Suche:moon knights

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

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

A two-track 12" with fresh artwork and a nice heavyweight pressing, with one side taken by each artist. Sy Sez kicks off 'Change Da System' with dub-wise vocals which then make way for a tight, taught, bouncing house groove with fat bass. Things are utterly different on the flip with Leeds legend and sometime Nightmares on Wax collaborator offering the deep house delights of 'Knights' with its soulful vocal whispers, intimate late night chords and warm, candle-lit vibes.

High Roller Records, black vinyl, ltd 250, insert, 425gsm heavy cardboard cover

High Roller Records, orange vinyl, ltd 250, insert, 425gsm heavy cardboard cover

For fans of - Booker T & The MGs, James Taylor Quartet, Georgie Fame, Big Boss Man. Groovy Hammond garage rock instrumentals from Billy Childish (Thee Headcoats/CTMF etc) and featuring James Taylor (Prisoners/JTQ) We’re loving this new album by The Guy Hamper Trio! Who’s in the band sunshine? Mainly myself on guitar, Julie on bass, Wolf on drums, and of course Jamie on Hammond. A great bonus is Thee Headcoats with Bruce and Tub guest as rhythm section on a track or two. You and James Taylor go back a long way. Do you remember how you first met? The Prisoners were a young group who played with us (the Milkshakes) in the early 1980s. One day they turned up with an organ player, Jamie. Jamie used to then borrow my Selmer guitar amp to play through. You’ve revisited a few old classics on this album, and given them a true makeover. How would you describe The Guy Hamper Trio’s sound? I guess there must be a derogatory term for it but I might need some help finding it. In the very early days of The James Taylor Quartet (Wolf was their drummer back then), I was in the Natural Born Lovers (A blues group with Big Russ and Sexton Ming). We used to be the support for them. I really liked their sound and I guess The Guy Hamper Trio is not a million miles from that blues-influenced, film soundtrack vibe, man. There you made me say “man”. Next thing you know I will be saying “cool!” Let’s just say it's a wizard sound, Jamie is such a great player. Prior to this album The Guy Hamper Trio’s sole release was the ‘Polygraph Test’ 7” from 2009. Why such a big gap? It takes time for all of us to get all our solders in line. “Get on with it mush! And trifle not, your time is but short!” What inspired the album’s title track All The Poisons In the Mud? It’s actually the title of a novel I’ve been writing, and rewriting, over the past 12 years, and is taken from a quote from I Claudius by Robert Graves - a formative influence on me as a 15 year old. The sleeve art is pretty different to your other recent records, could you tell us a about that? Who designed it? I nominally designed it but the truth is that it's essentially a rip off of a Saul Bass sleeve he did for Duke Ellington. We started mining that seam back in the Milkshakes when Bruce (Brand) did the sleeve for Thee Knights of Trashe. The album closes with a storming cover of Jimi Hendrix’s “Fire”. What do you think Jimi would make of your version? I've been a fan of Jimi since my elder brother brought his records home in the '60s. Jimi was well known to “dig” others work and interpretations and would no doubt smile, narrow his smoky eyes and say “cool man!” and I would no doubt reply "wizard Jimi!" TRACKLISTING 1. All The Poisons in the Mud 2. Come Into My Life 3. Moon of the Popping Trees 4. Girl From '62 5. Full Eclipse of the Sun 6. Sally Sensation 7. 7% Solution 8. Step Out 9. Polygraph Test 10. The Kids are all Square 11. Skinwalker 12. Fire

Experimental and improvisational psychedelic rock, for fans of White Heaven, Les Rallizes Denudes, Headroom, Düngen, Heron Oblivion, Comets On Fire, The Renderers, Bardo Pond. Mountain Movers arguably are the perfect band for all the true "heads" out there. The New Haven quartet have been at it for 15 years, and the "newest" lineup (now at it for well over a decade; vocalist/guitarist Dan Greene, bassist Rick Omonte, guitarist Kryssi Battalene and drummer Ross Menze) have firmly grasped what it takes to fry brains; achingly beautiful melodies buoyed by a life raft of white-hot guitar scree and mind-melting feedback. "World What World" is the band's eighth album and third for Trouble In Mind Records. "World What World" is the newest chapter of the group's continued explorations and efforts to refine their sound. The lyrics of "World What World"s songs all imply a protagonist on a quest; the title itself is an implied query with no question mark; is it a question, or a statement?. The one-two punch of opener "I Wanna See The Sun" and "Final Sunset" lay out what's in store; Crazy Horse-inspired sandpaper melodies sit comfortably next to improvised, PSF-influenced six-string ragers. The group performs together effortlessly and telepathically, subverting the loud/quiet/loud dynamic that has saturated independent music since the late-Eighties. The loud parts and quiet parts are like waves; indistinguishable from each other, creating a fluid dynamism and intensity that swallows the listener up in its current, sweeping it toward oblivion. Hyperbole, you say? Watch out for midway through "Then The Moon" when the tune's lilting waltz pivots into a casually blistering solo by Battalene before fading into the melancholic "Haunted Eyes" - beckoning you with a mournful sidelong glance. Side Two opens with "Staggering With A Lantern", an elegant, lumbering instrumental improvisation again showcasing the synergistic shredding of the group's guitarists. The sticky lyrical hooks and sideways jangle of "Way Back To The World" and "The Last City"s midnight-hour, mellow singe come next, before concluding "World What World"s journey with "Flock of Swans". The song is the perfect closer and culmination of the album's mission statement. The subjects that populate Greene's songs and visual imagery augment his elegiac lyrics, awash in magical realism and fantastic symbolism; knights, fighters, dragons, masks. Poetic missives are launched from the heart straight into the neural pathways, guided by the rhythm section's otherworldly chemistry and Battalene's masterful control over her instrument. Mountain Movers have been at it too long to care about acclaim. They do it because the music calls out to them, and they let it carry them away.