quête:my cat is an alien

A.R. Kive collates the three most astonishing works from that most miraculous of duos - A.R. Kane - comprising the ‘Up Home’ EP from 1988 that signified the band’s dawning realisation of their own powers and possibilities, their legendary debut LP ‘sixty nine’ (1988) and its kaleidoscopic, prophetic double-LP follow up ‘i’ (1989).

In founder-member Rudy Tambala’s new remastering, the music on these pivotal transmissions from the birth of dream pop, have been reinvigorated and re-infused with a new power, a new depth and intimacy, a new height and immensity. Vivid, timeless and yet always timely whenever they’re recalled, these records still force any listener to realise that despite the habits of retrospective myth-making and the
safe neutering effects of ‘genre’, thirty years have in no way dimmed how resistant and dissident to critical habits of categorisation A.R. Kane always were. Never quite ‘avant-pop’ or ‘shoegaze’ or ‘post-rock’ or any of those sobriquets designed to file and categorise, A.R. Kive is a reminder that those genres had to be coined, had to be invented precisely to contain the astonishing sound of A.R. Kane, because
previous formulations couldn’t come close to their sui generis sound and suggestiveness. This is music that pointed towards futures which a whole generation of artists and sonic explorers would map out. Now beautifully repackaged, remastered and fleshed out with extensive sleeve notes and accompanying materials, ‘A.R. Kive’ reveals that 35 years on it’s still a struggle to defuse the revolutionary and inspirational possibility of A.R. Kane’s music.

A.R. Kane were formed in 1986 by Rudy Tambala and Alex Ayuli, two second-generation immigrants who grew up together in Stratford, East London. From the off the pair were outsiders in the culturally mixed (cockney/Irish/West Indian/Asian) milieu of the East End, with Alex and Rudy’s folks first generation immigrants from Nigeria and Malawi, respectively. The two of them quickly developed and fostered an innate and near-telepathic mutual understanding forged in musical, literary and artistic exploration. Like a lot of second-generation immigrants, they were ferocious autodidacts in all kinds of areas, especially around music and literature. Diving deep into the music of afro-futurist luminaries such as Sun Ra, Miles Davis, Lee Perry and
Hendrix, as well as devouring the explorations of lysergic noise and feedback from contemporaries like Sonic Youth and Butthole Surfers, they also thoroughly immersed themselves in the alternate literary realities of sci-fi and ancient history (the fascination with the arcane that gave the band their name), all to feed their voracious cultural thirsts and intellectual curiosity.

It was seeing the Cocteau Twins performing on Channel 4 show the Tube that spurred A.R. Kane into being - “They had no drummer. They used tapes and technology and Liz Fraser looked completely otherworldly with those big eyes. And the noise coming out of Robin’s guitar! That was the ‘Fuck! We could do that! We could express ourselves like that!’ moment”, recalls Tambala - and through a mix of
confidence, chutzpah, ad hoc almost-mythical live shows and sheer innocent will the duo debuted with the astonishing ‘When You’re Sad’ single for One Little Indian in 1986. Immediately dubbed a ‘black Jesus & Mary Chain’ by a press unsure of WHERE to put a black band clearly immersed in feedback and noise, what was immediately apparent for listeners was just how much more was going on here - a
tapping of dub’s stealth and guile, a resonant umbilicus back to fusion and jazz, the music less a conjuration of past highs than a re-summoning of lost spirits.
The run of singles and EPs that followed picked up increasingly rapt reviews in the press, but it was the ‘Up Home EP’ released in 1988 on their new home, Rough Trade that really suggested something immense was about to break. Simon Reynolds noted the EP was: Their most concentrated slab of iridescent awesomeness and a true pinnacle of an era that abounded with astounding landmarks of guitar-reinvention, A.R. Kane at their most elixir-like.

If anything, the remastered ‘Up Home’ that forms the first part of ‘A.R. Kive’ is even more dazzling, even more startling than it was when it first emerged, and listening now you again wonder not just about how many bands christened ‘shoegaze’ tried to emulate it, but how all of them fell so far short of its lambent, pellucid wonder. This remains intrinsically experimental music but with none of the frowning orthodoxy those words imply. A.R. Kane, thanks to that second generation auto-didacticism were always supremely aware about the interstices of music and magic, but at the same time gloriously free in the way they explored that connection within their own sound, fascinated always with the creation of ‘perfect mistakes’ and the possibilities inherent in informed play.

‘sixty nine’ the group’s debut LP that emerged in 1988 had
critics and listeners struggling to fit language around A.R. Kane’s sound. As a title it was telling - the year of ‘Bitches Brew’, the year of ‘In A Silent Way’, the erotic möbius between two lovers - and as originally coined by the band themselves, ‘dream pop’ (before it became a free-floating signifier of vague import) was entirely apposite for the music A.R. Kane were making. Crafted in a dark small basement studio in which Tambala recalls the duo had “complete freedom - We wanted to go as far out as we could, and in doing so we discovered the point where it stops being music”. There was an irresistibly dreamy, somnambulant, sensual and almost surreal flow to ‘sixty nine’s sound, but also real darkness/dankness, the ruptures of the primordial and the reverberations of the subconscious, within the grooves of remarkable songs like ‘Dizzy’ and ‘Crazy Blue’. Alex’s plangent vocals floated and surged amidst exquisite peals of refracted feedback but crucially there was BASS here, lugubrious and funky and full of dread, sonic pleasure and sonic disturbance crushed together to make music with a center so deep it felt subcutaneous, music constructed from both the accidental and the deliberate, generous enough to dance with both serendipity and chaos. ‘sixty nine’ remains - especially in this remastered iteration - ravishing, revolutionary.

The final part of this ‘A.R. Kive’ contains 1989’s astonishing double-LP ‘i’ which followed up on ‘sixty nine’s promise and saw the duo fully unleash their experimental pop sensibilities over 26 tracks, plunging the A.R. Kane sound into a dazzlingly kaleidoscopic vision of pop experiment and play. Suffused with new digital technologies and combining searingly sweet and danceable pop with perhaps the duo’s strangest and boundary-pushing compositions, the album did exactly what a great double-set should do - indulge the artists sprawling pursuit of their own imaginations but always with a concision and an ear for those moments where pop both transcends and toys with the listeners expectations. Jason Ankeny has noted that “In retrospect, ‘i’ now seems like a crystal ball prophesying virtually every major musical development of the 1990s; from the shimmering techno of ‘A Love from Outer Space’ to the liquid dub of ‘What’s All This Then?’, from the alien drone-pop of ‘Conundrum’ to the sinister shoegazer miasma of ‘Supervixens’ — it’s all here, an underground road map for countless bands to follow.” Perhaps the most overwhelmingly all-encompassing transmission from A.R. Kane, ‘i’ bookended a three year period in which the duo had made some of the most prophetic and revelatory music of the entire decade.

After ‘i’ the duo’s output became more sporadic with Tambala and Ayuli moving in different directions both geographically and musically, with only 1994’s ‘New Clear Child’ a crystalline re-fraction of future and past echoes of jazz, folk and soul, before the duo went their separate ways. Since then, A.R. Kane’s music has endured, not thanks to the usual sepia’d false memories that seem to maintain interest in so much of the musical past, but because those who hear A.R. Kane music and are changed irrevocably, have to share that universe which A.R. Kane opened up, with anyone else who will listen. Far more than other lauded documents of the late 80s it still sounds astonishingly fresh, astonishingly livid and vivid and necessary and NOW.

First new recordings from GODFLESH since 2017's critically acclaimed full length 'POST SELF'.

'PURGE' musically, amongst the many layers of dirt, revisits and updates the concepts explored on the 'PURE' album from 1992; 90's hip hop grooves mangled and put through the GODFLESH filter to create something that is still unique and futuristic in style.

Both minimal and maximal, with layer upon layer of filth and heaviness, Godflesh deliver alien grooves that swing whilst also retaining the psychedelic / bad trip edge that Godflesh has always obsessed over. This is, and always has been, feel bad music; the title alone 'PURGE' references directly how songwriter / creator Justin K Broadrick utilises this music as temporary relief from his diagnosed autism and PTSD, a journey he has been on since he began creating music and feeling alone and as an outsider in any 'scene' or 'group' from childhood and throughout his adulthood.

Godflesh gives him the means to express a lifetime of feeling misunderstood and overwhelmed by hyper sensitivity, the band being the vehicle to give him some sense of catharsis and transcendence; a way of communicating overload and constant disenchantment at the human condition, and man's abuse of power and the systems that chain us.

The album references the cycle of horror that man has always and will always put us through; those in positions of power revel in the infliction of pain and horror upon individuals, in the name of their religion, their power, their money, their flags....

8 songs, delivered in a concise fashion for fellow outsiders.

First-ever reissue of the 1988 album. Gatefold LP includes new and restored artwork and a chapbook, featuring forty-eight pages of lyrics, essays, photographs, and Gordon's extraordinary drawings for each song. The Choctaw, Assiniboine, and Texan poet, journalist, visual artist, American Indian Movement activist, and musician Roxy Gordon (First Coyote Boy) (1945-2000) was above all a storyteller, known primarily as a writer of inimitable style and unvarnished candor, whose wide-ranging work encompassed poetry, short fiction, essays, memoirs, journalism, and criticism. Over the course of his career he recorded six albums, wrote six books, and published hundreds of shorter texts in outlets ranging from Rolling Stone and The Village Voice to the Coleman Chronicle and Democrat-Voice, in addition to founding and operating, with his wife Judy Gordon, Wowapi Press and the underground country music journal Picking Up the Tempo. Along the way he cultivated close friendships with fellow Texan songwriters such as Lubbockites Terry Allen, Butch Hancock, and Tommy X. Hancock, as well as Ray Wylie Hubbard, Billy Joe Shaver, and, most famously, Townes Van Zandt, whom he called his brother. Although his work covered a vast array of topics exploring strata personal, local, global, and cosmic alike, Gordon's primary subject as a writer, musician, and visual artist was always American Indian culture, specifically the ways it collided and coexisted with European American culture in the South and West-and within the context of his own life and braided identity. The ten songs on Crazy Horse Never Died, his first officially released and distributed album, were recorded in Dallas in 1988. "Songs" is perhaps an imprecise taxonomy for what Roxy captured on this and his other albums, all of which remain out of print or were released in instantly obscure limited editions of homebrew cassettes and CD-R's. (Paradise of Bachelors plans to reissue remastered, expanded editions of his catalog; Crazy Horse is the first.) He only occasionally attempted to sing, and his musical recordings are primarily corollaries of, and vehicles for, his poems. His sharp West Texan drawl, tinged by formative years of reservation living in Montana and unmistakable once you hear it-high, lonesome, flat, and cold-blooded as a bare rusty blade-instead patiently unfurls in skewed sheets of anecdotal verse and discursive narrative rants. Although Gordon's music at times incorporated powwow style drumming, fiddling, or unaccompanied ballad singing, the majority of it hews to an idiosyncratic spoken word style, accompanied by atmospheric, sometimes synth-damaged country-rock that skirts ambient textures and postpunk deconstructions. His songs are essentially recitations over backing tracks of finger picked guitars, rubbery washtub bass, and buzzing, oscillating keyboards. On the stark yellow and red jacket of Crazy Horse, which he designed himself, Gordon describes these recordings as innately ambivalent in terms of form, content, and identity: These are poems and/or songs about the American West, white and Indian. My life has been Indian and/or white. Maybe there's not a lot of difference-maybe. I guess that's mostly according to which white person or which Indian you're talking about. That's probably what this album's about. Crazy Horse Never Died comprises songs that span the personal and political arcs of his writing practice and the poles of his native and white ancestries.

Murmer is the long-standing project for Estonian field recordist and composer Patrick McGinley, and in Tether, The Helen Scarsdale Agency welcomes Murmer back to our roster, over a decade since he graced us with his last production for the Agency. His field recordings often center upon the amplification and activation of resonance from a particular space, landscape, or object. Such sounds emerge from a condition as begin fleeting, inconsequential, or ephemeral and explode into that which alien, sublime, and profound. Here lies the tremendous prowess of the contact microphone, as wielded by an accomplished musician! The source material cited by McGinley includes cables, fences, wires, and vents.

There is a heft to many of these sounds as heard throughout all of "Taevast" with deep throbbing pulsations from arctic wind generating subharmonic patterns upon thick high-tension wires. Elsewhere the subtle dissonance from a rasping cooling fan blooms into a brooding ambience that is sublimely rich in its metallic timbres and complex reverberations. McGingley has long been an exemplary artist in the field of phonography even as he is less prolific than others. On Tether, he has produced a majestic if occasionally foreboding work on par with the mythic wire recordings of Alan Lamb, Jacob Kirkegaard's haunted resonance from Chernobyl, and much of the Touch catalogue for that matter!

Patrick McGingley on Tether:

In 2006, I made a collection of recordings at a mobile phone mast in Mooste, southeast Estonia. It is a guyed tower, 80 meters tall, affixed to 3 support points with heavy cables. I attached my self-made contact microphones to these cables with poster tack, and spent many hours over several weeks recording the various wind and weather variances (it was summer), and the birds that passed or settled on the tower or cables. This was one of my first visits to estonia, where i now live, and one of the things that marked me about that experience was the access: the tower had no fences or protections around it (I have not been back there recently to answer my own question of whether or not this is still the case); it stands in the middle of a field of tall grass along a dirt road in the countryside, just out of view of the few nearby houses, and during all the hours I spent there I was never disturbed or shooed away.

For more than 16 years, I have been thinking about this location and these recordings, and have made several attempts to work with them. I have used the sounds in installations a handful of times, and uploaded one short edit to the Aporee soundmaps, but have never managed to use them in any composed work. They always seemed too big for any structure I could provide them, whether I left them on their own, or partnered them with other sounds. Finally, in 2019, after putting them down and picking them up again repeatedly over so many years, they seemed to allow me in, although it took me another few years before they were happy with what I could offer. They stand now not quite alone - the majority of the layered sounds in the piece come from various edits of those cable recordings, but I added two other contrasting sounds, related to one another: one is snowflakes landing delicately on a plastic cakebox with microphones inside it, and the other is a frosted field of grass thawing on a lightly warming autumn morning (both these recordings can also be heard on their own on the Aporee maps).

Coming back to those cables brought to mind so many other wind-driven sounds that I had spent time with and recorded, but never returned to, that I began digging through my archives looking for them. I ended up with a pool of sounds from resonant wires, cables, fences, poles, fans, and vents, which became the basis for the 2nd work on this release. One of these sounds is among the first sounds I ever recorded, possibly within a month or so of buying my first microphone and minidisc recorder: the rhythmic fan of a beer cooler in a pub where I worked in North London in 1999. Other sounds in the piece include another phone tower, recorded on the northern coast of France in 2008, a telephone pole recorded in the Beaujolais region in 2010, the drone of ventilator fans at a factory in Tezno, Slovenia in 2012, an electric sheep fence in the Scottish borders in 2013, a hanging wire in a storage space in Rovaniemi, Finland in 2016, and, with no relation to cables or wind at all, calcium deposits being cleaned from the inside of an electric kettle here in Estonia in 2019.

I offer these two new pieces as my first solo publication since 2018, the first release on a physical medium since 2016. No one has ever accused me of working too fast, or being too prolific. I have a need, it seems, to leave a physical space of time around my work, before I can consider it 'finished'. Perhaps it is a simple need to forget how I did something, or that I did something; perhaps I have a need to be able to hear a work as a first-time listener would, before I can consider it ready for such an encounter. In some part of my mind I have to forget it before I can let it go. Well, I've just about forgotten that London beer cooler now, and that walk in the Beaujolais (with my father, who has since passed away), and that sheep fence next to our campsite in the borders, and that kettle that is now leaky. So I guess it's time.

Born somewhere in the Arizona desert, Puscifer is an electro-rock band, multimedia experience, traveling circus, and alien abduction survivors. The group’s catalog consists of three full-length studio albums—“V” is for Vagina 2007, Conditions of My Parole 2011, and Money Shot [2015]—in addition to a series of EPs and remixes. The group will be releasing a special physical version of ssMoney Shot March, 2023.

Beyond the core trio of Maynard James Keenan [vocals], Mat Mitchell [guitar, production], and Carina Round [vocals, songwriting], the group’s ever-evolving ecosystem encompasses Greg Edwards (bass, guitar, keys), Gunnar Olsen (drums), as well as a cast of characters such as Billy D and his wife Hildy Berger, Major Douche, Special Agent Dick Merkin, and many more. Renowned for an immersive live show, the group’s performances blur the lines between concert and theater, traversing the dusty American Southwest with Billy D and Hildy or the sweaty squared circle with Luchadores. They’ve brought this to life everywhere from Coachella to Bonnaroo

MILK GREY VINYL

100% GALCHER was by all accounts a game-changer when it landed in 2013 as an hour of original music from a relatively unknown producer ushered in by the beloved mix series Blowing Up The Workshop. Galcher Lustwerk's signature sound _ a smoky stream-of-consciousness baritone shadow-boxing with beats, informed by funk, rap, rhythm, and blues _ felt like an epiphany, impossibly hypnotic and complete. Resident Advisor writes, "100% GALCHER laid out a louche, lysergic and resolutely black take on deep house." Pitchfork remembers the music's immediate impact: "It's the sort of gem you felt inclined to pass around" _ and by year-end list time, word-of-mouth intensified. It was Resident Advisor and Juno's mix of the year, and earned a top-ten placement in FACT Magazine's albums list, as well as Philip Sherburne's personal rundown for Spin." Since then, select songs from 100% GALCHER have seen small-run pressings, while the album has lived primarily on SoundCloud and YouTube as a low-key cult legend. The gateway into Lustwerk's now well-established catalog, known for its reliability as a late-night listen and its prophetic vision for the near future of underground dance music. RA would later name it a mix of the decade, citing its influence and imagination: "Original in every sense _ unknown, unheard and unbelievably good." In late 2022, marking ten years since he first recorded the material, Lustwerk returns to Ghostly International to release 100% GALCHER as a remastered limited-edition double LP. Lustwerk is a product of the Midwest. Growing up in Cleveland, he'd tape over his parents' cassettes and spend hours at his family computer recording loops and designing artwork for the jewel cases of burned CDs. In high school, he turned to Ableton Live and absorbed every electronic music magazine he could find at the local Borders Books store. As a college student at RISD, he played in noise bands, plugged into Providence's DIY scene via Myspace, and started DJing weeknights at bars downtown. There he connected with Young Male and DJ Richard, who would go on to found White Material Records and offer their third release to Galcher Lustwerk, an alias realized via CAPTCHA test, a perfect artifact of its internet age. By 2012, Lustwerk had drifted to New York City and settled into a graphic design job, quickly growing disenfranchised by office culture. "Some days I felt like a token, other days I felt invisible." At night, he and his friends were carving out their own space, throwing parties in small basements, office buildings, and off-beat karaoke bars in Manhattan, influenced by series such as Mr. Sunday in Gowanus and The Bunker at Public Assembly. The lifestyle started to bleed into Lustwerk's musical vision. He remembers the night it clicked in Providence, partying and listening to tunes with Morgan Louis and Alvin Aronson. He went back to New York and pieced together his bedroom setup: a Dave Smith Tempest drum machine, a Waldorf Blofeld synthesizer, and a TEAC cassette recorder. Early snippets went straight to SoundCloud, where Lustwerk tested the crowd. Comments and messages offered instant feedback. One DM proved to be the greenlight: from Matthew Kent, an invitation to his burgeoning mix series Blowing Up The Workshop. 100% GALCHER traveled fast and far. A phenomenon he could only enjoy for a short period before discovering that nearly all the masters of the tracks got wiped by water damage to his computer. "The only copies were now on the 192kbs mp3 mix I sent Matt." Until now, after Lustwerk revived the lost tracks and handed them to Josh Bonati for remastering. "The original mix was never mastered so I hope older fans can find something new here." Hearing the enhanced set for the first time delineated by tracklist reveals this was a proper album all along. Sly synth interludes (all titled "Stem") clear the air for raspy house anthems like "Fifty" and "Parlay," the set's original breakout. Themes present across Lustwerk's catalog first materialize in this iconic run _ the link between the meditative state of Midwest driving and the solitary comedowns of nightlife. Lust- werk, the narrator, is an elusive character, a secret agent of the club, embodied by the hooks: "One minute I'm on / next minute I'm gone," he reminds us on cult-favor- ite "Put On." These narcotic, one-line refrains stick with you; look no further than the original YouTube upload of "Kaint" to know that fans can't let these phrases go. While recorded alone, 100% GALCHER was a collective moment. A decade later, Lustwerk sees the legacy as shared: "Making music can be an alienating experience, especially for DJs who travel a lot, it's all super isolating. It's easy to express lone- liness in the music itself, but when it comes down to getting things done, putting music out, you def should go on that journey w other people, friends, or maybe just a group of people online, build things with your friends then they can build to help you."

What Are People For? make the perfect kind of dystopic dance music for our times. Born from a collaboration between artist Anna McCarthy and musician/producer Manuela Rzytki, the band could be the illicit lovechild of Tom Tom Club and Throbbing Gristle, displaying the ideal balance of hip shaking vibes and dark provocative content.

On their collaborative debut, McCarthy and Rzytki share songwriting duties. The album was produced by Rzytki herself. They are joined by Paulina Nolte on backing vocals and Tom Wu on drums, while Keith Tenniswood mastered the record.

The whole project stems from a publication and exhibition by McCarthy laying the foundations for the content and lyrics of the album, which is humorous, poetic and political. As a lyricist, McCarthy uses her storytelling ability to explore anxieties and desires, digging into free surreal word associations reminiscent of Su Tissues’ tongue in cheek experiments with Suburban Lawns, but also explosive and gripping like a Kae Tempest rap.
Rzytki’s precise sonic palette and talent at penning structured bangers perfectly complement McCarthy’s playful and subversive language manipulations. Rzytki's beats are rooted in old school Hiphop loop principles and an authentic love for the analog. Her use of an array of synthesizers and other "real" instruments adds to WAPF's depth, soul and sincerity.

The album opens with a joyful anthem, full of energy and melodic hooks. The audience is confronted with the quintessential titular question What Are People For? and told that they are just a mere disposable commodity. Throughout the album, lyrical themes revolve around underground aspects of society, violence, political ideologies, sexuality and mysticism. The content is deep but the album is as danceable as it is biting.

73, with its drum machine hysteria and hypnotic synth basses is a a text collage written on the 73 bus through London, consisting of situations and conversation snippets encountered along the way. Drones indulges in the narrator’s paranoia as they feel they are being watched by cigarette machines, whilst the haunting choir is half spoken, half sung, ending on the orgasmic chanting of the word “mummy”. Nursery Rhyme brings more soothing incantations. There is definitely an affinity for fairytales, albeit adult ones and especially the anarchistic ones such as The Moomins, who were a consistent influence on the band. The artwork for the record, created by McCarthy, is a beautiful children's book-style painting of the group in a forest, seemingly about to engage in a magical encounter to which we are invited.

WAPF? have absorbed and digested a variety of influences. Trip hop, Punk and Techno are rubbing shoulders on Party Time. 1977 was coined “Summer of Hate” in the UK and unsurprisingly in WAPF?’s Summer of War, ethereal singing alternates with a powerful marching Garage/Grime chorus reminiscent of street protests and UK culture.

Mz. Lazy starts like an invitation to meditation and references Gertrude Stein’s book Ida in which she develops the idea that publicity is a new religion and people are now famous for being famous. Repressed anger explodes into violence and freedom at the end of the song as our heroine eventually grabs an axe to destroy her oppressors.
Fantasize, on its part, is raw, sexual and liberating while the closing track Bring Back the Dirt is a welcome hymn into a world that is becoming more and more sanitised.

While exploring deep subject matters throughout their album, WAPF? manage to remain satirical, exciting and funny. Each and everyone of their songs have a cathartic quality.

The visual identity of the band is intrinsic to their appeal. Live, they are eccentric, wild and unapologetic, wearing see-through costumes, bright miniskirts and intricate headpieces while delivering their songs with sharp intensity. Their performances radiate queer sexiness and transcend B52's thrift store aesthetics, creating a space for collective dreaming.

WAPF? is a rare combination of contemporary punk energy, irresistible groove, absurdist dry humour and astounding depth of field. They have the mighty power to create a party with their music and soon you will find yourself lifting your arms as if controlled by an external force, to chant: WAPF? WAPF? WAPF?

– Marie Merlet (Malphino, Little Trouble Girls, London)

'Marasma Vussa is the Brainchild of Antonio Feola a long standing figure on the London music scene, Antonio has been running the Fish Factory Studio in Willesden, North London for over two decades now. Throughout the years, he has had a major role in helping many of the current lead players of the London scene have a place to record and define their sound.

Antonio's project Masmara has existed for over 30 years and here has found its place on record. Recorded on tape over time with some of the most sought after players in London and edited during the lockdown period, Vussa is an album of mind-bending deep, cosmic mediative jazz experiments. Boasting catchy melodies and heavy, heavy jazz breaks!'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like meeting an old friend again, Dalmata Daniel welcomes DJ Overdose back to their catalog. Six years ago the infamous Dutchman's '05 Poly 800 Loop' EP was released, which served as a powerful launch to Dalmata Daniel, opening the first chapter in their story. Later in 2019, a split release with Sematic4 was also a highlight in the life of the label; and now, 3 years later, DJ Overdose checks in with the 'Powers of Ten EP' with a J. Mono remix, available both in digital and vinyl format, the latter having 2 bonus tracks.

The distinct, crunchy sound of DJ Overdose, bearing aspects of old school hip-hop-infused sampling and contemporary analog vibes creates the perfect blend of both worlds. 'Garden of Lust' opens up the adventure with a combo of warm basslines and solid drum-programming. This initial track feeds us these cardinal elements as the bread and butter they are: subtle variations and fine spices do appear here and there as the track goes along, but the key, beating pulse in 'Garden of Lust' brings massive hits stable as a sledgehammer in the hands of a blacksmith.

'Feed The Beats' elevates the game to cinematic territories: its majestic string-like central melody makes me alert and ablaze, making me feel like I'm in a late 80s L.A. setting facing malevolent zombie-aliens in my Wayfarer shades. Blasting beats and Carpenterian coolness all over the place, while the spooky bassline just keeps sneaking up on me endlessly.

If you are wondering when's the best time of the year to bring out your boombox at last, then this is your lucky day: with 'BOB', the first bonus track on the vinyl, we can experience some roarin' bassdrums, snappy snares, MCs with the speed of light and all that jazz. The low-bit sampling and vinyl scratching come and kick you right in the face so hard that it becomes pretty obvious you'll can't help but start some serious beatbox battles in your bathtub with your rubber duck.

A feverish groove in the prime time of a funky bash, in the haze of a sensual rave-up: that's all one really wants when going for a Saturday night out. We definitely get this and much more from 'Room 714', another vinyl-only bonus track. A berserk voice and ethereal chords guide us through this mysterious track, but while we are busy trying to impress our crushes on the dance floor, things around us are slowly getting very, very freaky, maybe a bit way too freaky.

As wobbly and jolly as it gets, our Dutch friend ends his session with 'Ðr ¡v€ M€ ¢r@z¥', a vocoder-heavy disco banger, full of merry vocal FX and smart rhythmic glitches as he completes his flight. To close the EP, our local hero, J. Mono delivers an insane remix of 'Ðr ¡v€ M€ ¢r@z¥': one can clearly imagine how he grabs and turns the BPM knob all the way up, fires up some arpeggios on his mighty synths and casts a complete reimagination of the original track.

Drunk Uncle hail from Austin, TX, but their namesakes are probably drawn from someone you know. Think about your last family gettogether- Uncle Bill is halfway through a six-pack when the alien conspiracy theories start pouring out of his mouth. He starts chaotic and loud, then gets quiet and sad as he keeps drinking. His mood will swing wildly in-between emotions. His speech is raw and his vulnerability is beautiful. Bottle that energy up into music form and you have Drunk Uncle. Drunk Uncle's debut album "Look Up" draws on catharsis. Picture yourself in a grimy basement surrounded by your best friends, watching a band as music washes over you and you feel like everything is in the right place. You smile as frantic guitars fill the room and gruff vocals push out every emotion you could possibly feel. Drums and bass slow down and speed back up as the music moves from anger to regret to hope. You feel it all- every note, every hit, every strain. It feels good to feel. You open your eyes and you are in your room alone. You flip the record back over and you are back in the basement. All is right.

Heiko Voss has earned near mythical status as a torchbearer for the emotional, deeply felt and quietly radical style of electronic music. The blissed-out radiance of his Kompakt Pop single, “I Think About You” remains one of the label catalog highlights and a stellar run of collaborative singles as Schaeben & Voss; others might know him for his stewardship of the excellent, much-underrated Firm imprint. But with his new album, 3:30 Minutes To Live, released by Michael Mayer’s label Imara, Voss returns after a long silence with a beautiful collection of songs that hymn heartbreak with a lusciously melodic touch.

There is something definitive and newly confident in 3:30 Minutes To Live that has it feeling like a real statement of intent if compared to his earlier releases. “Although it’s not, 3:30 Minutes To Live feels like my debut album,” Voss reflects. “All releases before were more song sketches or electronic dance tracks.” Bunkering down in Teary Eyes Studio, Voss worked up somewhere between thirty and forty sketches of songs, which he whittled down to the twelve collected here, all of them situated in a unique space, but very much in accord with Voss’s defining aesthetic, which he describes as “indie pop music with a lot of guitar, electronic elements and a great love for melancholic ‘80s synth-lines.”

Voss is sensitive to both variety and consistency – 3:30 Minutes To Live sits together as an assured, vibrant collection of pop songs, but it’s marked by all kinds of surprising incident, like the guitar solo that erupts out of “This Is My Life”, or the acoustic guitar-led melancholy of the closing “This Summer”. It’s all borne of the alchemy of the studio process and the intimate romance of music-making. “If you constantly feel a little bit like you’re in love while writing and producing your music – simply because of the sound of the synth flowing warmly and gently through the room, or because the sequence of notes awakens something in you, or even a randomly arising groove in the loop of a guitar lick makes you shout, ‘Ha!!’ – then it usually becomes a beautiful song,” Voss nods. “Those moments make me happy.”

There’s also a delicious tension between the push of the music, its melodic lushness and gliding, ballerina-like movement, and the darker currents that pull through Voss’s lyrics, inspired by a “short, dramatic and toxic love affair.” This may read like familiar terrain for a pop album, but the way Voss weaves language through both the extra-linguistic joys of music and the inarticulate speech of the heart somehow allows for direct communication that is simultaneously plain-spoken and deeply profound. “Say It” is a simple, devastatingly effective plaint of alienation; “She Wasn’t Lonely” a simple portrait of everyday living set to chiming, clacking guitars, the music in the bridge taking astral flight as the titular character ‘lets herself go.’

A smart and sharp collection of songs that captures you with its gorgeous melodicism just as it blindsides you with its aching heart, 3:30 Minutes To Live is Heiko Voss at his most assured and open-hearted best.

Heiko Voss hat sich als Fackelträger einer emotionalen, von ganzem Herzen kommenden und nicht auf den ersten Blick radikalen Spielart von elektronischer Musik einen nahezu mythischen Status erarbeitet. Das schiere Glück, welches seine Kompakt Pop-Single "I Think About You" aus dem Jahr 2003 immer noch ausstrahlt, macht sie nach wie vor zu einem der Highlights des Label-Katalogs, wo sie neben einer ganzen Reihe hervorragender Singles als Schaeben & Voss steht; andere kennen Heiko vielleicht durch das tolle und vielfach unterschätzte Label Firm, für das er zusammen mit Thomas Schaeben verantwortlich war. Mit seinem neuen Album “3:30 Minutes To Live”, das am 4. März 2022 auf Michael Mayers Label Imara erscheint, kehrt Voss nun nach einer langen Pause mit einer wunderschönen Sammlung von Songs zurück, die den Herzschmerz – getragen auf den Schwingen unwiderstehlicher Melodien – ausgiebig besingen.

“3:30 Minutes To Live” kommt mit einer gehörigen Portion Überzeugung und Selbstbewusstsein daher, was im Vergleich zu seinen früheren Veröffentlichungen wie ein bewusstes Statement wirkt. "Obwohl es das nicht ist, fühlt sich ‘3:30 Minutes To Live’ wie mein Debütalbum an", meint Voss. "Alle meine vorherigen Veröffentlichungen waren eher Song-Skizzen oder elektronische Dance-Tracks."

Im Teary Eyes Studio arbeitete Voss zwischen dreißig und vierzig Songskizzen aus, die er auf die zwölf hier versammelten Songs reduzierte, die alle ihren eigenen Raum einnehmen, dabei aber sehr gut mit Voss' übergeordneter Ästhetik harmonieren, die er als "Indie-Pop-Musik mit viel Gitarre, elektronischen Elementen und einer großen Liebe für melancholische 80er-Jahre-Synthies" beschreibt.

Voss ist sowohl für Abwechslung als auch für Konsistenz empfänglich - “3:30 Minutes To Live“ ist eine selbstsichere, lebendige Sammlung von Popsongs, die aber auch von allerlei Überraschungen geprägt ist, wie dem Gitarrensolo, das aus “This Is My Life” herausbricht, oder die von einer Akustikgitarre getragene Melancholie des abschließenden “This Summer”.

Das alles ist entstanden aus der besonderen Alchemie des Studioprozesses und der intimen Romantik des Musikmachens. "Wenn du beim Schreiben und Produzieren deiner Musik ständig das Gefühl hast, ein bisschen verliebt zu sein – einfach weil der Klang des Synthesizers warm und sanft durch den Raum fließt, oder weil die Notenfolge etwas in dir weckt, oder sogar ein zufällig auftauchender Groove im Loop eines Gitarren-Licks dich ein 'Ha!' ausrufen lässt – dann wird daraus meist ein schöner Song", nickt Voss. "Diese Momente machen mich glücklich."

Es entsteht eine besondere Spannung zwischen dem positiven Elan der Musik, ihrer melodischen Verschwendungssucht, den gleitenden, Ballerina-artigen Bewegungen und den dunkleren Strömungen, die durch Voss' Texte ziehen, die von einer "kurzen, dramatischen und giftigen Liebesaffäre" inspiriert sind. Das mag sich wie ein vertrautes Terrain für ein Pop-Album anhören, aber die Art und Weise, wie Voss die Sprache sowohl durch die nonverbalen Elemente der Musik als auch durch den nicht artikulierten Ausdruck des Herzens verwebt, ermöglicht eine Art direkte Kommunikation, die gleichzeitig ausgesprochen klar und trotzdem tiefgründig ist. “Say It" ist eine erschütternd einprägsame Anklage von Entfremdung; "She Wasn't Lonely" ist ein einfaches Porträt des alltäglichen Lebens, untermalt von klappernden Gitarren, in dem die Musik einen astralen Flug unternimmt, während die Titelfigur sich "gehen lässt".

“3:30 Minutes To Live“ ist eine kluge und scharfsinnige Sammlung von Songs, die den Zuhörenden mit ihren wunderschönen Melodien fesseln, aber auch mit einer Menge schmerzenden Gefühlen konfrontiert. Ein Album, auf dem Heiko Voss ganz bei sich ist und Euch dabei mehr als nur sein Herz öffnet.

First Word Records is very proud to present you with 'Peace + Harmony'. The first EP from our most recent signing, K S R .

Hailing from Moss Side, Manchester, this young talent has been steadily building a rep for himself over the past few years as one of the UK's most exciting soul vocalists, with his releases encompassing an eclectic assortment of alternative R&B, future soul, hip hop and D&B. Influenced by an array of neo-soul artists, such as D'Angelo and Anderson .Paak, his own soulful style has already seen him tour and collaborate with a number of UK peers; working on projects with label-mates Children of Zeus & Australia's REMi, and supporting the likes of Etta Bond & The Mouse Outfit, as well as performing sell-out headline solo shows in Manchester and London, and playing various festivals across Europe, including the We Out Here festival very recently.

Since he began developing his music in 2017, K S R has had support from the likes of 1Xtra, BBC Radio 1, BBC Introducing, Mixmag, NTS, Reprezent, Unity & Soho Radio, in addition to featuring on a slew of D&B tracks with artists like Lenzman, BCee, Emba & Redeyes. The collab with Emba was recently named a 'Kiss FM Future Selection' courtesy of Hybrid Minds and features have been supported on Spotify's 'New Music Friday' and 'Mandem - Kings' amongst others. His debut release 'Unfiltered' appeared on Polarface Records in 2019, which was followed by single 'Flex With Me' (also produced by Tyler Daley from Children of Zeus) then an independent second EP, 'Take Control', followed in late 2020 (during the pandemic) which amassed over 500k streams. Additionally to the releases, he was recently recruited by Manchester United as part of their 21/22 season kit announcements, as well as working with Nike and Size? on a special MCR-themed Air Force 1 release.

It's now time for a new extended project from Roosevelt Kazaula Sigsbert - better known as K S R . 'Peace + Harmony' is a solid set of alternative R&B, produced by Dom Porter and mixed by Eric Lau. Six tracks in all, including the single, 'Harmless' (which received support from the likes of Mr. Scruff (Worldwide FM), BBC Manchester and Victoria Jane (BBC Radio 1), was 'Track Of The Week' on 1Xtra/BBC Introducing, and saw the video racking up several thousand plays in its first weekend) and follow-up 'CGWY' featuring Children of Zeus on a brand new interpretation of their classic track 'Get What's Yours'. From the intro track 'I Wonder', to the downlow future soul of 'Lily Apart', to the autobiographical vibes of 'Born In '98', to the closing track 'Given Summer', also featuring the vocals of Ayeisha Raquel, each track on the EP is of course laced with Roosevelt's unmistakable silky smooth vocals, and is set to join his already impressive catalogue of underground soul classics such as 'Alien Boo', 'Stylin' and 'New Love'.

K S R says "my third EP, P E A C E + H A R M O N Y is a collection of my thoughts and experiences from my journey throughout the last two years of my life. Lots of aspects of my life changed over 24 months, along with everyone around the globe. When we were thrown into the unknown at the start of 2020, I stepped away from music for a while as I couldn't find any peace in my creativity and needed to evolve. I finally started to feel cohesive with my songwriting and music, and I could feel harmony between myself and my art once again."

'Peace + Harmony' by K S R is released on vinyl & digital on First Word Records, late 2021.

Death Drives A Cadillac was Spike In Vain’s second
album, never officially released and unheard in its final
form until now. Like many hardcore bands circa ’84 and
’85, the group was ready to further expand its palette and
ease off the thrash tempos. Recorded roughly a year after
Disease Is Relative with a bigger budget, the album is even
more wide-ranging, and the songs are more fleshed out.
“Despair grew inside her, I grew inside her. She named
me Spirit Death, and this is my song” sings Chris Marec,
the vocalist on half of this LP. Though less “young” than
their debut, that album’s darkness lingers, but here has a
more removed, observational quality, with many songs
sung in character or in the third person, along with a
tendency for anthropomorphic allegory. It has a bit less to
do with screaming for death to come than with a growing
resignation to being the other, a recognition of inescapable
alienation and its relation to childhood trauma. —all with
a heaping side of absurdity and a sense of wonder at the
gradually unfolding endtimes.
That said, many of the tracks wouldn’t be out of place
on the debut, and some feature exotic tunings. Bits of roots
music come into play as well—gospel, blues, and country
figure to some extent in a third of the songs, sometimes
in convoluted, Beefheart-esque ways, and at other times
toying with genre archetypes as a cat does a mouse.

Over the past decade, Egyptian-born, Barcelona-based DJ and techno producer Raxon, known to friends and family as Ahmed Raxon, has popped out a steady stream of twelve-inch singles, precision-tooled, for labels like Cocoon, Drumcode, Diynamic, Truesoul, and Ellum Audio. An alumni of Kompakt’s Speicher series – check the insistent, vibrating pulses of “The Ancient” and “Dark Light” on 2019’s Speicher 107 – with Sound Of Mind, Raxon has produced a long-awaited debut album that’s ready and aching both for the dancefloor and the boudoir, traversing the heat of the club and the warmth of the home.

“The idea of an album has always floated around in my head for the past few years,” Raxon confirms, “but it was never the right moment in my mind.” Instead, he’s been insistently pursuing his vision of deep, elegant techno, taking him from early DJ gigs in Dubai, including the legendary audio tonic night, then relocating to Europe on the recommendation of Herman Cattaneo, all the while allowing his experiences to inform and transmute his producer’s thumbprint. He’s an architect by training (though he gave architecture up for electronic music), which might explain why Raxon productions are so sturdy and well-designed; but remember also that architecture is a field filled with brave experimentation, something Raxon definitely draws on throughout Sound Of Mind.

Like many albums from the past twelve months, Raxon’s debut developed partly thanks to the unique social situation the planet has found itself caught within. “In the beginning of 2020 I started working on a few tracks with the album in mind,” he recalls, “with no idea of what’s to come in the next few months. As catastrophic as the situation was/is, I found myself in the studio; in a way the lockdown gave me that creative freedom in the studio, to try to tell my story through sound.” And indeed, there is something in the way of ‘life writing’ about Sound Of Mind, particularly in the way Raxon’s productions pay subtle homage, perhaps, to his formative listening experiences in the late nineties.

It’s no retro trip, but there’s plenty of variety here, and a few moments that’ll tickle the collective memory – see the prowling pulsations of the opening “Majestic”, the alien breakbeat action of “Vice” and “Journey Mode”, where the interstellar tones feel like Foul Play or Steve Gurley, the leaking gas and woozy keys that make “Droid Solo” so subtly destabilising, or the strobelight drones that sputter and flare throughout “El Multiverse”, where dappled organ tones fight it out with interdimensional transmissions, all sucked into the vortex of a late-night techno mantra. Beautifully sculpted, Sound Of Mind feels consummate, an elegant set that pulls Raxon’s vision into its sharpest focus. Alive with possibilities, it’s a fever dream of creativity.

In den letzten zehn Jahren hat der in Ägypten geborene und in Barcelona lebende DJ und Techno-Produzent Raxon, der Freunden und Familie auch als Ahmed Raxon bekannt ist, eine ganze Reihe von 12inch-Singles auf Labels wie Cocoon, Drumcode, Diynamic, Truesoul und Ellum Audio veröffentlicht. Wir kennen Raxon außerdem durch seinen Beitrag zur Kompakt Extra/Speicher-Reihe – man höre sich nur mal "The Ancient" und "Dark Light" auf dem 2019 erschienenen Speicher 107 an. Nun hat Raxon mit “Sound Of Mind“ sein lang erwartetes Debütalbum produziert, das sowohl für den Dancefloor als auch für die eigenen vier Wände geeignet ist und dabei sowohl die Hitze des Clubs als auch die Wärme des eigenen Zuhauses durchmisst.

"Die Idee eines Albums schwebte in den letzten Jahren immer in meinem Kopf herum", bestätigt Raxon, "aber es gab nie den richtige Moment." Stattdessen verfolgte er leidenschaftlich seine Vision von tiefem, elegantem Techno, die ihn von frühen DJ-Gigs in Dubai, einschließlich der legendären Audio-Tonic-Nacht, dann auf Empfehlung von Hernan Cattaneo nach Europa führte. Im Laufe dieser Zeit sammelte er unzählige Erfahrungen, die es ihm erlaubten, seinen Stil als Produzent mehr und mehr zu transformieren. Raxon ist gelernter Architekt (obwohl er die Architektur für die elektronische Musik aufgegeben hat), was vielleicht erklärt, warum seine Produktionen so robust und gut durchdacht sind; aber man sollte auch nicht vergessen, dass Architektur bestenfalls immer ein Feld mutiger Experimente ist, etwas, worauf Raxon in “Sound Of Mind“ definitiv zurückgreift.

Wie viele andere Alben der letzten zwölf Monate auch wurde Raxon’s Debüt von der einzigartigen gesellschaftlichen Situation, in der sich der Planet momentan befindet, beeinflusst. "Anfang 2020 habe ich angefangen, an ein paar Tracks für das Album zu arbeiten", erinnert er sich, "ohne zu wissen, was in den nächsten Monaten auf uns zukommen würde. So katastrophal die Situation auch war/ist, ich fand mich im Studio wieder; in gewisser Weise gab mir der Lockdown auch eine kreative Freiheit im Studio, um zu versuchen, eine Geschichte durch meinen Sound zu erzählen." Und in der Tat gibt es auf “Sound Of Mind“ so etwas wie eine "Lebensgeschichte", besonders in der Art und Weise, wie Raxon’s Produktionen eine subtile Hommage an seine prägenden musikalischen Erfahrungen in den späten Neunzigern darstellen.

Es ist fürwahr kein Retro-Trip, aber es gibt hier viel Abwechslung und ein paar Momente, die das kollektive Gedächtnis kitzeln werden - zum Beispiel der sich langsam heran pirschende Pulsschlag im Eröffnungstrack "Majestic", oder die außerirdischen Breakbeats von "Vice" und "Journey Mode", in denen sich die interstellaren Sounds ein wenig wie Foul Play oder Steve Gurley anfühlen. Dann das ausströmende Gas und die wummernden Tasten, die "Droid Solo" subtil destabilisieren, oder die Strobo-Drones, die in "El Multiverse" herum sprudeln und flackern, wo einzelne Töne einer Orgel mit interdimensionalen Transmittern um die Wette strahlen und schließlich in den Strudel eines nächtlichen Techno-Mantras gesogen werden. “Sound Of Mind“ fühlt sich formvollendet an, wie ein elegantes Set, das Raxon’s Vision verstärkt in den Fokus rückt. Ein Fiebertraum voller Kreativität und Möglichkeiten.

South London’s Oscar Jerome announced his highly-anticipated debut album ‘Breathe Deep’, due for release on July 10th 2020 via Caroline International.

A staple of the capital’s burgeoning jazz scene – previously collaborating with everyone from Shabaka Hutchings to Moses Boyd and Yussef Dayes – the ‘Breathe Deep’ LP sees Oscar bring in an army of collaborators that he says have been an integral part of his journey so far. Other guests include friends in Ezra Collective, Sons of Kemet and Maisha, as well as the critically acclaimed singer-songwriter Lianne La Havas. The record arrives off the back of a fast-growing catalogue that’s seen the Norwich-born guitarist and vocalist pick up frequent support and playlisting from the likes of 6 Music, Radio 1 and 1Xtra and embark on packed-out tours around the US, UK, Europe and Australia (including a tour with American jazz maestro Kamasi Washington and his biggest headliner to date at London’s Heaven).

Talking about his debut album, Oscar says: “‘Breathe Deep’ is a pretty broad presentation of who I am musically and my journey to get to this point. On a personal level, it’s a reflection of the effort put in during that path of self-bettering, both emotionally and in life more broadly. It’s about preparing oneself for failure and growing from that. Taking a moment to step back and see where things are going and where one has been. It also addresses the resilience of people, which is reflected in the more political moments on the album. The world is a messed up place but people still find ways of preparing themselves for it.”

“You’re trouble” is an avant-garde electronic pop album about questioning and locating a sense of self in a disorienting, breaking environment of dissolving certainity which grows increasingly chaotic, about dysmorphic dissatisfaction, becoming disillusioned and alienated. It seeks to juxtapose beauty, serenity and vigour with instability, ugliness, chaos and crisis, expressing itself fluidly without genre or otherwise boundaries. A kind of sinister, anxious but still forward-pushing and at times positive and hot-blooded empowering energy can be felt that wants to urge the listener not to give up but to try and take courage and take control of the troubles and fears in their life. The tone is sometimes reflective, sometimes confronting. The album navigates fairly abstract musical territory, cathartic abrasiveness, heavy and unrelenting sounds of post-club music and noise fused with stretches of pop music, never settling down or resting for long, constantly breaking up and re-assembling itself. Between chaos and form, it’s finding relief in imperfection and the in-between. As such the music is ambivalent and is equal parts some kind of crisis club music as well as introspective reflection.
Downloads

Bristol-based trip hop trio Jabu this week announced details of their second album. ‘Sweet Company’ will be released on November 20th via the group’s own do you have peace? imprint.

Sweet Company is the second album by Jabu. Where their first LP, Sleep Heavy, was an unflinching exploration of grief, dark and disembodied, Sweet Company’s deep, sedative soul feels like more of a lovers’ outing: optimistic, becalmed, looking outwards as well as inwards, and longing for the kind of human connections where ego and self-consciousness might dissolve. It is perhaps also an exhortation to love and accept yourself, to recover a lost innocence and peace – that paradise which has always been lost. Released via their own do you have peace? label, Sweet Company is on the one hand a very intimate and private-sounding work - the sound of life played out in a room, a bubble, a home, a head. The rhythms of everyday domesticity: listening to the plants, cars in the street, voices through the wall…. going to work, not going to work, sleeping heavy or not sleeping at all. Wavering on the brink of a revelation, of something just beyond the material world, while you wait for the kettle to boil. The core Jabu trio of producer Amos Childs and vocalists Jasmine Butt and Alex Rendall is present and correct. Sweet Company has theexhilarating sweep and confidence of a collaboration between people who trust and understand each other implicitly, and, secure in that knowledge, are able to give the absolute best of themselves to us. As before, Jasmine’s voice is a textural, painterly instrument, layered and blurred into abstraction, resisting the limits of language; the songs she sings on are portals into vast internal landscapes where the normal rules of gravity are suspended, every sound is smothered in a cathedral-like resonance, and you're both fearful and hopeful that you might never find your way back out again. Alex takes a more narrative, confessional and no less engaging pop tack: as on the gauzy, decelerated 2-step of ‘Lately’, with his masochistic, self-mocking entreaties to “be cruel to me … I like it when you make a fool of me”. Childs has a true hip-hop fiend's ear for a striking sample, and how to loop it to most hypnotic and rapturous effect, but here takes things to ever more powerfully uncanny and auteurish places, drawing inspiration from the voidal bliss-outs of shoegaze (AR Kane’s amniotic dream-pop epic 69 is one influence cited) and the space-time disturbances of dub, commanding both a raindrops-on-cobwebs delicacy and an immense, oceanic pressure. His productions seem to resist linear progression - instead they move by a kind of unstoppable diffusion, like weeds reclaiming an unkempt garden, or alien flora patterning the sea-floor and coral-caves of the subaquatic level of a computer game which may exist only in your, or his, imagination. Perhaps it's Daniela Dyson, the British-Afro-Colombian artist who contributes her vivid, energising poetic mysticism to two tracks, who best sums up Sweet Company's ambition and effect: “Me quiero perder en los momentos tan puros en su esencia que Las Horas mismas se detienen para ser testigo de nuestro amor” (I want to lose myself in the moments so pure in their essence / that The Hours themselves stop to bear witness to our love…). For a precious half an hour, we're invited to celebrate the smallness of our lives - and the limitless grandeur which that smallness contains. When it ends, we step back from the brink but things aren’t quite the same anymore: we’re haunted by what we briefly almost knew.

This compilation sees the coming together of independent music makers from across the globe to meet in one place and gather as a single entity. That simmering hub of warmth and affection is known as Motor Jazz - a place for artists to congregate and share their devotion for songs that are infused with rhythms created by anodic wires, buttons and other digital paraphernalia. That's electronic music to you and me, and in this case electronic music with swing, a sense of freedom and improvisation that some might call 'Jazz'.

The album opens with the ominous drone of the Mega Corp., sounding like one of the parties responsible for 2020's almost post-apocalyptic feel. It's perhaps an unlikely opener for a what's a positive and optimistic collection courtesy of young musicians from across the globe, but we all need to be reminded of who's in charge sometimes, and Dutch producer Jon Sewi does just that!

The mood soon lightens though, with the soulful strings and enticing keys of Gladdics by the mysterious Black Soyls, before well established German musical artisan Renegades of Jazz brings the family in for It's Tea Time with ticking clocks, warm tea pots and slices of cake, whilst being serenaded by a very vintage sounding horn section.

Serafin Plum almost steer us into drum & bass territory with their off-the-wall percussive nugget Jagged, whilst keeping a calming hand on the shoulder (as all good parents should) with soothing keys, before it's playtime once again.

There's nothing conventional about the Motor Jazz family though, and after tea time and play time, it's time to rave! In Greek mythology, The Maenads were female followers of Dionysus; their name literally translating as "the raving ones". Often they were portrayed as being inspired by the god into a state of ecstasy through a combination of dancing and intoxication, during which time they would dress in fawn skins and carry a thyrsus - a long stick wrapped in ivy or vine leaves and tipped with a pine cone. With a sound ranging between Jazz, Techno, Rave and Breaks their track, Opera, delivers a psyche and Jazz influenced piece with colliding styles, busy drums and rich melodies.

Heading over to Dublin, Ireland, and multi-talented producer, musician and DJ, Donal Sharpson (aka Double Screen) makes his presence known with grandiose brass preempting a four-to-the-floor wood block frenzy in the shape of Sheikah, complete with enthusiastic whoops and a persuasive bassline. Meanwhile, somewhere below the Irish Sea, aquatic artiste Stubby Dials delivers the bass worrying Put It On Ice the only way he knows how - living in a submarine, he emerges from time to time to leave his master tapes on the beach with a note saying "Release this!" before submerging, never been seen again.

Back in the Netherlands, Bram van der Hoeven, otherwise known as Lucinate, is an electronic Jazz producer par excellence. His effortless balance of organic musical roots like Fusion, Bossa Nova and Soul, into the world of modern beat orientated sounds is something to behold, and with The Cards he offsets life-affirming keys with rolling drums reminiscent of some of the seminal liquid Drum & Bass he grew up with.

As the global Motor Jazz family expands, we head to Canada, where the wonderfully monikered Woodpecking Mantis brings a little acid to the party with his squelchy, stuttering and brilliantly entitled Waving At A Melting Square Tooth Of A Specific Rabbit……. We're guessing they like acid a lot in Canada.

We're going down under to Newcastle, Australia next, where things take a more serene turn. Wrenasmir, known to his parents as Craig Smith, used to be a baroque pipe organist before he discovered samplers and synthesizers. Now he makes imaginary soundtracks at his studio for the twilight beachside city that lives in his head - full of vinyl and pixels and bittersweet memories. The gorgeous Lucempight is exactly that.

Keeping things low key and tranquil, Poets And Rockets, the latest offering from Jay Solomon is a horn driven slice of futuristic dub that makes way for The Motion Orchestra's majestic Midnight Sun, complete with Alexander Bednasch on double-bass, Mark Matthes on violins, Andy Sells on drums and David Hanke on electronics and production. Though influenced heavily by neo-classical and jazz sensibilities they occupy a musical space that sits in neither sphere, with a compositional style that deftly fuses the orchestral and electronic worlds. The full Motion Orchestra album, All One, will be released later this year on Bathurst.

Sixteen year old, self taught producer and multi-instrumentalist Teis Ortved is something of a prodigy. The Copenhagen based wunderkind has so far self-released two EPs, and if What, his offering here, is anything to go by, he's going to be making big waves across the eclectic music spectrum for years to come.

If Teis is the new kid on the block then what better way to round off this compilation that with its patriarchal figure. Funki Porcini has over a quarter of a century of recordings in his back catalogue, and has spent fifteen of those years dedicated to the independent UK behemoth that is Ninja Tune records. The Last Recording From Earth is exclusive to this album and is in many ways the perfect closing song. Perhaps more concept art than traditional piece of music, the idea behind it is that an alien archeologist has found this recording tens of thousands of years after humans have disappeared into the sand…. You never know, it might just happen, and hopefully Them To Us will take on a whole new meaning.

"Minor Planets completes a trilogy of cosmically themed electro-acoustic albums by UK and Berlin based trio Twinkle3, 15 years in the making. This third installment is once again all about the unique synergies the group discover in combining free group improvisation with studio and musique-concrete techniques. The group's combined love of everything from Lee Perry to Noh Theatre via Karlheinz Stockhausen and King Sunny Ade lead them to respond musically to create a single universe where they all coexist and interact. Aleatoric analogue sequencing, chamber-like acoustic improvisation and dub treatments become distilled into a distinct and emotive narrative that takes us on an exhilarating hyperspace cruise to the outer reaches.

Clive Bell is a virtuoso of the Shakuhachi. His aesthetic takes us on a timbral journey between noise and pitch, expressed and phrased rhythmically by the contour of human breath. This creates a perfect context and focus for a music that moves seamlessly between rhythm, suspension, time modulated analogue states, dissonance and melody. Richard Scott and David Ross share a background in acoustic free improvisation and have pioneered new approaches to rhythm using self-designed analogue systems. On Minor Planets these seemingly paradoxical orthodoxies cross-pollinate in a spirit of wonder and optimism to produce original and experimental music that is both life affirming and uplifting.

Album artwork by Benjmain Kilchhofer captures the feeling of peering through the vacuum of space and catching a rare glimpse of the mysterious alien biomes, fossils, and silhouettes cast by dwarf planets, asteroids, Kuiper belt, and other trans-Neptunian objects."

Dr Rubberfunk might not be medically trained, but he does know a thing or two about treating your ears, as he returns with his fourth album 'My Life at 45'. The eagle eyed will have spotted the connection to the good Doctor's second album – 'My Life at 33' - and fans can do their own maths as to when they should expect the final RPM-punning release in the trilogy.

Having established himself in funk, soul, blues and jazz circles with a ton of high calibre releases, the good doctor holds a reputation for quality productions, with a hands-on approach, both in front of, and behind the mixing desk, as an accomplished multi-instrumentalist and producer.

The new album brings together stunning vocals from John Turrell, Izo FitzRoy and Stephanie Whitelock, whilst the instrumental tracks, showcasing the talents of long-time collaborators Jim Oliver, Jonathon James and Ben Castle, make it clear just what a crack production outfit the Doctor has put together. Got a lovely quote from Fatboy Slim: "Very soulful. Doesn't sound too retro. Just fabulous...."

UK Radio support has come in from BBC Radio 2 and 6 Music from Craig Charles (Spot play Trunk of Funk feature), Huey Morgan, Rylan and Paddy O'Connell. US Radio on KCRW from Jose Galvan, Karene Daniel and Garth Trinidad.

WW Specialist plays have come in on WWFM, JazzFM, Radio Krimi, Solar Radio, Radio 1 Prague, WMPG, Milk n Chocolate, Rai 1 Italy, KaneFM, Cannibal Radio, Radio Z Nurenburg and Radio Nova Portugal

Press: Bandcamp: New & Notable, 45Live, Sphere Of Hip Hop, Word Is Bond, The Dutch Guy, Last Day Deaf, Monkeyboxing, Flea Market Funk, Staccatofy, The Find Mag.

DJ support from Fatboy Slim, Laurent Garnier, Dj Yoda, Renegades of Jazz, DJ Andy Smith, Auntie Flo, Doc Scott, Smoove, Chicken Brothers, Crazy P, Satin Jackets, Marc Hype, Mr Benn, Mat The Alien, Basement Freaks, Renegades Of Jazz, The Allergies, Hint,

German electronic originator Gudrun Gut's latest solo collection distills a lifetime of persuasions and obsessions into a compelling 14-track statement: "Moment." Stark, somber, sultry, and clever, the sides slide between ballad and lament, synth-pop and spoken word, anthemic and abstract.

Gut's background as a key figure in Berlin's first-wave industrial uprising still casts an aura in the music's mechanized rhythms and frozen emotional palette but decades of improvisation and collaboration have deepened her sense of composition and melody beyond any easy genre categorization.

If anything "Moment" finds Gut's muse at its most enigmatic, threading shades of motorik hypnosis, technoid laboratory, coldwave pop, glitchy gauze, and even a gender-bent Bowie cover ('Boys Keep Swinging') into its eclectic web. It also showcases the depth and detail of her voice, reserved but suggestive, intoning blunt truths and opaque poetry in both German and English.

This is music of history and heartache, modernity and desire, alienation and expression, by a singular creative committed to the complexities of sound. - Britt Brown

Gudrun Gut's story spans many years, scenes, and sounds, from the 'ingenious dilettantes' subculture of early 1980's Berlin as part of Mania D, Einstürzende Neubauten, and Malaria! to her twilit industrial pop trio Matador into an expansive solo catalog of later work scoring films, videos, and radio plays. Her talents extend beyond musician, however, to include founding record labels (the influential imprints Moabit Musik and Monika Enterprise), club nights (progressive electronic pop collective Oceanclub), and experimental feminist collaborations (Monika Werkstatt).

Gut also works extensively in the technical sector of the recording industry, as a producer. Recent projects have included collaborations with Antye Greie (AGF) and Hans-Joachim Irmler of Faust, participating on the advisory committee for Musicboard Berlin, and performing at The Royal Albert Hall with Âme as part of an Innervisions label night.

The demons of night are out again: Seoul's one-stop shop creative collective Byul.org returns this fall with its third international album, entitled Nobody's Gold, out via Alien Transistor (worldwide) and the group's own Club Bidanbaem imprint (South Korea). Comprising 14 new songs, it's a dizzying, haunting affair that channels the group's manifold influences and references points (from post-punk to Stockhausen and back via club culture) and yet sounds intriguingly coherent.

Moving in and out of the shadows, Nobody's Gold breaks forth as pure sonic landscape - a universe of its own, folding and unfolding into both more experimental patterns, yet also with occasional hooks and dark catchy structures, gracious build-ups flickering among the hazy roar and thunder. After the screak and squeal of 'Lamb with a Wolf Mask,' the foreboding sounds of 'The Museum of The Two of Us' segue into a synthesized party tune about a missing friend being chased by police ('Nari Yuko Yin'), one of several vocal tracks with a sinister edge. Taking things up another notch, 'Friendly Enemies' is probably the closest this group will ever get to creating a stadium-ready anthem. On the other end of the spectrum, 'The Place Where Designers Go To Die' is a magnificent void with an immense and irresistible undertow...

Never too jolly (not even while 'Day Drinking at a Seaside Town' or during takeoff via epic pop tune 'Bats We Are'), Nobody's Gold compiles soundscapes with a very tangible, corporeal presence - iridescent sonic sculptures placed in unlikely settings (e.g. outer space, see: 'Dirty Dirtiness'), born at the fringes where night blends into day and vice versa.

Inspired by everyday life, half-remembered drug/club experiences, Pascal Quignard's disturbing La haine de la musique, Stockhausen and Bill Evans, the new LP sees the collective remain true to its DIY foundations while repeatedly questioning our listening habits and 'the exaggerated love for the concept of love,' as they put it.

Founded around the dawn of the millennium as a group of poetry-loving friends who'd occasionally meet for drinks, Byul.org has long become an extremely prolific and versatile collective within Seoul's scene: Main song-writer TaeSang Cho and his mates Yu Hur, Jowall, YunYi Yi, SuhnJoo YI, HyunJung Suh, and SoYoon Hwang went from publishing to recording, from releasing tunes to design, art direction and more. Although their list of clients includes Atelier Herme`s and the Venice Biennale (they did the Korean Pavilion twice), the group still remains a drinking circle of close friends at its core: Pals who simply like to create and carouse and dream and live and perform and play tunes together.

New 4-track Ep From Austin, Texas Analogue Hardware Enthusiast Bill Converse. Immersed In The Early Days Of The 90s Midwest Rave Scene, Bill Began Djing At A Young Age In Lansing, Michigan. Luminaries Such As Claude Young, Traxx, And Derrick May Were Key Early Influences. Techno, Noise, Ambient And Tape Processing Are All Part Of His Uncanny Sound Palette. His Debut Album 'meditations/industry' Was Released On Cassette In 2013 And Edited For A Vinyl Release On Dark Entries In 2016 Followed By Two 12' Singles 'warehouse Invocation' And '7 Of 9' The Same Year. In 2017 Converse Released His Second Album 'the Shape Of Things To Come' Followed By The Double Ep 'salt Of Mars'.

'hulled' Is A 25 Minute Journey Spread Across 4 Tracks Of Glacial Abandon. All Tracks Were Recorded Directly To Tape With No Overdubs, Made At Converse's Home Studio. Bill Says These Tracks Represent 'ocean Waves In Stormy Conditions, Dark Grey Blue Water, Or More Generally Speaking Something Ominous And Beautiful.' The Songs On This Album Reveal A Sublime Influence From Detroit Techno, Idm, And Acid. Built Around Vintage Synthesizer Lines And Gritty Drum Machine Percussion, The Tracks Ebb And Flow Like The Effect Of Sun Shimmering On Water, Woozy, Gauzy And Ephemeral. All Songs Were Mastered For Vinyl By George Horn At Fantasy Studios In Berkeley.

Each Ep Is Housed In A Die-cute Jacket Designed By Eloise Leigh With Peachy Pink Patterns Landing On An Alien Water Planet And Seeing Mysterious Playing Forms Under The Turquoise Water. Each Copy Includes A Postcard Featuring Photo Of Bill With Notes.

Cat.no.: De 222
Format: Ep

Tracklisting

In search of the sublime, contemporary electronic musician Steve Hauschildt has designed grids and panoramas of sound across multiple releases through the rise and dissolution of his former band, Emeralds, an American touchstone of 2000s home-recorded psychedelic noise music. Consistent with his solo work is Hauschildt's ability to coil his craft in precise, varied, and distinctly physical forms. Gently spinning arpeggios converse with post-industrial decay. Sonic bers sway like pendulums from static melancholy to motorik bliss. Dissolvi, the artist's rst full-length with Ghostly International, engages sublimation from an ontological perspective: by dissociating the self. Hauschildt steps out from the singular path, for the rst time in a traditional studio, to compose and arrange contributions from friends. As a result, his most collaborative work to date extends a vast, vibrating framework in which to consider the state of being.

The album's title — a reference to cupio dissolvi, the Latin phrase meaning "I wish to be dissolved" — needn't be taken one-dimensionally or as purely solipsistic. It does, however, serve an apt reference. Physiological phenomena are of interest to Hauschildt. These back-of-mind ruminations nd their way out. Songs are cerebral in orientation, but beyond explanation, the music is truly visceral.

Involuntary eye movement inspires the serene, sanguine-nearing-suspicious "Saccade." Hauschildt feathers soft percussion beneath the echoed refrains of Los Angeles musician Julianna Barwick, together shaping a svelte suggestion of the anxieties brought about by modern-day surveillance; if everyone is being watched constantly, there is no individual, no self, only a broadly monitored and clumsily cataloged populous. The work of Chicago poet Carl Sandburg comes to mind: 'I am the people—the mob—the crowd—the mass.' The individual dissolves into the taxonomic crowd.

Minimalist techno impulses provide a stylistic through-line for Dissolvi. Understated synth phrases and drum grooves take hold in selective moments, like synchronistic structures onto which nebulous mists, like the rapturous voice of Gabrielle Herbst aka GABI on "Syncope," cling to and cloud, producing a dazzling rift in consciousness. The 7-minute centerpiece "Alienself" reiterates this creative logic, burbling like an amorphous body of water on a low-gravity planet, on the verge of dissolving, but never fully dematerializing.

The album was constructed in Chicago (where Hauschildt now resides) and partially in New York. "Much of it was recorded in a windowless studio which removed elemental or seasonal references to time in the music," says Hauschildt. "The focus this time was on mixing the album and incorporating a broader set of instrumentation. I describe my compositional approach as being quasi-generative." Embracing new methods and philosophical curiosities, and in turn, expanding the range of his repertoire, Hauschildt proposes a fascinating and profoundly rich experience in listening, being, and deliquescing.

The next instalment in the My Rules catalog sees label owner Justin Van Der Volgen take on Japanese house legend Yukihiro Fukutomi aka Foog's techy club jam 'Flying'.

Originally available as a digital-only release, it's twisted into two exclusive new versions.
On the A-side edit, Justin travels down the less walked path of splicing and shortens the track, which along with his subtle drum additions tastefully amplify and sharpen the feeling of tension and release.
The B-side dub is a heavy bass and drum mix complete with flanged hissing hi-hats, alien claps and cavernous echoes.

My Favorite Robot welcome the collaborative outfit of Rodion & Local Suicide for their next EP, which comes boosted by
remixes from Los Mekanikos, Moscoman and Fairmont, as well as artwork that is made up 3D prints of the act.
Rodion is an Italian classical piano player and acclaimed producer whose albums and EPs for the likes of Gomma, Nein
& Nang have helped to reshape modern disco. Also one half of Alien Alien and boss of the Roccodisco label, he is a real
studio visionary who for ten years has mixed up classical, trance and psychedelic sounds. He makes everything from
chamber music to computer game soundtracks, has remixed Giorgio Moroder and counts the likes of Tim Sweeney, Erol
Alkan and DJ Hell as fans. Berlin-based duo/couple Brax Moody and Vamparela aka Local Suicide have been
collaborating together since 2007, either as a DJ duo, in bands, or as remixers and producers. They have played all over
the world and are in favour with the likes of XLR8R, Thump and Mixmag for their fusions of slow techno, post disco and
acid.
These original analog tracks were recorded between 2014 and 2016 in Rodion s vintage studio in Berlin. They came about
when they all met following one of his gigs just after he moved there, and after being in touch online for a while. During
one of the nights, Rodion brought friend, producer and singer Ali Bey (part of the Belgrade DJ collective Beyond House
and a famous record digger) to contribute.
Impressive opener Abu Dhabi includes samples from field recordings from all over the world. The most prominent is the
recording from an airport in Bangkok where Brax Moody and Vamparela were waiting to catch their plane to Saigon
and it ended up being the main vocal hook. The alluring track is a wonky feeling number with gurgling synth lines and
gentle releases of white noise lulling you into the groove. A searching synth line and distant siren add urgency and the
whole thing feels urban and futuristic.
Comprised of Mexico City producers Max Jones and Eddie Mercury, Los Mekanikos combine raw hypno-rhythm tracks
with pumping grooves that pay homage to Chicago, Detroit and Berlin. Their special remix is another late night and
unhinged number that encourages you to freak out amongst the panning and paranoid synth patterns and robotic grooves.
Then comes the brilliant True Love Floats with Ali Beys singing and Vamparela s vocoded vocals. The interplay between
the two is tense and alien and makes for a perfectly inhuman groove with popping bell sounds, undulating pads and spooky
deep space ambiance.
Remixing this one is Berlin via Tel Aviv artist of the moment and Disco Halal label head Moscoman, whose raw machine
grooves have impressed on labels like ESP Institute, Correspondant and I'm a Cliche. His slow and purposeful version is
deep and psychedelic with disorientating vocals and blistered synths wallowing in a menacing urban landscape. Buy it
digitally and you will also get a fine remix from label regular and Canadian Fairmont. He runs the Beachcoma label, has
worked with cult outlet Border Community over the years and mixes up dark disco and goth into his own fresh sounds. His
remix here is more direct and driven, with powerful drums and well sculpted synths making it another great rework.
This is a unique sounding package featuring plenty of heavyweight names and marks another cultured outing from the
always considered My Favourite Robot label.