmony in Hamburg), String Trio of Munich Symphony, NDR Big Band, Umo Big Band and Jousia Ensemble among others.

After Dinner’s Paradise of Replica is a concise nugget of tomfoolery that occupies a whimsical no man’s land between art pop, Japanese folk music and full-assed Art Zoydian avant proggery. Gentle, arcane and covertly sweeping, it typifies that friendly strain of experimentalism that Eastern music seems so predisposed towards and which curious minds find such great delight in.

Assembled by the enigmatic chanteuse and composer known simply as Haco, After Dinner was less a band and more of a loose art collective that utilized a plurality of different musical disciplines stapled together through free improvisation sessions. And some of this does come through on Paradise of Replica—the record is a scrapbook of bells, strings and koto humming under Haco’s ethereal vocals, and the effect, while perfectly tuneful, does come off more as a musical project than a conventional album.

But Paradise of Replica is far from an impenetrable scholastic endeavor—in fact, there’s something of an Elephant 6-like quality in its ability to warp conventions while still coming off more or less like pop music. Counter to the ramshackle hostility of much improvised music, After Dinner’s choices are melodious and feel deliberately sequenced. Even crescendos don’t tend to rise above a murmur, and there are even apparent hooks on tracks like “A Walnut” and “Ironclad Mermaid.”

Ultimately, there’s not much to be said about Paradise of Replica that can elucidate more than actually hearing it will be able to. Proggy, playful and lush, it’s a brief glimpse into something in the vicinity of genius, and just outside the realm of commercial music. It’s a quietly bold project that shows a softer side of the avant-garde, and makes a perfect companion to Stereolab and Magma at once.

Back in stock !

Canadian songwriter and producer Jeremy Haywood-Smith needed an escape from his state of mourning when he began working on Slingshot, his most recent LP as JayWood. After the loss of his mother in 2019, and a global standstill with multiple social crises throughout 2020, Haywood-Smith yearned for some forward momentum. "The idea of looking back to go forward became a really big thing for me _ hence the title, Slingshot." Feeling disconnected from his past and ancestry after the death of a parent, Haywood-Smith made a conscious effort to better understand his identity and unique Black experience living in the predominantly white province of Manitoba. Merging fantasy scenarios, personal anecdotes, and infectious pop and dance instrumentals, Slingshot is a self-portrait of JayWood at his surface and his depths. Musically, Slingshot reaches into sounds and styles Haywood-Smith has continued to explore throughout his catalog. "I think I made a really big deal to not pigeonhole myself," he explains. "Whatever is inspiring me at one point will work it's way into whatever I'm creating." Slingshot is an amalgamation of Haywood-Smith's many musical sensibilities, achieved with help from a crew of talented peers. Haywood-Smith wrote and performed a bulk of the track's instrumentations, but the LP has notable appearances from Canadian contemporaries Ami Cheon (on "Just Sayin") and Mckinley Dixon (on "Shine.") The album's penultimate track, "Thank You," was co-produced with Jacob Portrait of Unknown Mortal Orchestra. The song brings JayWood's sound full circle, offering something reminiscent of Haywood-Smith's earliest recordings, while flaunting that "The best is yet to come."

In late 1961 Spector formed Philles Records with Lester Sill, buying his mentor out the
following year. The slogan was ‘Tomorrow’s sound today’, and Phil Spector proceeded to live
up to that boast. Three-track tape machines were then state of the art, and he perfected the
method of ‘bouncing’ the tracks to get the biggest possible sound. As time went by, his ‘twominute symphonies for the kids’ would be increasingly gilded by his ‘everything but the kitchen
sink’ production including Strings, Percussion and banks of Vocals. Spector gained his
second U.S. chart-topper and his first as a Producer in 1962 with the Gene Pitney penned,
He’s A Rebel. Spector became increasingly obsessed by the production process. ‘My records
are built like a Wagnerian opera. They start simply and end with dynamic force, meaning and
purpose. I dreamed it up.’ He retired from the music business, returning only sporadically to
work with first The Beatles (their Let It Be album, plus solo LPs by George Harrison and John
Lennon), plus a handful of other artists including Dion, Cher and the Ramones.

First-ever release of this legendary Tangerine Dream score from 1981 (aka Dead Kids).

Gatefold packaging / Green (Streaked Lime Green) Color Vinyl. (

Please check allocation with your rep.

It's never been available on any format until now! For this release, we dug out the original tapes and had them digitized and they sound incredible.

Such an atmospheric masterpiece and we are honored to be releasing it. This has been on many TD fans' wish lists for years and years.

It’s the desire to celebrate their sonic bounty that first got Oberst and the band excited about
the idea of comprehensive reissues. But this wouldn’t be a Bright Eyes project if a moment
devoted to appreciating the past weren’t turned into an opportunity to connect with the future.
That’s where the companion EPs (on Opaque Gold vinyl) come in. Or as Oberst puts it, “the
supplemental reading” for the primary reissues: one six-track EP per reissued album, each
featuring five reworked songs from that album. “My thing was they had to sound different from
the originals, we had to mess with them in a substantial way.” Plus one cover that felt “of the
era” in which that particular albums was made - a song that meant something to the band at
the time. To help the EPs come alive in the fullest way, Bright Eyes called in lots of old friends,
like Bridgers, M. Ward, and Welch and Rawlings, as well as new ones like Katie Crutchfield of
Waxahatchee.
‘Fevers And Mirrors’ is pressed on Merlot Wave coloured double vinyl.

Imperfect Stranger is the pseudonym of Glasgow based soundtrack composer and producer Kenny Inglis. “Everything Wrong is Right” is his debut solo album for Castles in Space.
Born in 1975, Kenny didn't listen to much music, unless it was the opening credits to a TV show or a film score that had caught his ear. "I loved the pre-title music on a lot of those 80's U.S. TV shows. From the family orientated stuff like The A-Team, to darker dramas such as The Equalizer. My mother would let me stay up to watch the opening sequence of the latter then send me to bed because the story would be too heavy for a kid. That left me with this hanging sense of ambiguity as to what would happen in that hour after the titles came up.”
Exposure to a work colleague’s tiny project studio in a kitchen cupboard was a lightbulb moment for him and the experience of utilising music technology as a way of writing and producing entire tracks stirred a wave of determination to chase a career in music using the opportunities that technology could offer. Kenny figured the best way to move forward was to start a small project studio and learn his craft as a recording engineer. "It was a bit of a shock to the system. I literally had no idea how to work any of the equipment. Kenny focused on learning as much about the craft as he could whilst winging his way through recording and mixing everyone from the likes of singer/songwriters to bands, to voiceovers artists and anything in between. "Eventually, I stopped writing the music I thought people would want to hear, and started writing the music I wanted to make. I didn't come from a music loving background, but I was always obsessed by the way music and film would interact - how music brings this atmosphere and tone to even the most mundane visual stuff. I wanted to capture that. I wanted to grab some of that ambiguity I felt from the TV shows of my childhood and make it into a project of some sort". That project was Spylab. A dark, downtempo project with a cinematic edge. The initial demo consisted of three tracks, with the melancholic 'This Utopia' leading the playlist.
"At the time you did demos on normal cassette tapes. I remember having this endless battle with the bias control to try and get the best sound I could on these little tapes. Ten went in the post one Monday morning, and the following Monday there were three offers from three different labels. Studio K7 were interested in a singles deal, as was Flying Rhino in London. But then there was an offer from a Chicago based label by the name of Guidance Recordings. They wanted an album, and were offering a $15,000 advance. It wasn't a difficult decision to make"
Writing and recording Spylab 'This Utopia' began in 1999. The album took a whole year to produce. The album was to catch the attention of Mary Anne Hobbs at Radio One. At the time Mary Anne was presenting The Breezeblock - a late Sunday night show with an eclectic playlist of alternative electronic music. Picking out the album's title track 'This Utopia', Mary Anne would go on to play it no less than 8 weeks in a row. A request for Spylab to DJ on the show was to follow. "I had never DJ'd before. I think I had a week to figure out how to do that and put a playlist together. I'm not entirely sure how I pulled that off.” In March 2001 the Spylab album was finally released to a hoard of excellent reviews. A North American live tour would follow. From the launch party in Los Angeles, to a sell out show at SXSW in Austin. "I then started a new project under the name Cinephile. It had some of the core elements of the Spylab sound but it was deeper, more cinematic.” Kenny received news that a track from the previous project Spylab had been requested by HBO for the first episode of a new TV drama called Six Feet Under. This was to become a major turning point in Kenny's career. The Spylab track 'Celluloid Hypnotic' dropped during a poignant party scene of the first Six Feet Under episode. Within a couple of days Kenny was getting requests for music from other music supervisors. "It was a chain reaction. The Six Feet Under sync was like the tip of an iceberg. One day I called CBS in America and they put me on to the CSI music supervisor and I managed to get on a call with him. I sent the Cinephile stuff out and within a few months I got this fax through from CBS - a quote request for one of the tracks for a potential use on CSI. It changed my life."
The tone and style of Kenny's music sat perfectly with the CSI score requirements. So much so he found himself part of a pool of incidental writers who worked on all three aspects of the franchise - CSI, CSI: NY, and CSI: Miami. This would continue until 2013, when the last of the series would come to an end.
"I was juggling a bunch of stuff for those ten years. Writing material for CSI, whilst releasing new Cinephile stuff and playing live. As Cinephile continued to gather pace, one of the tracks from Kenny's efforts on CSI was chosen for the Hollywood trailer for the Samuel L. Jackson film 'Lakeview Terrace'. Further trailers would follow, from Gangster Squad to Dead Man Down, Spike Lee's Undisputed Truth, to Fifty Shades Freed.
At the same time, Kenny picked up his first factual commissions in the UK, and this too would be the beginning of a regular run of fully scoring factuals and documentaries. By 2021, six of these had won BAFTAs. He also would find himself soundtracking adverts for the likes of Nike, Audi, and American AirlinesIn early 2020, Kenny made a return to focusing on his own music under the pseudonym Imperfect Stranger. A tweet from Colin Morrison from Castles In Space regarding a charity compilation album 'The Isolation Tapes' caught his eye. Kenny had made a start on his debut album as Imperfect Stranger and submitted the track 'Hymn To The Sun' (which would become the lead track on the album). Further discussions ensued, and the album found a home on CiS. "I had been doing TV and film stuff for almost ten years. It paid the bills and was as close to a 'real job' as I'd had, but I yearned to get back to writing for myself, so doing an album for Castles in Space was a joy.
“The music I write is like a diary. There's an authentic narrative to everything i do. I don't write tracks for the sake of writing. I write tracks to diarise and process the stuff that I've lived through, and the experiences that have come along with the passing years. That's what makes me tick. It's a very public and vulnerable way of expressing myself. If people want to know the real me, all they have to do is listen."

“I’ve been playing since I was 11 years old,” says Charlie Gabriel, the most
senior member of the legendary Preservation Hall Band. “I never did anything in
my life but play music. I’ve been blessed with that gift that God gave me, and I’ve
tried to nurse it the best way I knew how.”
 While he’s faced plenty of challenges nursing that gift for more than 78 years,
none likely rank with last winter’s passing of his brother and last living sibling,
Leonard, lost to COVID-19. For the first time ever, Gabriel put down his horn,
filling his days and weeks instead with dark reflection, a stubborn despondency
broken now and then by regular chess matches in the studio kitchen of Hall
leader Ben Jaffe, working overtime to bring his friend some light.
 One such afternoon also included Joshua Starkman, sitting off in a corner
playing his guitar and half-watching the chess from a distance. When Charlie
returned the next day, he brought his saxophone. “I was just inspired to try it, to
play again. It had been a long time, and a guitar makes me feel free. I do love the
sound of a piano, but it takes up a lot of a space, keeps me kind of boxed in.”
That day was to be the first session for ‘Eighty Nine’, almost entirely the work of
Gabriel, Jaffe and Starkman, recorded mostly right there, in the kitchen, by Matt
Aguiluz.
 Charlie Gabriel’s first professional gig dates to 1943, sitting in for his father in
New Orleans’ Eureka Brass Band. As a teenager living in Detroit, Charlie played
with Lionel Hampton, whose band then included a young Charles Mingus, later
spending nine years with a group led by Cab Calloway drummer J.C. Heard.
While he’s also fronted a bebop quintet, played and/or toured with Ella
Fitzgerald, Tony Bennet, Aretha Franklin and many more, this is the first time his
name appears on the front of a record, as a bandleader.
 Since 2006, Gabriel has been a member of the Preservation Hall Jazz Band,
featuring prominently on ‘That’s It, So It Is’, and ‘Tuba to Cuba’. ‘Eighty Nine’ was
different, and not simply due to a smaller ensemble. “We had no particular plan,
or any particular insight on what we were gonna do. But we were enjoying what
we were doing, jamming, having a musical conversation,” Charlie says, further
musing, “Musical conversations cancel out complications.”
 The album includes six standards and three newer pieces on which Gabriel is a
writer: ‘Yellow Moon’, ‘The Darker It Gets’ and ‘I Get Jealous’. The record also
marks Charlie’s return to his first instrument, clarinet, on many of the tracks. “The
clarinet is the mother of the saxophone,” he says. “I started playing clarinet early
in life, and this taught me the saxophone.”
 Finally, ‘Eighty Nine’ includes three tracks of Charlie singing. “I always sung, but
it wasn’t my forte to become a singer,” he says. “The truth is, people often
develop a real relationship with a song once they hear the words. Sometimes I
enjoy singing them.”
 First pressing on translucent gold Loser Edition coloured vinyl

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


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


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


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


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

Vinyl is limited to 500 copies on black vinyl, no download card. Sunzoom have been making a stir from their Liverpool base and this highly anticipated debut is not to be missed. Lo-fi and DIY in equal measure, the record was only conceived of 4 weeks into the first lockdown when songwriter Greg McVeigh decided that recording music was the only way to stay sane. Building a makeshift studio in the kitchen of his North Liverpool home (and deciding to name the new project SUNZOOM after a favourite Captain Beefheart track) Greg set about learning the processes of home recording from the ground up. The album theme draws upon the peculiar aspects of lockdown; isolation, spiritual introspection, longing to be somewhere else, weird dreams, drinking too much and takes the listener on a journey of escape. The songs move the record through fields, countries, time, space, memories and longings to finally end back at home in the reality of the four walls. Digging into some past unreleased recordings, poems, unfinished snippets of tunes and writing new songs (usually sung into his phone during months of daily beach walks with his dog) Greg began to build a record within the claustrophobic environment of summer 2020. Friends were able to collaborate (by the magic of old recordings and new parts sent via email) and in early 2021 Sunzoom entered ARK Recording Studios in Liverpool to add live drums and vocal parts subsequently spending a month mixing the record back home in the familiar surroundings of the kitchen where the concept first began. The result is a snapshot of the period that magically transforms personal and public strife into glorious pop-folk psychedelia.

Canadian songwriter and producer Jeremy Haywood-Smith needed an escape from his state of mourning when he began working on Slingshot, his most recent LP as JayWood. After the loss of his mother in 2019, and a global standstill with multiple social crises throughout 2020, Haywood-Smith yearned for some forward momentum. "The idea of looking back to go forward became a really big thing for me _ hence the title, Slingshot." Feeling disconnected from his past and ancestry after the death of a parent, Haywood-Smith made a conscious effort to better understand his identity and unique Black experience living in the predominantly white province of Manitoba. Merging fantasy scenarios, personal anecdotes, and infectious pop and dance instrumentals, Slingshot is a self-portrait of JayWood at his surface and his depths. Musically, Slingshot reaches into sounds and styles Haywood-Smith has continued to explore throughout his catalog. "I think I made a really big deal to not pigeonhole myself," he explains. "Whatever is inspiring me at one point will work it's way into whatever I'm creating." Slingshot is an amalgamation of Haywood-Smith's many musical sensibilities, achieved with help from a crew of talented peers. Haywood-Smith wrote and performed a bulk of the track's instrumentations, but the LP has notable appearances from Canadian contemporaries Ami Cheon (on "Just Sayin") and Mckinley Dixon (on "Shine.") The album's penultimate track, "Thank You," was co-produced with Jacob Portrait of Unknown Mortal Orchestra. The song brings JayWood's sound full circle, offering something reminiscent of Haywood-Smith's earliest recordings, while flaunting that "The best is yet to come."

Busy is Good is an assemblage of rare-groove and jazz-funk cuts pulled from 45s of the 70s and 80s. A project that celebrates pure creative expression, these under-appreciated tracks reflect the individual efforts of artists both of their time and ahead of it; local legends who challenged convention and produced work steeped in ambition.

From the seductively smooth “Twilight,” by New York’s own Febop, to the blistering key breaks and infectious funk of Bob Payne’s “Side By Side”, this anthology highlights the fusions and crossovers that occurred in jazz, rock, funk and soul at the time. Buddy Emmer’s jazz-kissed breezer “That Summer Nite” and Forest’s synth-pumped AOR cut “Crazy Days” further traverse the many styles that bloomed in the 70s and 80s.