Cerca:mark lower

Vessels promise an escape from responsibilities towards the landscape, they facilitate our avoidance of conscientiously feeling our attachment to the mainland. The visual nothingness of deep water and clean horizons fools the brain and delivers a treacherous feeling of independence.

We ignore the truths expressed by landscapes, so we mould them into urban projects for our strange desires. We clean up the irrationalities by which nature constructs itself. Then we look up to the skies, where the abstractions we have to draw in our minds should reside and inspire us.

We peer into the various shades of blue above the waters, the emptiness guarantees possibilities of our abstractions becoming realities. The apathetic stare into neat, straight horizons transforms our ancestral landscape into dirt and danger, when looking back to it.

To be on a ship under quarantine, is an upside down experience, for the promised escape has turned into a forced paralysis. The Lima flag (? - ? ?, in morse code), presented on the outer sleeve of this record, indirectly demands of all passengers to stay aboard and contemplate their escape from the land they now desire to return to.

These four piano pieces could be considered as a classical sonata (allegroadagio-scherzo-rondo). In a recital they are accompanied by four video pieces by artist Karl Van Welden. We picked the videos out of his extensive archive, choosing images intuitively while listening to the piano music. The theme of ships relating to quarantine thus came unannounced but of course, we were in the middle of the pandemic at the time.

Solastalgia was already waiting as a title for the new album before march 2020. I first came across the word in Underland, a book by Robert Macfarlane (2019). He defines the word as "The unhappiness of people whose landscapes are being transformed about them by forces beyond their control". These forces and this unhappiness are, I believe, what constitutes the modern human. Solastalgia, about the music We haven't found them yet, the words to talk to each other about the worrying signs of climate change. Feeling worried when walking on autumn leaves in the beginning of August should be completely normal. But how do we communicate about it? We don't want to be just the next hysterical doomer.

With this music I try to focus on the climate pain itself, gently inviting the listener to investigate their latent feelings of unease and growing concerns about the environment. As in real life, we circumvent the real issues because they are just too big, there are no words, no expressions yet.

This album tries, in four different attempts, to carve out a path towards communicating about a deeper pain that eventually will connect us all. My general method is to start with a comforting melody, full of fake nostalgia, which, after changing gear to autodestruct mode, morphs into a painful question mark.

The first part sets off with an idyllic melody, accompanied by repeated notes, as a far, muted echo of an alarm. The melody starts to explain itself painfully into a dissonant whirlwind in the high register, sounding not unlike Ravel's Gaspard de la Nuit bravura. In the second piece a warm Beatles like melody (And I love her) gets confronted with the weird hippie mantra of a later Lennon song War is over, if you want it. Sentences get reduced to syllables and result in lonely notes that crash and shiver under the burden of too much meaning. Like Shostakovich's latest work, the Sonata for viola and piano.

The descending melody of Bach's Erbarme dich, Mein Gott is echoed in the upper and lower voicings of the third piece, juxtaposed to a typical, threatening Ennio Morricone Western dotted rhythm accompaniment. This rhythm eventually evolves into citing the 1972 Captain Beefheart early ecological warning song Blabber and Smoke (there's a big pane/pain in your window, it's gonna hang you all,... dangle you all). Towards the middle of the piece, the music explodes and the three layers get dispersed all over the keyboard in a virtuosic maelstrom towards another painful question mark. The bitter answer is going back to business with a barely noticeable citation of the first notes of the RZA's Liquid Swords album.

The final piece is some kind of mantra, the same 7/4 pulse all throughout the piece. The dampers of all A's and B's on the keyboard are released by the middle pedal, thus sustaining an ever present resonance. Melodic cells alternate in shifting quantifications with small, bell like percussive cluster playing. While composing this piece an image crept up: walking out of the church on Sunday morning, tolling bells enthusiastically moderating the churchgoers' small talk in the local dialect. Apparently I have tried to evoke this kind of conversation, but injecting it with fictitious alarming conversation topics, the contemporary.

Frederik Croene (August '22)

Ghent based psych jazz collective Compro Oro, are set to release new album 'Buy The Dip' on the 2nd September via the groove-obsessed Sdban Ultra label. Having received critical acclaim for their 2020 album 'Simurg' - a collaboration with Murat Ertel, co-founder and frontman of Istanbul's cult psychedelic folk band BaBa ZuLa and his singer partner Esma Ertel - the band's fifth album is less ethno- and more techno-logy, both on a musical and conceptual level.

With tastemaker fans including BBC 6 Music's Gilles Peterson and Stuart Maconie alongside Jazz FM's Jez Nelson, the band's spontaneous quest for psychedelic sounds and jazz grooves has not stopped expanding since their formation in 2014.

After imaginative musical trips to Havana, Mogadishu and Istanbul for previous releases, Compro Oro went looking for sounds and inspirations from other corners of the globe for 'Buy The Dip'. Synthesizers and electronic effects spice up Compro Oro's distinctive musical marriage of vibraphones, electric guitars, jazzfunk rhythms, exotic percussions and dubby bass patterns. Band leader and composer Wim Segers created these new compositions often on piano or vibes in a more analogue way, leaving enough room for his band mates to colour each track when fine tuning the song.

Segers was inspired by the world of crypto markets and the specific concept of 'buying the dip': bitcoin diggers who play the markets at specific 'low' moments to gain higher profits when prices go up again. Are we all reduced to consuming creatures, seeking for nothing more than the thrill of pointless spending and endless profits? It's a fairly philosophical question - especially for an instrumental album - but it's key for the punchy and eclectic sounds on 'Ben Hur' and 'Bitcoins'.

Apart from those synths and fx, a fair bunch of neo-noir western vibes sprout up on this album as well - think detuned piano's, flamenco-like guitars, rattling snare drums, and imminent whistles. Add to that some laid back sunny pop sounds ('Kayak'), off-hook and swaying Turkish psychedelica ('Karsilama') and even some haunted, kraut-ish vocal parts ('Dungeon'), it's evident Compro Oro has a musical voice without any equal in Belgium and beyond.

Compro Oro released their first album 'Transatlantic' in 2015, an ode to jazz vibraphonist Cal Tjader, an icon of the 1950's Latin jazz movement. The release received critical acclaim back home, lauded in the press as a drunken mix of Buena Vista Social Club and guitarist Marc Ribot's, Cubanos Postizos. Subsequent live shows have been called a celebration for the hips, the ear and the soul.

2017 saw the release of 'Bombarda', a bold EP that sailed South and East of Cuba, incorporating different ethnic rhythms and melodies in elaborate jams. No palm trees and cocktails in Havana this time, but instead dingy basements and LSD in West African cities. The critically acclaimed 'Suburban Exotica' followed in 2019 with 'Simurg', released in 2020, earning the band global success.

Having initially met more than a decade ago at a local community radio station, sometimes doing guest slots on each other’s live, improvised noise shows, Cormac Culkeen and Dave Grenon knew they had a mutual interest in working with sonic textures. They listened to each other’s bands for a handful of years, and in 2017, “made good on a threat” that they’d been making for quite a long time: to start a band. At Cormac’s gentle but clear urging—declaring that they’d gone ahead and booked a space in which to record a video—the two wrote their first song, “Sebaldus,” an ambitious 12-minute trip, which also serves as the fireworks finale to their self-titled debut album. With surges of pathos that smooth out into something more soothing in turn, Cormac goes: “The hunter, you’ve seen him / The archer, his arrows are strong / And hunger, you’ve known her / I know the winter is long.” The track is as much about enduring a Canadian winter as it is about the eponymous 8th century hermit, shot through with sublimated desire. As Cormac put it, Joyful Joyful’s songs are “a little bit outside of time.” But while the lyrics beg close, oblique reading unto themselves, there’s also a distinct sense that they’re only one of many more ways that the duo shapes sound. Cormac, whose voice is like a sea with irregular tides, lights up about an idea in traditional sean-nós Irish music that songs already exist and are out there; it’s up to the singer to become the conduit. This belief in music as something to be channelled, and something more than sound, resonates with the singer’s fundamentalist religious past. To paraphrase: lots of group singing, harmonies, no instrumentation, totally unmediated, no priest, congregational—not choral, not a performance, not about talent, the spirit moves through people. “Of course that informs how I think about singing,” Cormac says. So, when they were exiled from the church because of their queerness, they took the music with them, dislocating it from its dogmatic bounds but not from its transcendent potential. This record might be thought of, then, as a kind of queering of sacred, devotional traditions—or at the very least, a space where all of these things can be held at once. Perhaps perceivable by some as contradictions, these intersecting influences create the conditions for an incredibly singular sound. Dave is steady and exploratory in his handling of this multiplicity, arranging sounds as they’re revealed, corralling them, coaxing them into form. “Because Dave is there,” Cormac says, “I get to sing three times higher, and three times lower, and faster, and backwards, and all of these sounds! That are there. They’re all there.” When asked about early musical memories, Cormac recalled an immediate fascination with harmony: from demanding that the first person they ever heard singing it explain what they were doing, to always (still, to this day) singing in harmony with their twin sister around the house, to being part of a children’s choir that sang soprano in Handel’s Messiah—not realizing until they entered the room with all the other ranges that their learned melody was but one part of the whole. Just as tellingly, Dave reflects on his early attraction to “abstraction and becoming abstract,” describing childhood afternoons messing with microphone and speaker feedback loops, producing long, enduring sounds with almost undetectable variations. In a way unique to the coalescing of these two listeners, notions of harmony are central to their output. Dave samples field recordings, old keyboards and synths, and vocal drones, running the live singing through four or five parallel effects chains, sampling and treating everything again in the moment. “Another way to put it is that Cormac’s voice comes into the board and then comes back out shifted, delayed, and shattered; Cormac and I hear it, live with it, and respond,” Dave says. This work is contingent not only on a deep intuition (neither of them read sheet music) of polyphony and due proportion (something St Thomas Aquinas famously listed as an attribute of beauty) but also on their connection to each other and ability to read subtle cues. Dave says they’d hold each other’s hands while performing if it was more convenient to do so, riffing on something else Cormac mentioned about traditional Irish singing: that someone would always hold the singer’s hand, for fear that without a tether to the ground they might find themselves utterly lost, unsure how to return. Joyful Joyful doesn’t shy away from offering such experiences of departure; they’re willing to unsettle their audiences because they themselves are unsettled. Their shared penchant for spooky, heavy music, and self-described “omnivorous” listening practices equip them with an array of sonic concepts that support this effort; Diamanda Galás, The Rankin Family, Pan Sonic, Pauline Oliveros, Keith Fullerton Whitman, Yma Sumac, and Catholic hymnody were just a few that came up. Observing their audience gives them insight about the effect of each song—something they considered while arranging the album. Its arc is marked by soft, sometimes sudden oscillations between cacophony and euphony, day and night (listen for insects), and from sexual, visceral entanglements to more ephemeral, celestial ones. Front to back, it arouses expansion, unraveling. Of lightning, Vicki Kirby writes: “quite curious initiation rites precede these electrical encounters. An intriguing communication, a sort of stuttering chatter between the ground and the sky, appears to anticipate the actual stroke.” By all accounts, something similar seems to happen at Joyful Joyful shows, between those on the stage and those off it, between what’s earthly and what’s beyond. “A lightning bolt is not a straightforward resolution of the buildup of a charge difference between the earth and a cloud … there is, as it were, some kind of nonlocal communication effected between the two,” writes Karen Barad, extrapolating on Kirby’s thought. Cormac acknowledges that while they and Dave play a role in this mysterious charge that comes about, they’re not solely responsible. However ineffable it may be, it’s undoubtedly a form of communion—and a sensuously shocking one at that

Analog Africa delves deep into the scene of the Mexican's sonideros (sound-system operators) to present the "Rebajada" movement they've created using locally made pitch controls, speakers and sound effects.

"In 2010, I had asked Eamon Ore-Giron - aka DJ Lengua - if he would be interested in compiling a Latin project for Analog Africa, and if so, if he had a theme in mind. He replied, “Have you ever heard of rebajada?“ The question mark above my head, together with the wall of China, must have been the only other object visible from out of space because Eamon, probably noticing I got paralysed, continued, “Rebajada in Spanish means “to reduce, to lower”. It’s basically Mexican sonideros (soundsystem operators) slowing down the beat of a Cumbia to create a much more tangible music to dance to. I’ll send you a mix I made last year and let me know what you think.“ And so he did.

That mix was called Rebajada Mota Mix and I began listening to it on a loop. Although I was not immediately hooked it was intriguing from the get-go, and so I kept listening until magic began unfolding. Slowed down music allows you enough time to hear right through it, revealing itself in ways I had rarely experienced before. Everything became more transparent and I was noticing sounds normally only perceptible by bats. A near psychedelic experience. That mysterious mix included a few Ecuadorian songs by Junior y su Equipo - aka Polibio Mayorga (a cult figure in the sonidero scene), a couple of Mexican tunes, one Colombian, and various Peruvian songs, undoubtedly the driving force behind this project.

The sonidero who brought Peruvian and Ecuadorian music to Mexico was the legendary Pablo Perea from Sonido Arco-Iris, and although his fingerprints are all over the compilation Saturno 2000, this selection of songs in rebajada is exclusive to DJ Lengua. With the exception of a few classics from Polibio Mayorga and La Sampuesana – the queen of all rebajadas – most of these songs were probably never performed as such before, let alone released.

So how did rebajada come to be? In a nutshell; Rebajada started with two families of brothers – the Pereas and the Ortegas – who travelled all over Latin America and returned to Mexico with heavy loads of records which they would sell to the various sonideros always on the lookout for new tunes. Colombian beats especially seemed to fit almost perfectly with the Mexican dance steps – but they were just a bit too fast. As a result some sonideros began experimenting with equipment, and Marco Antonio Cedillo of Sonido Imperial created a revolutionary pitching system that could slow records down to an extent other players could only dream about. And so rebajada was born . . . or so we thought.

At the same time in north of the country, in Monterrey, sonidero Gabriel Dueñez almost got electrocuted by a short circuit that nearly set his record player on fire. As a result the platter started spinning in slow motion for the rest of the party, turning Cumbia into a different affair altogether. The youngsters went crazy for it and started harassing the sonidero with requests to record cassettes for them. Reluctant at first, Dueñez finally began recording a series of pirated cassettes called “Rebajada” which included mainly Colombian cumbia and porro in slow-mo exclusively. Those tapes took the city by storm and turned rebajada into a celebrated and defiant movement of the youth.

Of course it would not be a Mexican urban legend if it didn’t include dramaturgical elements, and so for nearly 30 years, until this day and probably for ever, both cities have been arguing and claiming ownership the creation of rebajada for themselves. But sonidera Joyce Musicolor, who never has time for such trivial arguments, got straight to the point: “Rebajada, and the equipment to perform it, is from here Mexico City but it was Monterrey that popularised it.“

Repressed on Black vinyl

Jeff Beck's Guitar Shop is the fifth studio album by one of the most influential lead guitarists in rock, Jeff Beck. Together with keyboard player Tony Hymas and drummer Terry Bozzio he recorded this album. They won the award for Best Rock Instrumental Performance at the 1990 Grammys for this release. The instrumental fusion tunes are diverse and on no other album Jeff tried out mixing so much musical styles. His excellent guitar play and the memorable melodies marks this release as one of his finest albums. 'Behind the Veil' is a subtle song, leaning on a reggae groove and Beck's lower register statements. The more sensitive tune 'Where Were You' makes Beck almost sing the melody on his guitar. The album is wonderful produced and a strong addition to his impressive catalogue.

Chìsake Algonquin: to chant; to conjure; to cast a spell; this generally involves a shake-house, or shaking tent, in which the conjurer goes into a trance; the conjurer then has an out-of-body experience, going into the future to predict coming events, or into the past; as well as going into any locality in the universe to seek out someone or something generally practiced for ancestral divination.

The unaccompanied flute pieces within this album are adaptations of Anishinaabeg shaking tent chants. The Anishinaabeg also known as Anishinaabe are a group of culturally related Indigenous peoples that reside in areas now called Canada and the United States. They include the Odawa, Saulteaux, Ojibwe (including Mississaugas), Potawatomi, Oji-Cree and Algonquin peoples. The word Anishinaabeg translates to "people from whence lowered". The Anishinaabeg origin myths describe their people originating by divine breath.

The shaking tent or conjuring lodge was the setting for a divinatory rite performed by specially trained shamans otherwise known as Chìsakewininì. During the shaking tent ceremony the Chìsakewininì would construct a special cylindrical framework typically of birch or spruce uprights planted in the ground with respective wood hoops to bind it together. This created a tensile structure of which birch bark, deer skin, or cloth was used as a covering. Rattles of caribou and deer hooves, or cups of lead shot, were tied to the frame. The floor was usually softened with freshly cut spruce boughs. The vertical axis of the shaking tent represents the realm of mediating beings, while the horizontal axis the earth or world of humans. The Chìsakewininì would enter the shaking tent at night and once inside would not be visible from onlookers. The singing of chants and drumming would summon the Chìsakewininì's spirit helpers, whose arrival was signified by animal cries and erratic tent shaking. During this transcendent state, the Chìsakewininì could dispatch these spirit helpers or Manidò to distant regions to answer questions from the onlookers about the most auspicious places to hunt, the well-being of a distant relative, and what would happen in the future.

The chants were usually sung using vocables before, during, and after the Chìsakewininì entered the shaking tent. Like many other similar divination ceremonies, singular or collective, the opening chants begin lyrically. They gradually turn to more reductive abstract structures midway and then end in lyrical chants. This symbolizes the performer and listener leaving the external literal world, entering a more abstract state of mind, and then returning. Traditionally all songs were carved on birch bark for record-keeping with mnemonic pictographs or other marks for future use. Tally mark clustering, sometimes used for song-keeping throughout the Anishinaabeg, is used for this album's track titles and numerical sequence.

The album intro begins with the shaking of a necklace of otter penis bone, fish spine, bear teeth, elk teeth and deer hide, gifted from Algonquin Elder Ajawajawesi. It is meant to focus the listener's attention before the flute pieces begin. The warble or multi-phonic oscillation prevalent in the middle tracks traditionally represented the "throat rattling" vocalization of the tonic note or sometimes known as the horizon of which the melody floats off of. Due to the repetition of multi-phonic oscillation the performer will breathe erratically creating an altered state correlating with the Chìsakewininì ceremonial actions. All songs are repeated seven times to signify the seven sacred directions: east, south, west, north, above/sky, below/earth, and center.

Includes remixes from Dr Packer + Mark Lower

Adelaide based producer Mell Hall arrives with a stand-out debut single ‘Knock Knock feat. Thandi Phoenix', a modern take on the classic disco genre, plus further announcing her signing to Club Sweat! For the release, Mell Hall teams up with one of Australia's leading dance-pop talents, Thandi Phoenix, creating a total nu-disco and funk anthem that’s bound to get stuck in your head!

Drawing inspiration from the likes of Horse Meat Disco, Dimitri From Paris and Dr. Packer, ‘Knock Knock’ builds suspense with an uplifting piano melody, before exploding into an energetic and vibrant chorus filled with a bumping bassline, horns and quintessential disco guitar chords.

A deep dive into the one of most collectable jazz catalogues in the world, a selection of some of the rarest and most sought-after recordings from the 60s and 70s, a time when British jazz began to find its own identity. Drawn from the iconic labels of Decca, Deram, Argo, EMI Columbia/Lansdowne Series, Fontana, Mercury, & Philips. A figure in British modern jazz for over half a century, Don Rendell was both active protagonist and key witness to the main developments in the music from its rise out of tiny clubs and back rooms on up to the most prestigious national stages. From his earliest performances in London’s West End and his work of the 50s and 60s — most not ably with the Don Rendell-Ian Carr Quintet — to the lower profile work of the 70s and 80s, his quite assurance and consistent performance marked him out as a highly respected figure among his peers. He is one of a handful of British artists to feature on Blue Note Records and appeared on some of the most distinctive and characterful British jazz albums by the likes of Michael Garrick, Stan Tracey, Amancio D’Silva, and Neil Ardley. Even though Rendell eschewed much of the free and electric fusion styles that came to the fore in the late 60s, in the main sticking to an acoustic sound with melody and rhythm at its heart, he similarly bridled at any notion that he was merely a ‘bopper’, a description he positively hated. In many ways, Space Walk was as much a valedictory as transitionary album for Rendell. It was his last for Denis Preston, the fabled producer behind Lansdowne Studios, described by Neil Ardley as a ‘rare Diaghilev like figure’ who steered many of the key figures of the British jazz scene into the studio when nobody else would record them. It was also Rendell’s final project for EMI Columbia and his last as a leader for a major record label. After Space Walk, Rendell would record for smaller, independent labels like Spotlite. But as much as the album is a farewell to one chapter, it also marked the way forward to the next..

Pale Spring wrote and recorded CYGNUS in Baltimore, whose fertile music scene has seen acts like Lower Dens, Ami Dang and Beach House build rich, self-contained worlds of sound.
CYGNUS expands on this foundation, with stately, smooth pop songs incorporating layered harmonies, glitches, and, on “Old Sounds” dog barks. Music runs in Harper Scott’s family: a classically trained musician herself, her grandfather studied at Juilliard under his uncle, who played for the New York Philharmonic.
Scott’s grandfather sang doo wop, and his influence paved the way for Scott to explore music; eventually, he taught himself how to sample. His accompaniment provides an underpinning for Harper Scott’s vocals and instrumentals.
Critics noticed CYGNUS when it first came out last year, with glowing reviews in Bandcamp, Tiny Mix Tapes and DAZED.
American Dreams Records’ vinyl reissues of CYGNUS and DUSK mark the first time they’ve been made widely available as physical media.

The Hammond organ was first manufactured in 1935. In 1954, the now famous Hammond B3 model was introduced with additional harmonic percussion feature. When the company went out of business in 1985, around two million of various models of the Hammond organ have been produced.

The Hammond B3 was originally marketed to churches as a lower-cost alternative to the wind-driven pipe organ. It quickly became popular with professional jazz musicians in organ trios. Jimmy Smith's use of the Hammond B3 inspired a generation of organ players, and its use became more widespread in the 1960s and 1970s in rhythm and blues, rock, reggae, and progressive rock.

This collection is centered on the exciting and dynamic sounds of the Hammond B3 organ!

Italian electronic music mastermind ABYSSY and the Marseille underground hero DONARRA, share for the ALLEY VERSION's 4th release the split E.P. "CLOSE".

ABYSSY aka Mayo Soulomon has, over the years, released records of great interest for Mathematics, New Interplanetary Melodies and many other labels, marked by Detroit and Chicago influences reworked in his personal complex cut.
DONARRA comes to ALLEY VERSION after two beautiful E.P. for Skylax Records and La Chinerie, and recently spotted with its synth-dark-industrial-punk moniker Cardinal & Nun, on L.I.E.S.

The opening ABYSSY's "Close To Me", an obscure rough track totally jacked with the legendary rhythm sampler E-MU SP1200, is an instant cult.
In the following "Lower Michigan Ave", a hypnotic dark plot of analog synthesizers runs on a leftfield rhythm cut, while a whiny female voice condenses the air.

First track of DONARRA's side, "Nostalgie Futuriste", is a surreal sound voyage where are merged Chicago House and Zen atmospheres.
In the culminating Detroit style banger "Rivières Lumineuses", the trippy movements of percussions and synthetic melodies are pure magic.

Exclusively on limited 12" vinyl.

Having showcased his more experimental on-edge techno design with his first two ASTRAY releases, Discrete Circuit's 'Control Zero EP' marks his most straightforward installment yet. The title track gets down to business without detours by growing into a powerful drum avalanche that combines bone-dry kicks with a frenetic atmosphere - point-blank: peak-time techno for the dance floor. Ed Davenport completes the A-side with a remix from his DJ and production alter ego Inland, who adds more muscle to the lower frequencies in order to retell a darker tale unfolding a cutting groove. Although both tracks on the flip pick up the pace and intensity, they venture out into less dense, more emotional directions. 'Dimensional Equivalent' embodies a no-nonsense rollout that builds an icy groove with a kick drum that, only blended by alerting, dream-like synths, never lets up. 'Conjugate' works with similar vocabulary while repeating bleep sounds, that are buried underneath the pounding grid, shift the focus towards both the varied percussion and the narrative progression.

Ninth instalment of Redscale. Grad_u with a masterpiece of dub techno. Vinyl only.

"Holdback", an unexpected twist of events for followers of Redscale, is actually a bold step forward in terms of pace and light. The enticing chords work like a magnet, and the potential of the lady on the mic is no lower than that one of a siren. The personal weapons of grad_u, the most powerful of which are the embracing loops, are of course out there, indicating the
producer's inner spirit and roots.

Picking up where "Holdback" left off, "Outwards from Laniakea" is a statement more rugged, yet as absolute as the message on side A. It's an invitation to put that jacket back to the
cloakroom, switch off that phone and let yourself go, again and again. It's, once again, a compelling statement against conformity.

***

Early support by DJ Deep, Cari Lekebusch, Jonas Kopp, Shlømo, Josh Wink, John Osborn, Echoplex, Don Williams, Wata Igarashi, Regal, Mark Broom, Marcus Intalex / Trevino, Ryan James Ford, Francois X, Albert van Abbe and many more... .