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cv313 and Federsen join forces again for the ‘Altering Dimensions Part One’ release, the initial drop in a series of collaborations which will later form together as one long player project.

Detroit-based dub techno pioneer cv313 (Stephen Hitchell of Echospace fame) and Federsen join forces on the forthcoming collaborative EP Altering Dimensions via Federsen’s own Alt Dub imprint. cv313, known for landmark releases such as Seconds to Forever and the deeply influential Dimensional Space LP, has been central to shaping the modern dub techno sound, blending immersive atmospheres with hypnotic rhythms. Federsen, celebrated for releases on Echospace Detroit, Grayscale, Synchrophone, Lempayung, Avant Roots and others. has also established himself as one of the genre’s most forward-thinking producers, bringing a meticulous, analogue driven warmth to his productions. Altering Dimensions marks a meeting of two highly respected producers in contemporary dub techno, bridging Detroit’s timeless legacy with Federsen’s cutting-edge sonic explorations.

The release comprises four alternate interpretations of the title-cut and leading the way is the original mix of ‘Altering Dimensions’, a seven-and-a-half-minute excursion through weighty low-end pulsations, spiralling atmospherics and ever unfolding nuance throughout. The ‘Redesign’ follows and shifts gears into a more robust deep techno realm as cavernous reverberations and shifting echoes ebb and flow alongside murky bass and sturdy drums.

The ’Dub’ mix follows on the flip-side, as the name would suggest laying focus on a more classic dub techno style with crisp percussion, billowing spaced out delays and vacillating subs before the ‘Reduction’ mix concludes the project, as the name would suggest stripping things down to the composition core atmospherics elements alongside oscillating percussive elements and fluctuating pads.

Returning with its final instalments, Die Schachtel's Decay Music series extends its explorations of inspired contemporary experimental efforts of the ambient, ethereal, and emotively abstract with Luigi Turra and Elio Martusciello’s “Liminale” and Sergio Armaroli and David Toop’s “And I Entered Into Sleep”, two astounding electroacoustic gestures of blurred space and time, plumbing complexity of meaning bound to sonority. Creatively groundbreaking and inspired, radically rethinking the terms of what ambient music can be perceived to be, they stand among the most striking efforts to appear within the series to date.

Reconfiguring the notion of bridge building on a multitude of terms, it feels fitting that the tenth and final installment of Die Schachtel’s Decay Music series, Sergio Armaroli and David Toop’s “And I Entered Into Sleep”, was co-created by an artist whose work featured in the first suite of LPs issued by Brian Eno’s Obscure Records in 1975, the groundwork toward which Decay Music’s own efforts nod. Since that auspicious debut, “New and Rediscovered Musical Instruments” — his split with Max Eastley — David Toop has been regarded as a pioneer in British experimental and improvised music: a sonic voyager who has continuously challenged the sources and materiality of sound through rigorously thoughtful performances, a vast catalog of recordings, and a steady flow of highly influential texts. Be it as a member of Alterations, his group breaking group with Peter Cusack, Terry Day, and Steve Beresford that ran between 1977 to 1986, or through is noteworthy work with artists like Rie Nakajima, Thurston Moore, Paul Burwell, Rhodri Davies, Lee Patterson, Ryuichi Sakamoto, Akio Suzuki, Elaine Mitchener, and numerous others, collaboration has always played a central role within Toop’s singular practice, but few can claim the sprawling sense of beauty and intimacy that’s achieved by “And I Entered Into Sleep”, his first recorded outing with Sergio Armaroli.

A composer, percussionist, vibraphonist, and multidisciplinary artist, Armaroli has been issuing radical and forward-thinking musical gestures for decades, working as one of Italy’s most noteworthy interpreters of composer’s like Giacinto Scelsi, John Cage, Franco Evangelisti, Giancarlo Schiaffini, and Walter Branchi, as both a solo performer and member of the highly regarded Rib Trio, as well as forging a singular practice as a composer, intertwining his efforts as a painter, concrete percussionist, fragmentary poet and sound artist, within a total art, rooted “within the language of jazz and improvisation” as an “extension of the concept of art”. Like Toop, Armaroli’s career has been populated by many collaborators, notably with Riccardo Sinigaglia, Alvin Curran, and Walter Prati, among others, setting the stage for a remarkable meeting between the pair.

Featuring Armaroli on vibraphone and prepared vibraphone and Toop on electronics, “And I Entered Into Sleep” is “a sonic journey, a Proustian suggestion à la Recherche, into the unconscious between electronic and acoustic sounds”. Using a bell that sounds at the beginning of Proust’s “À la Recherché du Temps Perdu”, which reappears more than 3,000 pages later — signaling a transition of phases, as well an auditory trigger of memory — as a departure point, as an association to the percussive vibraphone pulses that thread the album’s two sides, the pair weave a striking interior world of immersive psychological depth. Feeling almost subaquatic at times, like captured glimpses of rumbling, shadowy ecosystems lost within murky ambiences, before washing ashore in a series of pointillistic, highly detailed alien landscapes of the mind, each artist’s markedly different sound-sources, and treatment of the subsequent material elements, dance in abstract grace, incorporating subtle nods to minimalism, free jazz, and musique concrète within its seamless total form of sparse texture and tone.

Easily one of the most striking and memorable releases by either artist to appear in recent years, Sergio Armaroli and David Toop’s “And I Entered Into Sleep” traverses uncharted realms at the borders of literary reference, sound art, ambience and abstraction through delicately musical sounds, revealing new depths at every turn. Issued as the tenth and final album in Die Schachtel’s Decay Music series, highlighting inspired contemporary experimental efforts of the ambient, ethereal, and emotively abstract.

Swiss shapeshifter Elsa surfaces on Punctuality for the first time, marking the label’s seventh release with a debut EP that dives deep and swims sideways through an eclectic milieu of club influences.

Across the five tracks on Web Glow, there are nods to turn-of-the-century tech house, liquid D&B, broken IDM, psy-laced trance, and modern tek mutations. Subtle wubs ripple under the surface, low-end pressure coils tight, and meticulous sound design binds the tracks into a fully realized vision of Elsa’s forward-thinking sound. Enter the unfolding.

Roza Terenzi steps up to remix “Web Glow,” reanimating the track as a skeletal early-morning stepper—the mood is giving sizzling dubbed-out vocal wisps, pulsing subs, and stripped-back drums. “Groupie” notches up the BPM but keeps things fluid with aquatic atmospherix, jittering FX, and drums that skid out and under rolling basslines.

“Fortune Cookie” flashes uk-tinged tech house with shimmering shards of SFX, resplendent with stuttering kicks, glassy pads, and sultry textures. The halftime jungle-IDM stylings of “No Ads” round off the EP in a haze of fractured breaks and dubbed-out atmospherics. A murky, magnetic debut on Punctuality—Elsa sketches out a soundworld all her own. Dive in and catch it.

Among the true Keiji Haino devotees, Nijiumu’s Era of Sad Wings (released on P.S.F. in 1993) has always held a special place in the pantheon. Operating for only a few years in the early 90s and apparently only performing a handful of shows, Nijiumu operated at the opposite end of the dynamic spectrum to Haino’s famed power trio Fushitsusha, dwelling in a hushed, meditative realm of mysterious droning sonorities and free-floating melodies that occasionally erupts into violence. Black Truffle is pleased to announce a new double-LP edition of a lesser-known 1994 Nijiumu recording, When I sing, I slip into the microphone. Into that void, I bring comrade “prayers”, then, turning to face the outside, together we explode. Here, Nijiumu is the trio of Haino, Tetuzi Akiyama and the obscure Takashi Matsuoka, the three performing on a wide variety of string, wind and percussion instruments, as well as electric guitar and bass, and Haino’s unmistakeable voice.

Like on the early solo Haino album that shares the group’s name (released on P.S.F. in 1993), the instrumentation swims in reverb (the use of which Akiyama recalls as ‘a kind of point of the band’), often obscuring the instrumental sources. On the short opening piece, a distant reed instrument arcs long buzzing melodies over a bed of cymbals and gongs, like a psychedelic take on Tibetan music. The epic second part, occupying almost 50 minutes, begins as a splayed, near-formless cloud of electric guitar and bass, shadowed by bowed and plucked strings, the three elements working through twisting atonal shapes. At various points in the recording, we hear what seems to be the sounds of musicians moving between instruments, their shuffling and bumps fitting seamlessly into this radically open music. Eventually, what sounds like electric guitar moves closer to the foreground, fixing on a repeated melodic cell around which hover mysterious clouds of long tones and a sporadic shaker. At the half-hour mark, the music begins to build to a violently emotive climax, Haino’s impassioned vocal cries punctuating a lumbering, bass-heavy murk, contrasted at points by what sounds like a tin whistle. Suddenly, the volume drops to a near-whisper, opening the way for the stunning final moments, which touch on the slow-motion balladry of Haino’s classic Affection, here given an eccentric twist by an occasional woodblock hit. The third piece opens with a hazy trio of rumbling bass, bowed strings and abstracted slide guitar, the latter calling to mind some of Akiyama’s later solo work. Eventually joined by Haino’s voice, its fragile, haunted tone might remind the listener of the man in black’s documented love of the madrigals of the murderous Count Gesualdo, before the recording abruptly breaks off mid-note. In this new edition, the Nijiumu trio recording is supplemented by a piece recorded solo by Haino in 1973, a bracing electronic blowout stretching almost half an hour. Using a homemade electronics setup to unleash a barrage of crunching distortion and shuddering harmonic fuzz, it takes its place in the canon of extreme live electronics next to Robert Ashley’s Wolfman and Walter Marchetti’s Osmanthus fragrans, looking forward to extreme noise years before Merzbow. Taken as a whole, these four sides of music are a stunning document of some of the lesser-known waystations of Haino’s singular creative path.

World of Echo unites with the confounding genius of TRii for a highly limited first time vinyl run of 2020's Music For Desert Reboot tape, first released as TRj on the TRjj Musik label and then again as a second cassette by Mascarpone earlier this year.

As with all the sounds produced within the TRjj/TRii /TRj/TRi universe, strange illusion is part of the process, and this is certainly music that befits such smoke and mirror nomenclature, a kind of gamelan Werkbund re-programmed via the isolationist sounds of DIY home electronics conceived for a film that might or might not actually exist. Consider this time-dilation rug-pulling that's well in touch with its own mythology, so much so that it's hard to think of any obvious contemporaries, but if you've ever enjoyed the minimalist murk of Civlistijavel, the private quarters confessionals of Thomas Bush's first LP or any one of Guy Gormley's projects, you'll not got too far wrong here. Is further clarification required? That perhaps misses the point, though there is a track that features around two-thirds in entitled 'First Time Realizing the Clock Was Absent' that might function as a form of instruction to the listener. Namely, where does the time go? Music For Desert Reboot might not provide the answer, but it certainly knows how to ask the question.

Full Dose head honcho Brollachan is back with a fresh project alongside fellow Glasgow artist, Limiting Factor. Collaboration between Brollachan and this new name on the scene results in a weighty two track, 2-stepping EP - “Garden of Gelsemine”

The pair conjure up sounds reminiscent of early 2000s UK bass music, but with a certain Full Dose flair. As with some of the best and murkiest Dubstep and dub influenced cuts from yesteryear, these tracks aim for a deeper connection. Off-kilter rhythms and a significant focus on low end mean “Garden of Gelsemine” works well both in the club environment and as an introspective headphone listen.

Welcome to the garden, where Brollachan and Limiting factor have cultivated 2 particularly wacky specimens. "

Italy’s Tuccillo is back on Kaoz Theory this July with his ‘First Summer’ EP, once again showcasing his widely lovely interpretation of stripped-down, groove-led house. Making his start in the 90’s and still as relevant as ever, Tuccillo, has become highly sought after both for his records and as a DJ, his name is synonymous with gritty, groovy and dance floor focused jams which have found a home on many reputed imprints such as Visionquest, 20/20 Vision, Free-range, his own House Of Tucci and of course Kerri Chandler’s Kaoz Theory where he returns here. Tuccillo also operates as one half of the Doublet duo alongside Holic Trax boss Tomoki Tamura amongst many other sonic side ventures. Opening is title-track ‘First Summer’, perfectly setting the tone with Tuccillo’s distinctive style which utilises, fluttering stab sequences, bouncy bass tones, choppy vocal cuts and a bulbous bass groove atop a raw, reduced rhythm. ‘One More’ follows next and leans heavily into dub house realms with gritty, echoing dub chords, ethereal pad textures and murky bass swells delicately ebbing and flowing around a saturated swinging drum groove. ‘People For The People’ follows next and lays down organic percussion with filtered funklicks, a snaking bass line and jazzy keys before ‘Gotta Be Free’ concludes the release, heading back to a more stripped-back aesthetic courtesy of twitchy acid-tinged bass hits, fluttering synth melodies, crisp drums and an amalgamation of processed vocal chants throughout.

RYAN DAVIS & THE ROADHOUSE BAND ist das Projekt des in Louisville lebenden bildenden Künstlers, Multiinstrumentalisten und Songwriters Ryan Davis. Für Freunde von Alternative Country, Folk, AMERICANA, Independent, Silver Jews, Bill Callahan, Lambchop, Cass McCoombs, Sparklehorse, Giant Sand/Howe Gelb... Das kommende zweite Album, "New Threats From The Soul", beschäftigt sich intensiv mit der Verwirrung menschlicher Leistungsfähigkeit und deren Wirkung in einer absurden und entarteten Welt. Das klingt wahrscheinlich hoffnungslos schwerfällig und streng. Ist es aber nicht - nicht im Entferntesten. Es macht einen Haufen Spaß. Die Songs sind allesamt Ohrwürmer; die Arrangements sind wirklich aufregend und beleben die Arbeit der CRACKERJACKS, aus denen sich die weitläufige ROADHOUSE BAND zusammensetzt. Jedes Durchhören des Albums offenbart mehr von der Tiefe, der Breite und dem Gewirr der Komplexität des Projekts. Das erst limitierte Debüt-Album "Dancing On The Edge" von 2023 wurde von denen, die es gefunden haben, schnell geliebt und von Publikationen wie Pitchfork oder The Line Of Best Fit hoch gelobt. Sie hielten es für ein "bemerkenswertes, unendlich lohnendes Debüt". Tough Love legte es im Jahr 2024 erstmals weltweit auf. "Davis is someone with the originality, wit and ambition to cut through the murk." - Uncut In "New Threats From The Soul" gelingen RYAN Beinahe-Reime, die Affen, die seit hundert Jahren an Chat-GPT-fähigen Schreibmaschinen arbeiten, nicht hinbekommen hätten: "bromeliad" und "necrophiliac"; "urinal" und "de Chirico". Kinky Friedman beklagte, dass die Leute seine lustigen Lieder für traurig und seine traurigen Lieder für lustig hielten, obwohl sie beides gleichzeitig waren. Wie der Kinkster kann RYAN einen durch einen Kloß im Hals zum Lachen bringen. In seiner formidablen Crew von Harmonie-Sänger*innen befinden sich vier der begabtesten Lyriker*innen und Sänger*innen, die derzeit unter uns wandeln - Catherine Irwin (von FREAKWATER), Will Oldham, Lou Turner, Myriam Gendron - was von der tiefgründigen Kraft seiner Texte zeugt (diese Leute melden sich nicht oft, um irgendwelchen Brei zu singen). "New Threats From The Soul" ist eine Meisterklasse in der Reduktion des Erhabenen auf das Prosaische, des Unermesslichen auf das Winzige und umgekehrt (der Trick kann nur in beide Richtungen funktionieren). Dopple-Vinyl und CD (Digipak) erhältlich

RYAN DAVIS & THE ROADHOUSE BAND ist das Projekt des in Louisville lebenden bildenden Künstlers, Multiinstrumentalisten und Songwriters Ryan Davis. Für Freunde von Alternative Country, Folk, AMERICANA, Independent, Silver Jews, Bill Callahan, Lambchop, Cass McCoombs, Sparklehorse, Giant Sand/Howe Gelb... Das kommende zweite Album, "New Threats From The Soul", beschäftigt sich intensiv mit der Verwirrung menschlicher Leistungsfähigkeit und deren Wirkung in einer absurden und entarteten Welt. Das klingt wahrscheinlich hoffnungslos schwerfällig und streng. Ist es aber nicht - nicht im Entferntesten. Es macht einen Haufen Spaß. Die Songs sind allesamt Ohrwürmer; die Arrangements sind wirklich aufregend und beleben die Arbeit der CRACKERJACKS, aus denen sich die weitläufige ROADHOUSE BAND zusammensetzt. Jedes Durchhören des Albums offenbart mehr von der Tiefe, der Breite und dem Gewirr der Komplexität des Projekts. Das erst limitierte Debüt-Album "Dancing On The Edge" von 2023 wurde von denen, die es gefunden haben, schnell geliebt und von Publikationen wie Pitchfork oder The Line Of Best Fit hoch gelobt. Sie hielten es für ein "bemerkenswertes, unendlich lohnendes Debüt". Tough Love legte es im Jahr 2024 erstmals weltweit auf. "Davis is someone with the originality, wit and ambition to cut through the murk." - Uncut In "New Threats From The Soul" gelingen RYAN Beinahe-Reime, die Affen, die seit hundert Jahren an Chat-GPT-fähigen Schreibmaschinen arbeiten, nicht hinbekommen hätten: "bromeliad" und "necrophiliac"; "urinal" und "de Chirico". Kinky Friedman beklagte, dass die Leute seine lustigen Lieder für traurig und seine traurigen Lieder für lustig hielten, obwohl sie beides gleichzeitig waren. Wie der Kinkster kann RYAN einen durch einen Kloß im Hals zum Lachen bringen. In seiner formidablen Crew von Harmonie-Sänger*innen befinden sich vier der begabtesten Lyriker*innen und Sänger*innen, die derzeit unter uns wandeln - Catherine Irwin (von FREAKWATER), Will Oldham, Lou Turner, Myriam Gendron - was von der tiefgründigen Kraft seiner Texte zeugt (diese Leute melden sich nicht oft, um irgendwelchen Brei zu singen). "New Threats From The Soul" ist eine Meisterklasse in der Reduktion des Erhabenen auf das Prosaische, des Unermesslichen auf das Winzige und umgekehrt (der Trick kann nur in beide Richtungen funktionieren). Dopple-Vinyl und CD (Digipak) erhältlich

Purple vinyl, limited to 150 copies. Born from the murky industrial depths of Birmingham, UK, Margarita Witch Cult's self-titled debut studio album is a tour-de-force in classic metal, hard rock, doom, and mind-melting psych. A thunderous drum fill propels you into opener 'Diabolical Influence'- a lurching behemoth of a tune that makes easy bedfellows of crushing stoner riffs, Latin incantations, and a simply humongous chorus. The pace quickens with the frantic 'Death Lurks at Every Turn'- a hair-raising thrasher of breakneck snare rolls and unruly guitar solos. 'The Witchfinder Comes' only furthers the sense of foreboding, as tales of torture and pleas for exile fall on the ever-deafening ears of the listener. 'Be My Witch' comes in hot and heavy as a grungy ode to the forbidden, and the blistering 'Annihilation' concludes side A with speed-freak ferocity. The more adventurous and immersive side B is kick-started with 'Theme From Cyclops' - the deft chops of all 3 members being undeniable as we gallop into the ambitious, face-melting journey that is 'Lord Of The Flies'-a belting doom groover that culminates in a classic guitar & bass dual to rival even the most virtuosic of axe-wielders. As we near the end of our perilous sonic expedition, 'Aradia' serves up an instrumental serving of pure downtuned filth, with sleazy swagger and tasteful shredding that give extra provenance to its author's deep bag of tricks. The killer blow comes in the shape of the simply savage 'Sacrifice'- an unholy exhibition of undeniable force. The duality of the track makes for an experience that leaves our sweet listener reeling- the bludgeoning weight of its monstrous main-riff giving way to razor-sharp verses and a tripped-out, mind-bending psych jam- only to come crashing back to crushing reality as the final, fatal notes ring out. With their debut LP, Margarita Witch Cult have crafted a timeless, merciless beast- one that will chew you up and spit you out, yet somehow keep you crawling back for more.

After years of parties and radio, Late Night Shopper have launched a fresh label.

Kicking off with a series of collaborative EPs - two artists, two original tracks & two remixes.

First up, one of dance music’s most respected experimental producers and DJs in the form of Peder Mannerfelt. He’s someone who has released on top top labels and has been on the cutting edge of dance music for a decade, and his unique approach to techno shines through his track ‘Records & Vibes’.

He is paired with a London-based producer who’s on track to becoming a mainstay in UK techno/bass - Dyslecta. He’s already had some weighty releases on stellar labels as well as his own imprint (Tenuous Links). His track ‘Muckle Drum’ showcases why Leo Bell is already one of UK Techno’s most promising artists.

Murky heads down Techno - plenty more to come…

Support from: Dino Lenny, Sabo, 1979, Alex Neri, Cioz, Just Her, Lonya, Hyenah, Nhar, Don Diablo, Luke Garcia, Underspreche, Francesco Chiocci, Adriatique

Undiscovered Recordings is a London- and Naples-based independent record label founded in 1994. Showcasing new and exciting production talent, Undiscovered was founded by a crack team of music industry experts, the two Angelos, Doug and Mario, in the midst of the dance music movement of the 1990s.

The Angelos met while working at UMM and Flying Records. Founding Undiscovered allowed them to move
away from the traditional dance music of the time and to highlight lesser-known artists and styles. Angelo
Tardio, in-house A&R, capitalised on his trail-blazing career as a DJ, as the founder of iconic label U.M.M., and his production career as Kwanzaa Posse, where he collaborated with huge talents such as Mano Negra, Manu Chao, King Chango, MC Solaar and Les Negresses Vertes, to name just a few. Doug Osborne, British DJ & Producer and co-founder. Angelo Bernardo brought his years of experience in the music industry to take over the business side of the company, and Mario Nicoletti came on board as a true living musical encyclopaedia and expert. Alberto Faggiana joined in 1998 to contribute his industry know-how to curate the legal and administrative aspects. And so the Undiscovered team was complete.

Undiscovered has since moved with the times, from classic dance genres into Balearic chill-out, all the while
maintaining its goals to showcase emerging producers and artists. After a long hiatus, and following a number of forced changes in the company, Undiscovered are back in full force. Kwanzaa Posse achieved success back in the 90's with such hits as "Wicked Funk", "African Vibrations" and "Musika!", all of which attracted collaborations with remixes by Massive Attack, Jam & Spoon, and Ralph Falcon & Oscar Gaetan - aka Murk Boys. Now the production unit responsible for such seminal tracks is back with a magical new track called 'Mali Chant'.

Intricate club weapons created by Rob Amboule on his Craigie Knowes debut. The ‘ Siltie ’ EP Bridg es the gaps between electro, house and techno across 4 foggy cuts. A varied package arming the DJ for a spectrum of murky dancefloor outcomes – o ne for the DJs.

“Recorded at BBC Broadcasting House and partially aired on BBC Radio 3’s Late Junction, the first studio encounter between London-based duo Exotic Sin and Swiss percussionist Julian Sartorius is now published in full on this album from Sagome.

Winding through six distinct and interconnected paths, the trio effortlessly create a shared language in this expansive improvised session.

Listening back two years later — the session was recorded on March 24, 2023 — it’s evident how they build at a relaxed pace, offering space for the listener to enter into their evolving sound. Anchored by piano, delicate wood, metal, and air instruments, a fluid system of interactions develops: repeating, deepening, but not fixating. The direction of travel is not cyclical or linear and the pace insists on forward confidently, avoiding the trap or comfort of recurring motifs.

Percussion is not a timekeeper, but a key element, introducing new textures that even on the final track Path 6, trace out a horizon that feels more like a blurred beginning than a definitive end.

In Session, Exotic Sin moves into a lighter, perhaps more playful language for improvisation than on their debut album Customer’s Copy. This could be influenced by Sartorius’ tactile approach to sonic materials or the more stripped-back nature of the improvised session, with less emphasis on synthesised and electric sounds. While the emotional imprint from their debut album—murkier and insistent—remains, it has been aired out to dry. In Session, their sound-world is broad and moves with levity.”

Andrea Zarza Canova – April 2025


Music by
Kenichi Iwasa (electric and acoustic percussion, trumpet, horns, thumb piano, effects).
Naima Nefertari (piano, Yamaha keyboard, flute, bells, percussion).
Julian Sartorius (drums, percussion).

Recorded and mixed live for Late Junction at BBC Broadcasting House, London, on the 24th of March 2023 by Joe Yon and John Boland.
Mastered by Giuseppe Ielasi.
Produced by Silvia Malnati at Reduced Listening for BBC Radio 3.
Extracts from the session were played on Late Junction on the 14th of April 2023.
Artwork by Josef William Back.
Graphic design by Nicola Tirabasso.

"Lionel Bart’s musical masterpiece, freely adapted from Charles Dickens’ novel, Oliver! tells the story of the orphaned Oliver Twist, who escapes the harsh Victorian workhouse and takes refuge in London’s murky underworld with the wily gang leader Fagin and his team of resourceful pickpockets led by the Artful Dodger. He finds a friend in the kind- hearted Nancy and when he’s wrongly arrested for stealing, Oliver meets an unexpected saviour; but is happiness truly within his grasp?

With a sensational score, including Food Glorious Food, Consider Yourself, You’ve Got to Pick-a-Pocket or Two, I’d Do Anything, Oom Pah Pah, As Long As He Needs Me, and many more, the Olivier, Tony and Oscar-winning masterpiece vividly brings to life Dickens’ ever-popular story of the boy who asked for more.

This performance is a co-production with Chichester Festival Theatre, where Oliver!’s run as part of their 2024 Summer Season was the biggest success in the theatre’s history. The production was said to have “genuinely breathed new life into this staple of British musical theatre.” (What's On Stage). It will be running at the Gielgud Theatre, Shaftesbury Avenue, throughout 2025.
"

Rhiza Semar returns with Scarlet Cloak, the second instalment from Dutch-Indonesian producer and label founder Hitam. Emerging from the depths of sonic experimentation, Scarlet Cloak continues Rhiza Semar's mission - blending club-oriented tracks with a left-field approach. With three tracks from Hitam and a remix by Nawaz, the EP offers a subtle nod to early 00's mental tribe, reimagining it with a sleek, contemporary, edge. Pulsing tentatively, Scarlet Cloak opens with delicate drum patterns, paving the way for gritty, heady sonic immersion. Meticulously crafted, faint and distant synths emerge on the horizon, orchestrating an ambience that conjures quiet anticipation - a peaceful wonder drifting through the shadows. Blissfully snaking into the next production, Nawaz remixes the track with a razor-sharp switch in tempo, locking the mental trip. Setting the pace for deep introspection, fast and obscure aquatic layers ripple, submerging the listener into dark, murky textures. Flashes of club lights dissolve into a distorted memory, intangible yet electrifying as Future Kill seizes the mind. Pangs of liquid acid spread through an aphotic tunnel of sound, while percussive elements pump the heart, mirroring the adrenaline rush before stepping into a cavernous rave. In Your Head spins forward, stripped-back minimal layers congregate, spiraling the EP toward a hard climax. Rough-cut textures and skittish vocals lay on a soft bed of snares, creating psychedelic dissonance. The atmosphere thickens and breaks with permeating, rolling kick drums, drawing this 10-minute odyssey to a close. Lose yourself in a sonic labyrinth as Hitam masterfully crafts Scarlet Cloak - a volatile minefield seeping with rude, mental, teeth-gritting energy. credits Words by Charlotte Hingley

Claus Voigtmann's Life Miles LP was another fine bit of work from the London-based German, and now two of the singles from it get served up on a new 12" next to remixes from a pair of tasteful underground producers. First up is LA-based Liquid Earth who brings some low-end wonk to 'North Of The Sun' next to acid-soaked grooves and driving 909s. The original pumps a bit harder with a Leftfield cosmic edge. Then comes Youandewan on the flip. He twists 'Lowrider' into a murky and late-night dub cut with warped bass and a signature sense of crispy tech funk. The original is a more high-speed and silky, electro-inspired space cruise with lovely broken beats.

Corrosiv, the sophomore album from Orchestroll, reveals the duo at their most mature and vulnerable. Originally conceived as a reflection on hybridity and bastardization, the album deploys New Age and ambient compositional tropes as a launchpad, exposing their trite sanctity to the realities of corrosion. Having come of age in the 1970s and 1980s, the New Age movement perdures today as a domain of contradictions; its promise of transcendence riddled with the very commercialized dogma from which its adherents claim to flee. Healing modalities such as reiki, crystal therapy, and sound baths are simultaneously pathways to solace and sites of exploitation; their sonic counterparts—ethereal synth pads, shimmering textures, celestial drones—claim to facilitate meditation and enlightenment while devolving into empty signifiers of vitality. With Corrosiv, Orchestroll displays neither reverence nor disdain toward New Age: they exhume it instead, revealing the saccharine effervescence and commodified murk undergirding its aesthetics. The result is intoxicating—disquieting.

Born from a two-week residency at EMS Studios and expanded through a performance at MUTEK Montreal’s 25th anniversary, Corrosiv has since outgrown its original conceptual nucleus, taking on a broader scope. Its inquiry into New Age ideology’s voided rhetoric and aesthetic mysticism now informs a broader interrogation of cultural mediocrity, anti-authoritarianism, gatekeeping, music industry toxicity, and the crumbling edifice of late capitalism and techno-feudalism—all the mechanisms by which meaning is stripped from ceremony, and once-potent forms of knowledge are subsumed into the machinery of economic extraction, severed from their original essence, and transformed into hollow simulacra. Corrosiv distills these themes through a loose narrative: a soul, fixated on wellness as dictated by cosmetic economism, becomes ensnared in an endless afterlife, unable to transcend and shed its dilapidated consciousness.

Framed as an act of audio dissolution, the album thus engages in an alchemical process, whereby complex waveshaping, morphing synthesis, and distortion enact a ritual of fragmentation. There is also friction: between the rigid, mechanical imposition of systematized order and the untamed, chaotic force of organic metamorphosis. Here corrosion and confinement are not solely conceptual motifs; they are enacted in real time, sculpting the album’s terrain. Scraping, tarnishing, degradation—the languid wear of form and substance—become instruments in their own right: buffing as abrasion, entrapment as transformation, corrosion as a means of reconfiguration. The ‘protagonist,’ if there must be one, is the listener, caught within the throes of structural determinism and the potential for emancipation, unable to pass into something greater as the specters of collapsed futures accumulate in the margins.

Corrosiv extends its reach through collaborations with familiar voices: Heith (PAN), VISIO (Haunter), Femminielli (Drowned by Locals), Habib Bardi (Interzone), and Jiyoung Wi (Enmossed, Psychic Liberation, Doyenne) each leave their imprint on its sprawling landscape. At 1h16m, it is a procession, dense with earworms that burrow into the listener’s unconscious.

Misshapen, broken-down metals leach copper into blood, acid reflux burning through the core. Psyche disaggregates into cosmic turmoil, drifting between planes—tongue on rustline, gullet laced with solvent hymns, molars unlatching, bitcrushed to marrowspill. A spasm of brine, ferrous scripture, venomtext blooming in leaden rivulets, cartilage smoldering in phosphor decomposition, synapses drowning in a quicksilver choir. Crest of bile, churning ore, breath clotting into arsenic mist, vein-thread cinched, a corrosive gospel, limb by limb, oxidized to silence.

Ultimately, as the music exhales its final breath, its residue refuses to dissipate—and stillness alone remains. There are no conclusions here—no resolution, no collapse—only the slow drift outward of a vessel unmoored, lost in the sea of symbolic souring. Corrosiv sings the song of a world barren of prophecy, littered with aesthetic detritus. Whether this magic has been transfigured or simply worn away is unclear: the last breath dissipates, but the oxidation does not stop. The silence, too, will decay.

Conceptualized, composed, performed, recorded, mixed, engineered and produced by Jesse Osborne-Lanthier, and Asaël Richard-Robitaille in 2023 and 2024 at Elektron Musik Studion (EMS) - Stockholm, Sweden and Landsc8pe Studio - Montréal, QC, Canada.
Artwork by Jesse Osborne-Lanthier.
Mastered by Stephan Mathieu @ Schwebung Mastering.

What We Have Now is a love-letter to New York City, written by a breaking heart weathering the deep indigo night of a soul realizing dawn will release it from the dried tears of youth. There is no brighter or harsher wasteland of self-discovery than the one in which we see that childhood is a dream and the now is something we will have to fabricate alone, from those broken mirror shards of memories in service to a world that does not seem to know how to care for us any longer. Full of feeling and shepherded by Clara's intensely honest vocals, these songs transcend place and time to share a universe of wonders beneath the hard-wrought questioning of the deeply human condition we are all living within. Clara Joy is a songwriter full of melody and vision. These home recordings were made by Clara in NYC between 2020 and 2024. The songs were then arranged, mixed & mastered by Kramer in December 2024 in his studio in the mountains of North Carolina. Clara is at the dawn of her career and Shimmy-Disc is proud to bring this amazing work to the world. This creation is a beacon on the murky horizon of this Pyrocene age landscape we find ourselves traversing.

What We Have Now is a love-letter to New York City, written by a breaking heart weathering the deep indigo night of a soul realizing dawn will release it
from the dried tears of youth. There is no brighter or harsher wasteland of self-discovery than the one in which we see that childhood is a dream and
the now is something we will have to fabricate alone, from those broken mirror shards of memories in service to a world that does not seem to know
how to care for us any longer.
Full of feeling and shepherded by Clara’s intensely honest vocals, these songs transcend place and time to share a universe of wonders beneath the
hard-wrought questioning of the deeply human condition we are all living within.
Clara Joy is a songwriter full of melody and vision. These home recordings were made by Clara in NYC between 2020 and 2024. The songs were then
arranged, mixed & mastered by Kramer in December 2024 in his studio in the mountains of North Carolina.
Clara is at the dawn of her career and Shimmy-Disc is proud to bring this amazing work to the world. This creation is a beacon on the murky horizon of
this Pyrocene age landscape we find ourselves traversing.

Long, long overdue reissue of this gem from the depths of The Skaters dreamweaving dimension, released as a limited tape through Spencer Clark's Pacific City imprint back in 2008. Comprising a period of extreme and vital activity for both Clark as Monopoly Child Star Searchers and Black Joker and his kindred spirit James Ferraro under his own name - 'Marble Surf' or 'Discovery' - and a myriad of identities like Liquid Metal or Edward Flex, this split finds these intrepid explorers on each side of a scrying mirror.
Conjuring the Angel Snake entity as a vessel for unlocking the unconscious, Ferraro takes up the A-side with hypnotic wooden percussion sustaining queasy tape processed keyboard lines that intertwine amidst a growing haze of hiss. About halfway through the digression an announcer boombox voice cuts up the scenery for a serpentine dance around the discarded remnants of civilisations past and future. Clark's Monopoly Child rides a beaming synth and muffled percussion accents on his trademarked keyboard thrills, all ascending and descending runs brimming on the horizon, not quite here, not quite out of reach, fading out to a galloping murk smeared by hallucinatory flute-like sounds and portamento accents that float in harmonic suspension.
Truly visionary and arresting stuff from these true purveyors of the netherworld, due to be rediscovered in these times of poor half-reassessments of the given past. It was never a dream, it was always a dream.

An album for sleeping and waking, walking and driving, hunting and fishing, for loitering outside a roadhouse on the haunted tundra. Okay in elevators, not great for dinner. On Caveman Wakes Up, Friendship’s new album and second for Merge Records, the band’s historically capacious definition of country music grows wider still. Shambolic guitars are offset by flute pads, bleary poetry is set against a Motown rhythm section, a song about Jerry Garcia and First Lady Betty Ford fades out with a drum solo, like if Talk Talk came from a dingy Philadelphia basement and was fronted by James Tate. Songwriter Dan Wriggins’ ragged baritone cuts through eleven murky, swirling country-rock songs with profound lyrical substance and sincerity. Like an alarm clock incorporated into the edge of a dream, Caveman Wakes Up belongs equally to the conscious and subconscious mind, fraught with background, steeped in reference and experimentation, delivered casually and as a dire warning, dedicated, above all, to music’s creative soul. Over the years, dedication has paid off. Friendship has become a kind of reverse supergroup,
wherein the band itself and each individual member are located centrally in an increasingly prominent scene of young folk and country musicians and songwriters. Drummer Michael Cormier O’Leary leads the instrumental collective Hour and, along with bassist Jon Samuels, runs Dear Life Records, home to friends and peers who count Friendship as a major influence including MJ Lenderman, Florry, and Fust. (Samuels also plays lead guitar in MJ Lenderman and the Wind). Guitarist Peter Gill’s band 2nd Grade records prolifically. Wriggins began writing the songs of Caveman Wakes Up on a downtuned classical guitar of Lenderman’s and finished on a barely tuned piano in an apartment he shared with Sadurn’s G DeGroot.
In the summer of 2023, Wriggins had just left the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, where his love for poetry and mistrust for the academic poetry world grew in tandem. A relationship fell apart, and Wriggins crashed for several weeks at Lenderman and Wednesday’s Karly Hartzman’s home in North Carolina, where he recorded the first demos of “Resident Evil,” “All Over the World,” and “Love Vape.” Wriggins returned to Philadelphia, and the band got to work on new ideas, finally tracking the album in five days with engineer Jeff Ziegler (Mary Lattimore, War on Drugs). Wriggins recorded vocals with Love the Stranger engineer Bradford Kreiger, and organ, violin (Jason Calhoun), and flute (Adelyn Strei) were recorded by Lucas Knapp in a West Philadelphia church.

A fully licensed, analogue reissue -- sure, on cassette and not on vinyl, that's a
long story -- of the first Index LP, originally released in 1967
The "Black Album" is one of the all-time holy grails of psychedelia, with originals going
for more than $4,000. It is an album "with a really druggie sound, full of feedback and
fuzzy guitars. The vocals, when present, are not easily heard. The cover of 'Eight Miles
High' is very good, probably one of the best cover versions I have ever heard. The
original songs all follow a similar pattern as the covers, with hazy guitar riffs and loud
rhythms. The last track is particularly noisy and unstructured. Hidden in amongst the
echoing canyons of sound there's some really snotty punk attitude wrapped up in
trippy velvet fuzz."
This record is magnificent-- bizarre, atmospheric, amateurish (in the best of all
possible ways). It has a wonderful bleak sound, both droning and murky... the atonal
sound of 1960's rock that would leave the most lasting impression on what would
become future punk, post-punk and indie rock artists.
"Much has been written about this incredible band. Much of it isn't true. Index was
formed in the early spring of 1967 in Grosse Pointe, Michigan. I was 18 years old
when I met a chain-smoking 16-year-old named Gary Francis. Our conversation soon
got around to rock and roll. He told me that he and his friend, John Ford, were forming
a band. I told him that I played drums and we arranged a jam session at John's home
on Lakeshore Drive. Our first meeting was incredible. Our sound was full and
powerful. John's lead guitar techniques were fresh and innovative. After our first
sessions we knew we had something special. Index was born. Soon we hit the local
'sock hop' circuit, playing at high schools and teen clubs in the area. We poured our
unique sound out at The Hideout, Undercroft and G.P. War Memorial every weekend.
One afternoon John pulled out a new album he had been listening to. It was a new
band with a mind-shattering sound called 'The Jimi Hendrix Experience.' John played
some songs he had written inspired by this 'psychedelic' sound. Over the next few
days, 'Fire Eyes,' 'Shock Wave' and 'Feedback' were written. This album was recorded
in December of 1967 at the Ford estate. It is recorded in mono with literally one
microphone and with all instruments and vocals recorded at the same time. The cover
photo is of founders of a singing group John joined at Yale. The stiff, board- like
figures seem to characterize the exact opposite of this musical collection. This
reissue is taken from the original recordings. Nothing has been added and all songs
are in their original length. Over the years various bootleg copies of this album have
surfaced but this is the original work." --Jim Valice

Like their previous output, the album features the duo’s unique mosaic of clicks n’ cuts style beat work, murky dubwise melodicism, and chilling otherworldly textures. However, there is a refinement on display on Battens.
Clay and Ian have accentuated their trademark elements to maximal effect. The beats seem to have a more brandish, near swagger that was only fleetingly referenced in some of their previous works. The melodies, which formerly have felt primarily of alien origin, almost feel a glint of humanity. Having such a unique ideology for nearly 25 years has allowed Loess to work at a pace and level of refinement evident on Battens.
Loess is a challenging project to describe, yet their ruminative style of experimental electronica sets them apart from their contemporaries and still sounds fresh today.

Tee Pee Records is proud to announce a limited edition pressing of this classic on marbled Tiger's Eye vinyl. Annihilation Time are an incendiary mix of '70s rock and '80s hardcore, with riffs personified by their legendary bar brawls and bloody-faced performances. Then again, constant touring with Municipal Waste and Caustic Christ - during their murky beginnings - can have that effect.

Opening DNO Records’ 2025, Clearlight returns to the label alongside new signee Sentient, bringing four creepy cuts of insectoid minimalism that reanimate the drum & bass exoskeleton.

On the A-side, ‘Mandibles’ aims to stun. Hurtling forth with hulking drums, this tunnelling rhythm is beset by swarms of glitchy percussion and synth zaps that’ll frazzle minds with their sheer chaotic energy.
‘Suboptimal’ reveals what’s lurking in the deep, as heavyweight bass and incessant kicks burrow through a murky soundscape of croaks and rattles, only to be sprayed by a chirping acid line that cuts through the mix with deadly precision.

Flip over and the Belgian-British pairing delivers two extended jams. The seven-minute ‘Psychodrifter’ is packed with an overdriven low-end that crackles and heaves like it's trying to talk with a mouthful of bees, while globular whoops and twinkling pads squirm and beckon like bioluminescent lures.
‘Kukulu’ is longer still, building and building and building in intensity. Waves of warning bells and skittering background noise, bongo flourishes and spurts of grinding bass come together with hive-mind-like cooperation to form an enrapturing epic.

Another example of visionary world-building from the DNO camp, the ‘Mandibles’ EP will wriggle down your earhole and have you itching for a dark basement full of bass bins.

Rhythms of postmodern realism at the very bottom of the DNO.

Bacao Rhythm & Steel Band, das mysteriöse Steel-Pan-Outfit aus Hamburg, machte 2024 von sich reden, als der französische Film „Anatomy of a Fall“ einen Oscar für das beste Originaldrehbuch gewann. Bacaos Cover von 50 Cents „PIMP“ war prominent in dem Film vertreten und spielte eine so große Rolle in der Handlung, dass es zum Synonym für den Erfolg des Films wurde. Später sorgten sie dafür, dass bei der Oscar-Verleihung zum ersten Mal Steel Pans im Orchestergraben auftauchten, um die Melodie zu spielen, als die Regisseurin Justine Triet die Bühne betrat, um den Preis entgegenzunehmen. All dies brachte Bacao eine Menge neuer Fans und ließ die Streaming-Zahlen von „PIMP“ auf weit über 40 Millionen steigen. Der Song erschien erstmals 2008 auf dem eigenen Mocambo-Imprint von Bandleader Bjorn Wagner und wird oft mit dem Original-Sample verwechselt, aus dem 50 Cent seinen Hit gemacht hat. Abgesehen von den Auszeichnungen und internationalem Ruhm ist „PIMP“ buchstäblich nur die Spitze des Eisbergs von Bacao. Mit vier Alben und einem großen Stapel 7"-Singles, die zu Grundnahrungsmitteln für DJs auf der ganzen Welt geworden sind, sind sie, seit sie bei Big Crown unter Vertrag stehen, sehr produktiv gewesen. Trotz der ständigen Veröffentlichungen und des umfangreichen Katalogs hat jede Aufnahmesession mehr Früchte getragen, als auf ein Album passen, so dass mehr als nur eine Handvoll Songs im Tresor lagert. „Big Crown Vaults Vol. 4“ gibt den meisten dieser Stücke eine angemessene Pressung und Veröffentlichung. Das Album beginnt mit ihrer Coverversion des Bob James Klassikers „Nautilus“, ein „Must Have“ für alle Hip-Hop- und Breakbeat-Fans. Sie bleiben auf dem Gaspedal und geben dem Khruangbin-Klassiker „Maria También“ die BRSB-Behandlung mit ihren charakteristischen basslastigen Drums, die die Energie des Stücks in eine völlig neue Dimension bringen. Berühmt dafür, bei der Neuinterpretation von Material tief in den Kisten zu wühlen, nehmen sie sich als nächstes den von J Dilla produzierten Royce Da 5'9"' Track ‚Let's Grow‘ vor. Dann gibt es „PIMP (Version)“, ursprünglich die B-Seite der Erstpressung von „PIMP“, auf der sie ihrer Originalaufnahme eine ordentliche Dub-Behandlung mit Melodica und Bandecho verpassen. Sie erhöhen das Tempo und den Funk mit „Great To Be Here“ von den Jackson 5 und tauchen mit dem Billy-Jones-Tanzflächenbrenner „Lookout Baby (Here I Come)“ wieder tief in die Dunkelheit ein. Während ein Teil des Reizes eines neuen Bacao Rhythm & Steel Band-Albums darin besteht, herauszufinden, welche Coversongs sie aufnehmen werden, ist es ebenso faszinierend zu sehen, welche originellen Melodien sie ausgearbeitet haben. „BCR Vaults Vol. 4“ enthält zwar nur ein einziges Original, „Kaiso Noir“, aber es ist ein Up-Tempo-Kracher, der wie eine Mischung aus einem B-Boy-Break und einem James-Bond-Score klingt. Diese Sammlung von Songs umfasst den Zeitraum von 2008 bis 2023 und lässt eine Vielzahl von Genres von Hip-Hop über Jazz bis hin zu Soul und Pop durch die Bacao-Linse laufen. Die Band arbeitet bereits an ihrem 5. Studioalbum, und diese Zusammenstellung dürfte die perfekte Überbrückung für die Fans sein, bis es erscheint.

DESCRIPTION
Looming above Hastings on the South Coast of the UK, carved into East Hill, three black shapes are visible from a distance. Mysterious and ominous, they assume the aspect of the entrance to a church or a portal to dimensions unknown. Closer inspection however reveals them to be no more than mere follies carved and painted into the rock, as hoaxster John Coussens sought to convince visitors that an elaborate subterranean kingdom lurked within. Centuries later, this coastal town remains a place that serves as a magnet to the wyrd and the mischievous. And it’s here that the meeting of minds took place that led to 'Folly' - the second release for Rocket’s Black Hole series - an imprint focused on the unorthodox, otherworldly and esoteric. The journey that led to ‘Folly’ began in the dingy cellar of a wine bar in the town. Black Arches formed around a regular local experimental night in such environs aptly named Weird Shit, initially as a freeform musical outlet for author and musician Gareth E. Rees’ later incorporating Matt Frost from his garage rock troupe The Dirty Contacts, and frequent collaborator James Weaver, to form a vehicle for wild experimentation and psychic abandon. Given he was also a regular attendee, it was no surprise when Sexton Ming, arch maverick outsider artist and uncompromising iconoclast of over four decades standing, entered the picture. Soon after a perplexing but serendipitous chain of events took place, with demons conjured up via improvised sessions, poetic licence taken, dystopias chronicled, audio files gone awry, vocals overdubbed and laptops lost, Somehow amidst the sturm-und-drang ‘Folly’ was summoned in all its murky glory. As we embark on the second quarter of an uncertain century, just maybe this psychic travelogue is a dark prism to make sense of the chaos we confront. Whichever, it remains a spectacle as compelling as that by which Black Arches were named

Priori’s hit EP Pareidolia gets a well deserved remix treatment. The relation between Priori and Midgar started early 2023 with the release of his Pareidolia EP, where a remix for Keplrr followed quickly the year after. Now, early 2025, a group of close friends and admired artists were invited to rework the Pareidolia’s originals. Midgar affiliate Forest Drive West uses the opportunity to present not one but two remixes.
Presenting one half-time 85 bpm twist of Hazard and another slowpaced murky techno groover. Originally from Montreal, Maara forms the Canadian connection and she turns Memory Palace into a beautiful bouncy dub-techno floater. Sound experimentalist Notte Infinita takes his turn on Pareidolia’s title track and creates some magnificent eyesclosed drum & bass hypnotism. At last, Amsterdam’s upsammy brings back the light with her iconic playful approach. She flips the steady groove of Glass Shards into a jumpy interplay of rhythms and joy

Neutral is the no wave / anti-rock duo of Dan Johansson (Sewer Election, Ättestupa, Amateur Hour, etc.) and Sofie Herner (Leda, Enhet För Fri Musik), both with deep connections to the Swedish noise scene. As Neutral, the two smear voice, guitar, organ, and smoldering noise into narcoleptic songs that rewire the strategies of Dome by way of Gate and Mars. Lågliv translates to ‘lowlife,’ an apt metaphor for neutral’s subterranean murk and shambolic discontent that they languidly manifest as a punk dourness emptied of all rock ’n’ roll theatrics. Desperate, demolished, and dejected.

Lågliv was originally published as part of the instantly out of print boxset, On Corrosion - a 10 cassette anthology from 2019 that was housed in a handcrafted wooden box and featuring full albums from Kleistwahr, Neutral, Pinkcourtesyphone, Alice Kemp, She Spread Sorrow, G*Park, Relay For Death, Francisco Meirino, Fossil Aerosol Mining Project, and Himukalt. The collection also stood as the 50th release for The Helen Scarsdale Agency.

Long and intermittent running duo of Discrepant head honcho Gonçalo F Cardoso and Angela Valid's Alex Jones, with sometime collaborator Phil Laney aka Kenny Hosepipe joining in somewhere along the way, Hair & Treasure crossover from Sucata Tapes to Discrepant wax via 'Disc Rot'. Described by the duo, in their cryptic and scatological fashion, as "a fetid spread from the buttery catacombs of Hair & Treasure", one can only speculate on the mindset, if not for the scenario, for these file swap recording sessions. As if decaying throughout this back & forth process, the synthscapes, field recordings, voices from who knows where? and subliminal pulses assembled in these 11 pieces all coalesce into this out-there murk where invocations of "a" real are mangled into unhinged, squinting eyes moments of near- consciousness.

Compared to previous Hair & Treasure ventures like 'Two Fucking Tapes' or 'Forked Piss Blues', 'Disc Rot' forgoes side-long tapestries by focusing on shorter and clearer transmissions from the netherworld. Still, the feeling of pieces of discarded hardware and sound hubris lying around and turned music of the duo remains unscathed, filtered through a newfound precision. After the opening feverish threat of 'Warm Night', the suspended synth pads and working machinery of 'Byzantine Turd Skirt' actually comes as a relief, pulling away (a bit) of the dread to resurface with the Texas Chainsaw Massacre OST ambience of 'Amateur Depravity' and 2004-ish Midwest noise stylings of 'Busy Hubby's Flight to Gstaad' and 'Tit Ale'. 'Roads Gonad Today' and 'Just Jerkers' are not that far removed from a lower fidelity take on Black Dice circa 'Creature Comforts', while -'Professional Babies' goes back a couple of years to their collabs with Wolf Eyes, bust mostly, all of this sounds like nothing but Hair & Treasure themselves. If you know, you know.

Flying Vipers record murky dubwise reggae on a Tascam 8-track in their basement bunker. Their love of Jamaican and UK 70's roots and dub is their north star, but eclectic crates of records and a couple decades worth of punk shows bleed through on tape. Twin brothers Marc & John Beaudette on drums and bass telekinetically lock-in with Zack Brines' layers of vintage organs and electric pianos in concise melodic meditations. "With ‘Off World’, their first full-length album featuring vocalist Kellee Webb, the Boston area band uses this foundation to explore the fight or flight of contemporary survival." While largely original compositions, three covers encapsulate the lyrical and musical themes found throughout the LP; an alienation anthem from Northwest punk pioneers Wipers; the theme from the cult classic animated film La Planete Sauvage, featuring the acclaimed jazz harpist Brandee Younger; and quite possibly the first dubwise Sun Ra tribute. Their own singles like "Believers & Deceivers" and "Jackals" confront the grim reality of modern culture, wondering if life in America, and/or Earth, is worth fighting for or leaving behind. Through it all the drum and bass is there, to help you hold your ground and to guide your escape into sonic space.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Madronas’ debut LP Erogenous Biome is an amorphous, murky, cathartic offering. A duet of modular synthesizer and winds that’s equal parts doom and ecstasy, it’s the sound of a majestic butterfly emerging from it’s slimy chrysalis just in time to catch the sun setting on the end of days, a bewitching, heavy ceremony, a power-wash of both mind and spirit.

Tracked in one continuous take at Brooklyn’s Heavy Meadow studio, individual tracks were gleaned from the purge and eschew predictable structures, making for a dense, fluid suite of improvisation, like dancing smoke ribbons in the dark. The duo's chosen sound sources are seemingly opposite - Ry Fyan’s modular’s coming from electronic oscillators, Isaiah Barr’s saxophone and various flutes originating with the breath - but the visceral, imprecise, alive quality to the sound of both lends the record a thrilling combination of rapturous harmony and gritty, intense friction.

Opening the session in ritualistic, foreboding fashion, Voluntary lurches to life with rattles and wandering, bassy arpeggios before a suona’s cry signals the seance has officially begun. Ostraca Loam spits explosive modular rhythms and eerie shrieks for the flute to float above, while Detritus Harp smudges mechanical whirring, pensive horn and wind chimes for an untethered drift. Petrified Microdot swells with menacing sci-fi sequences and breathtaking sax runs until they both run out of breath, and Negative Lingam starts out in a panic of breathy riffing before exhaling into one of the most sublime passages on the record. Rhythmic pounding and undulating flutes punctuate Lenticular Shroud, before The Preparation Of The Novel sets the winds aside for a synthesized dual fit for electric dreams. The title track dominates the B-side, it's shimmering levity slowly unfurling to reveal itself as a kind of post-apocalyptic devotional music, deep space drifting grounded by earthly flutes, and Vale Of Cashmere offers an ascetic, contemplative closure, sparse flute and chiming rhythms organic or electronic - by this time it’s hard to know, it doesn’t matter either way.

Erogenous Biome is a world of it’s own, and one Impatience is honored to offer a window into.

RIYL - Senyawa, witchcraft, Colin Stetson , Civilistjavel, Mars (the planet), Finis Africae, raga, Stephen O’Malley, modular synthesizer, Anthony Braxton, Shabaka.

Madronas is Ry Fyan and Isaiah Barr. Fyan is a painter and tattoo artist, this is his first release. Barr is a prolific instigator of the downtown New York scene, producing and playing saxophone in jazz circles with his group Onyx Collective, as a player and/or producer on records by Nick Hakim, David Byrne and Wiki, performing live with William Parker and as part of his projects Universal Space Jam and Cafe Dewanee.

Erogenous Biome was recorded and mastered by Griffin Jennings at Heavy Meadow, Brooklyn.

Vinyl was cut by Beau Thomas at Ten Eight Seven Mastering, Berlin.

Artwork is by Ry Fyan, typography and layout by Nicolas Turek.

As a founding member of Dublin experimental folk group Lankum, Ian Lynch explores submerged leylines of music and song. Forging a musical path that is all at once dark, mysterious and foreboding, but ultimately transcendental. His new solo project One Leg One Eye sees him taking a fresh approach to musical arrangement culminating in a sound that is more rooted in the raw aesthetics of second wave black metal than contemporary folk. The project was born across 2021, a period in which Lynch was able to enjoy the freedom of experimenting and exploring different paths of sound design without expectation or pressure. Seeking out interesting settings to record music and gather field recordings, there are several environments, external and interior, whose respective essence have seeped into the spirit of the music and come to represent Lynch’s artistic approach and development with this singular debut album, …And Take The Black Worm With Me. Rediscovered spaces in Dublin and the familiar enclave of his bedroom are intrinsic to the distinct and sometimes harrowing atmosphere conjured throughout the album’s five enveloping compositions. One particular location, an abandoned factory where his father worked when Ian was a child, provided a space of great inspiration and intrigue during this time. Lynch frequently visited the large abandoned warehouse and sang with his shruti box, contented in his solitude. ‘I’d Rather Be Tending My Sheep’, grew into existence from those initial sessions, eventually finding a home as an emotive centrepiece to the album. Reflecting on the overall recording of …And Take The Black Worm With Me, Lynch says, “Everything I was doing with these songs was all kind of new to me; experimenting with different sounds, textures and palettes and seeing what I could come up with by piecing it all together. I spent about a year making the album. I loved the whole process because it was basically just me in my bedroom recording everything. The experience of recording like this and having my own time to do it was amazing. I could focus on recording a specific element and happily spend all day working on that one part, doing it as many times as I wanted. At the end of the day if it didn’t feel right, I could just try it again the next day. When you’re on your own you can spend as much time as you want on particular parts until you feel that it’s absolutely perfect. I found that to be a really liberating experience. It was probably my favourite experience recording music.” The collection of songs (and their chronology) featured on …And Take The Black Worm With Me tell a story unique to Lynch’s experiences with anxiety and recognising his shadow self. Whilst the album became an outlet of personal expression for Lynch, the overarching themes and subsequent journey to confront one’s internal dichotomy of light and dark before accepting this inherent duality is universally shared. The eerie and often unsettling world contained within the album’s texturally dense opener ‘Glistening, She Emerges’, driven by the captivating drone of distorted uilleann pipes, immediately immerses the listener in this transportive work. It descends with a great heaviness, yet woven throughout the arrangement is a fascinating and indescribable entity that draws you further into this otherworldly dimension. This mood continues as the tracklist progresses and transitions into Lynch’s haunting realisation of ‘Bold and Undaunted Youth’ which further demonstrates a cinematic influence to Lynch’s compositional style. Sonically, Lynch effectively builds an impressively vast terrain with brilliantly murky lo-fi recording techniques and an unshakable curiosity to move beyond conventional structures and play with the timbre of the instruments available to him. From recording hurdy-gurdy or concertina to tape and experimenting with loops and effects pedals to stitching field recordings together, there’s an intimacy established between Lynch and his audience established through the simultaneously eerie and beautiful tones courting through …And Take The Black Worm With Me. This culminates in ‘Only the Diceys’, the extraordinary closing track in which we reach a place of resolution mapped into the album’s narrative structure. Mixed by longtime collaborator John ‘Spud’ Murphy in his Dublin-based Guerrilla Sounds Studio and mastered by Harvey Birrell …And Take The Black Worm With Me features contributions from Ruth Clinton (Landless) on church organ and vocals by Laurie Shanaman (Ails, Ludicra). Of Shanaman’s participation, in particular, which further illustrates the lo-fi and DIY ethos to the recording, Lynch says, “Laurie is my favourite black metal vocalist of all time and so I reached out to her hoping to have her involved in some way. She did, and she features on the opening track by providing some incredible screams. She recorded them into her phone and sent them over to me; what appears on the album is literally a phone recording of her screaming in her kitchen!” …And Take The Black Worm With Me continues Ian Lynch’s groundbreaking work with Lankum; recontextualising traditional forms and generating new spheres of music in his wake, confirming his status as one of the most interesting and innovative artists working in Ireland today.

Kneading dough is tricky – you should know how it’s supposed to feel. If you try too hard you could make it worse. It’s a beautiful practice – creation with a gentle touch, to work at something so it can be left alone. “If it’s too drawn out it’s awful. It’s easy to give too much.” Dance in the mirror. Contemplate your veiny hands. Who do they remind you of?

You begin by mixing flour and water. “What happens when your people die? Why’d they move the rock to the other side of Ulster Park?” Eliza Niemi asks two seemingly unrelated questions in a rising melody with guitar accompaniment, like fingers playing spider up to the nape of your neck. Gentle pressure. Strands of gluten form to bind the mix. A new question lingers in the binding. When she admits “but I don’t know how to tell if I’m feeling it or not,” that question surfaces through the text. It is reiterated throughout the album. When I’m working with dough I think the same thing to myself.

On Progress Bakery, her second album as a solo artist, Eliza knows to leave some questions alone – to let juxtaposition and tension be the proof. It doesn’t have to be hard. The feelings and revelations they provoke rise in the heat. The smell is sweet. Crispy on the outside and soft all the way through. She playfully slip-slides through words and sounds and images, delighting in surprise, skimming ideas like stones cast across clear water, touching down briefly with uncommon grace.

The question provoked between those opening lines resurfaces in the strands between songs – “Do U FM” is fully formed and beautifully layered, while “Novelist Sad Face” is a short, acapella rendering of gentle curiosity. What is holding these ideas together? Some songs demand more, seem to carry a whole load – eventually the skipping stone will halt to sink and resume its idle duty – while others drift in and out of focus, the way thoughts and dreams become interwoven before the mind is sunk into true sleep.

Music and words don’t always have to interact. Where she decides to keep them apart gives a new contour to where and how she puts them together. The kind of thing you’re supposed to take for granted with songs and their singers comes alive in Eliza’s hands – the little miracle of mixing, kneading, stretching, and stopping.

So often on Progress Bakery, Eliza teases out truth and meaning by asking questions. “Do I wanna be crying?” “Do you want me good or do you want me bad?” “Do I need an eye test?” “I’m writing songs in my head while you’re going over stuff with me — is that cruel??” In “Pocky” Eliza ends with a question that feels to me like the actual biography, succinct and revealing:

I don’t wanna be made to see
I just wanna ask “what’s that?”

Grace that ought to be rare, but in its care and precision is offered humbly, with great generosity, and without announcing itself. Eliza’s simple, miraculous music is given further form and shape by a group of collaborators – invaluable guest musicians Jeremy Ray, Evan Cartwright, Steven McPhail, Kenny Boothby, Ed Squires, Carolina Chauffe, Dorothea Paas, Louie Short, and Avalon Tassonyi. Together with Louie Short, who recorded, mixed, and produced the album along with Jeremy Ray and Lukas Cheung, Eliza has cultivated a richness in sound and texture that prods and provokes the ticklish ear. Barely audible guitar tinkering, a brief lo-fi field recording of trumpets, the harmonic clicking of a looped synthesizer, a flourish of reeds, a child’s conversation, each uncanny sound perfectly placed, rippling out under a soft breeze.

Lay in bed alone at night and ask aloud to the stillness,

“What were you doing at the Albuquerque Airport?
What were you doing there??”

And hear your question answered by a dream of swelling, undulating cellos. Try to grasp at the melody and structure. It’s not an answer (if there could be one), but it moves deeper, closer to the weird layer of fleeting moments and disconnected images, barely perceptible at its core. Wait for the dream reel to click into place.

Eliza took me for a ride in Nicole (her beloved Dodge Grand Caravan) and told me she’d been thinking of the album as an embodiment of transition – and I think every transition, known or unknown, carries the weight of new meaning, skittering off the surface tension of life as you know it, creating ripples, sometimes bouncing off and sometimes breaking through. There is a trick you can use to tell if a dough is glutinous enough. You’re supposed to stretch it out as thin as you can without breaking it and hold it up to the light. If you can see through, even if it renders the world murky and uncertain, you should leave it alone. I love this trick. It’s one that Eliza seems to know intuitively: work gently and ask questions and don’t always expect answers, and when you can, take a glimpse at something new, and then leave.

Listening to Unknown Path's Pathfinder for the first time is a claustrophobic experience. It's as if the tracks had been recorded to tape and left to decompose for 10 or so years, then dug up and re-recorded. A thick layer of grunge and an overall murky feel sets the tone for Path 0.1 and continues throughout the EP. Paths 0.2 and 0.3 add a more upbeat feel to proceedings, as the beats get scattered around like they were in a pinball machine. Path 0.4 finishes off the experience by bringing the tempo back down, while all the time keeping the uneasy atmospherics that make this EP a unique and rewarding listen.

Cindy Lee, Arthur Russell, Viagra Boys, On-U Sound. In the discourse around new albums from singular, world-building artists, the phrase “a big step forward” can often be a blinking red warning sign. You know you’re about to be pulled somewhere new against your will. Inertia is a hell of a thing. It’s nice here. Surely, the party’s not over yet? JJULIUS’ Vol. 3 album is a big step forward, or a step up, out of the murky basement of the preceding two volumes. There’s no time to acclimate. A spindly violin grabs you by the hand and pulls you into the pastoral bounce of “Brinna ut,” which, in spite of its meaning (“Burn out”), creates the kind of blind positivity and warm stomach feeling less cynical people might find in self-help seminars. For us, we have records like this. And, inertia be damned, Vol. 3 has charm like a balm. JJULIUS records have always arrived like meteors from another planet, an impression hammered home by the fact that they’re titled like compendiums of artifacts. And while Vols. 1 and 2 carried that notable tinge of darkness, Vol. 3 has (almost!) cast that shadow, adding elements of disco (“Dödsdisco”) and dream-pop (“Etopisk hallucination”) to his forever favorites Arthur Russell, African Head Charge, and The Fall. Some of that new car smell could be attributed to a change in process. Each song was written over beats played by Tor Sjödén of the wild-eyed Stockholm group Viagra Boys, beats that were themselves inspired by tracks from the likes of Patrick Cowley, CAN, Count Ossie, Black Devil Disco Club and others that Julius would send to him as inspiration. Unless you’re Mark E. Smith, fervor fades. Eventually we all crave a lie down in some nice grass, a few minutes to gaze at the sky and wonder if everything is actually all that bad. Vol. 3 gives you 35 of those respiting minutes. “No looking back, no misery, no talking trash, no enemies.”