Suche:my little dog

Originally released on tape by SicSic in 2014, Aprilnacht commemorates a decade of music from Brannten Schnüre and marked the spring in a tetralogy of albums about the four seasons when it came out. Back then the Würzburg-based project consisted solely of Christian Schoppik, who later welcomed Katie Rich to take over the vocals. He used to perform as Agnes Beil, but dropped the name when, while making this album realized his music was becoming "much gentler and more fragile". Aprilnacht already captured the particular musical ideas that Schoppik would thoroughly keep exploring, delving deeper and deeper into the use and manipulation of samplers from sources so diverging as to wander between the five continents to post-war German family television and cult cinema. Heir of the ritualistic intensity of Coil, of the intricate sampler assemblies of Ghédalia Tazartès', and of the dusty, dismal old ballads from around the world, Brannten Schnüre manages to make these paths cross in a territory that is as inherent as it is uncanny; sieged by the past and intimate as a hearth. An organic approach to folk, ambient, and sound collage, where ethereal yet thoroughly textured pieces coalesce in enthralling, delicate, and innermost musical rituals.

The album cover paintings reveal the temper: dreary old towns where shadows come to dim the slow passage of crepuscular colors, a soft area of reanimation where wind and light come close and foresee the night of spring. Aprilnacht was inspired by the stories of German philosopher and writer Friedrich Alfred Schmid Noerr, whose work exhaustively examines the conflict between paganism and Christianity, safeguarding myth in a way that Schoppik describes as boldly modern, humorous and unpredictable in its variations of the Germanic folklore motifs. "I wanted to do the same with the music," he states, and the music here could as well be suitable for a night when household deities welcome wandering will-o'-the-wisps, water nymphs, and gyrovagues to discuss Perchta's leadership of The Wild Hunt, but this album is not a folk tale, it's not an elegy to worlds already gone, hidden in years; it's an intersection of routes that open mysteriously before our ears like a congregation of vapors. Aprilnacht is a gathering of voices; "There are too many children, and none of them keeps quiet," reads the last verse of «Requiem für eine Ringelnatter.»

Sensuality drips over the music to celebrate both the voluptuousness and tragic quality of nature; "It's raining on me, urine from your flowers," Schoppik sings in «Urin deiner Blüten» and later on, faced with a snake's erotic features, as if he wanted to be embraced by it: "Your quick, sharp tongue and your warm venom; that's what the pond is missing." Orality is where this profusion of contents thrives. When the voices get closer and condense, the words reveal the saliva employed to pronounce them; we feel the mouth and the tongue, but when breath envelops them in sorrow and softens their edges, they sound distant, diffused in the atmosphere, letting go of the body that held them. These two vocal facets oscillate permanently and interact naturally with the fertile assembly of samplers and instruments that develop throughout the album, which condense and disperse impersonating each other, interweaving to search for a specific syntax. Tangled whisperings of enigmatic phrases, timid voices that stick out to check the scene but hide away quickly, shivering trance chants and monastic ambiances, distant screams and clamors in between chaos and warfare swirl until bursting into subtle songs where even Mother Mary comes forth softly. Soothed by foggy atmospheres and crackling punctuations, these voices shape a vulnerable crowd, an occasion of fragility. Along this swarm of songs thrown into thin air, accordions sound like heavy-breathing lungs; clarinets sigh like curtains shaking; violin solos wander around like bees; Gjallarhorns cries distend like fleeing cattle; glockenspiels evoke remote music boxes and inherited toys; backward emanations emerge like slender waves retreating. On the banks of stretching loops and ember textures is where the songs slowly nest, collecting the words to find their tone.

A poem by Jorge Teillier says, "To talk with the dead you have to choose words that they recognize as easily as their hands recognized the fur of their dogs in the dark. To talk with the dead you have to know how to wait: they are fearful like the first steps of a child. But if we are patient one day they will answer us with a flame that suddenly revives in the fireplace." This may be Brannten Schnüre's main purpose: To find the voice to speak to those of whom we were a vision. Not in mourning, but acknowledging the obscure and volatile nature of spring's regenerative force, searching for the treasure of balance, as evidenced in the lyrics of «Requiem für ein Schwalbennest,» "Its nest was destroyed so many times before it was finished, and despite that, the shallow builds as if it is infatuated." The same idea is here in the words of Schmid Noerr, who made poetry an act of resistance to the horror of Nazism; "Since having seen the ability of a brilliant spirit to die, with a calm mouth that everyone saw, health is true again and we affirm it, even if rivers of blood flow." And as we call for the dusk's kindness, waiting to return home and eat with our kin by the stove, our ears become used to the games of the night. We feel like we're rowing on wetlands, while the "moon musick" keeps us vigilant against the slightest movement of water or sweet moan because eeriness here is imperative for survival. Do not succumb to the insipid howl of death, for nothing may last but mutability. You see, the rock has moved a little during the night; the rest is just wind fleeing from the void.

Although it felt like the world had stopped spinning, at times, it was during these days, months, and years of uncertainty that many of Venice’s “Stained Glass” songs were conceived. Each member of Venice was quietly and privately cataloguing their artistic interpretation of this new reality and uncertainty by recording or writing down little snippets of ideas, like guitar riffs, melodies, or lyrics…all of these came about while looking at life through a new lens.

They set up the writing circle using an electronic drum kit, small tube amps, direct acoustic guitars and bass and the sm58 stage microphones for vocals. This small and simple setup allowed the band to work on ideas at low-volume levels by using headphones or low-level playback through studio monitors without bothering the neighbors with live drums. “Lunches made by Michael’s wife, Danielle, and visits from their dog Sachi, kept us grounded and let us stay in the creative bubble without leaving that space”, says bassist, Mark Harris. Michael and drummer, Andre Kemp, who co-produced Stained Glass, would later re-record the drum tracks with real drums in a friend’s studio.

“The beauty of this approach on Stained Glass was that one person’s idea would be presented to the other 5 musicians and each guy added a different color to that idea”, says Michael. “Whether it was an unexpected drum beat, or a moving guitar line, those simple ideas turned into pieces of art, colored by the different musical and lyrical contributions. That only happens when you are working that idea out, together, and playing as one unit”.

That was the main inspiration for the album title; like a kaleidoscope, each guy's experience and taste in music was bringing a different color to the songs, but together their contributions made one piece of art, one song. Michael concludes, “if you zoom out, each song becomes its own color and all those songs or colors come together to form one big piece of art, one big piece of ‘Stained Glass’”.

Find all the greeatest songs of the King of Rock & Roll in a nice 5LP boxset

Punk pioneers Crass continue their vinyl reissue series, re-pressing their limited releases by adjacent artists through Crass Records, in association with One Little Independent. The series, including over twenty bands and solo artists recorded at the legendary Southern Studios and produced by Penny Rimbaud, continues with two more historic pieces from the Crass Records catalogue; ‘Barbed Wire Halo’ by Annie Anxiety and ‘Neu Smell’ by Flux of Pink Indians.

They follow records from the likes of Captain Sensible, Omega Tribe, Honey Bane, Jane Gregory, Lack of Knowledge, Sleeping Dogs, Rudimentary Peni and Zounds. First released on 7” vinyl, limiting the sound, the new series has been remastered for 12” by Alex Gordon at Abbey Road Studios, allowing them to be heard as never before. This, plus enlarged replicas of the original covers, brings new gusto to their already radical sound.

New York City musical maverick and performance artist Annie Anxiety, aka Little Annie aka Annie Bandez, began her illustrious career (including work with Adrian Sherwood, Coil, Current 93, and Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry) with Crass. They released her first solo single, 1981’s ‘Barbed Wire Halo’ alongside ‘Cyanide Tears’, an extraordinarily prescient piece of jagged electronics, samples, and skeletal rhythms, led by Annie’s nightmarish vocals.

She tells us; “When creating this single with Penny I hadn’t heard the word ‘avant-guard’ nor could I spell it – I only got explained ‘concretism’ via an interview I did in Berlin regarding some of my work three years ago – My father was a printer so I grew up with sound of printing press and subway train beats and always heard melodies and cross rhythms within those beats – I was just making dance music / disco tunes to my mind and Pen heard those same tunes I was hearing – my first recording, in retrospect I guess, was pretty ‘out there’ at its release, but to us it was dance floor for a club yet to be invented- one day”.

Penny Rimbaud expands; “Annie Anxiety is a total enigma, a passionate voice in the wilderness of consensual reason. Dada in instinct, Monroe in affection, Rambo in inflection, Annie rams it home with divine thunder. An instigator and innovator, she’s the bonkers angel of Yonkers, NYC. With no time to spare, Annie takes to the road with complete conviction, overtaking Kerouac halfway down 5th Avenue. Catch her if you can”.

Felix Machtelinckx is a singer, composer, producer and lyricist from Belgium. Featuring an array of film scores, dance soundtracks, pop, folk and electronic music, Felix's music resonates with a familiar, almost nostalgic patina, applied with a distinctly crooked touch. Through artistic collaboration, coaching and production, Felix has cut a dash in the pop and indie cult scenes of Belgium, especially with his band Tin Fingers, who are feted as one of the most promising indie acts of the moment. Night Scenes, Felix’s solo debut is, in contrast to his other work, more humble and less traditional, roughly hewn from a series of ambient soundscapes, earthy textures and playful structures. Felix’s voice, normally the flagship of his music, becomes more of a distant memory, an indistinct emotion feathered throughout the music. Many lyrics are improvised, sometimes unintelligible, conjuring haunted, uncertain undertones. Similarly, the album is innately peripatetic to the core, being created, written and recorded in Lithuania, Belgium, France, mastered in the US, and finally released in the UK. In the first instance, some of the tracks were created for the contemporary dance piece Doggy Rugburn by Brandon Lagaert of Kaiho and Peeping Tom; others were created enigmatically for a film that never surfaced; while the remainder are the product of more personal work and research. As Felix began to collect and review these disparate parts, the concept of a unified album began to evolve. With 'night' featuring as a suitably dark leitmotif, or backdrop to a series of emotionally fraught 'scenes', each track depicts a form of trauma, locked within the confines of the mind. Felix observes: "Imagine yourself in a dusty old room unable to sleep. Emotions, fears and other demons haunt your mind. This in-between state makes your mind reach for other worlds. This is Night Scenes." For the most part, Night Scenes was created using a variety of old, and rare, analogue equipment. With almost no digital editing, the record was primarily mixed through a vintage cassette desk, giving it a nostalgic character with a noisy undertone. Felix fully embraced the synergy of his emotional themes and retrograde gear, enthusing: "A lot of textures were created on an old Soviet synthesizer that causes a blackout when you hit the lowest note on the keyboard. The dysfunctionality of the synths was often used to create rhythm and texture." This unnerving ability Night Scenes has to comfort and confound the listener is summed up by Jordan Hudson, House Of Media producer, and music podcaster, when he concludes: "Some songs on the album have this sort of fleeting comfort and tonality, which dissolves into a subtle rhythmic/structural or modulated disarray the moment I settle into them - this really fits with my experience of the night .. This record is a winner, and will be something I'll listen to a lot from here on

lim. to 250 Copies ww!

"The world is rich, the world is colorful. So why not show it in all its complex diversity and contrasts? Why, when you go in one direction, do you have to follow it further and can't just go in all directions at once? These are all questions that Berlin-based Turkish singer Basak Yavuz may have asked herself when she began recording her new album "Raum 610."

Basak Yavuz doesn't take much time to get down to business. Right away in the opener "Promised Lands," different stylistic elements like jazz, rock, funk and hip-hop chase each other as if it were a matter of life and death. The message is unmistakable: this is about energy. The energy of the big city. Crowds on the sidewalk, congested streets, noise from construction sites, cyclists and drivers yelling at each other, barking dogs, screaming children, shattering glass, a new surprise around every corner. Basak Yavuz does not hide, but picks up the tempo of the Moloch and makes it her own pulse with all its fractures and border crossings. She is not afraid to overload her songs, but confidently juggles the explosiveness of creative oversaturation." (Wolf Kampmann)

An independent hip-hop fixture for more than 15 years, famed Los Angeles emcee Blu has mastered the lost art of the album, imbuing each new project with unique themes and often recruiting a single producer to craft a cohesive sonic experience. This has lead to full-length collaborations with the likes of Exile, Madlib, Shafiq Husayn, Oh No, Damu The Fudgemunk, and more, along with the 2018 classic Gods In The Spirit, Titans In The Flesh, produced by Virginia beatsmith Nottz. With major credits dating back to the late 1990s, Nottz is a production icon who has worked with Busta Rhymes, Snoop Dogg, 50 Cent, Scarface, The Game, Pusha T, Slaughterhouse, Ghostface Killah, Rapsody, Asher Roth, Little Brother, Talib Kweli, and many more. Now, Blu and Nottz are reuniting for the new album Afrika, a celebration of the rich history and culture of their ancestral homeland. With Swahili song titles and thunderous beats from Nottz, the collection finds Blu proudly embracing his roots, connecting black struggles in the U.S. to those of African peoples worldwide. "I hope this project inspires many others to speak on the father and home of humanity, Afrika,” Blu explains. This powerful message is reinforced by a legion of talented guests, as Afrika features appearances by Quelle Chris, Mickey Factz, Shad, Ill Camille, Scienze, Cashus King, and more.

Muireann Bradley is a young blues, ragtime, roots and folk guitarist and singer based in Ballybofey in County Donegal Ireland. “This is my first album. Most of these tunes were originally recorded by the great blues men and women who were making records from the 1920s and 1930s right up in some cases to the early 1970s. I have also found inspiration for the renditions recorded here in the playing of some of the musicians who began recording this music in the 1960s and later, and who in some cases learned at the feet of the greats. Many of these guitarists played pivotal roles in the 1960s blues revival and subsequent “rediscovery” of many of the greats of country blues. I grew up steeped in these old blues in the hills overlooking the valley of the River Finn just outside the town of Ballybofey in County Donegal. My father would play this music constantly at home and wherever we went in the car and talk about it endlessly whether anyone was listening or not, telling stories about the lives of these musicians as if they were legend, mythology or the evening news. My father could of course play all this stuff on guitar, I remember watching him when I was very young and thinking “I want to be able to do that”. When I was nine he agreed to teach me and bought me my first little travel guitar. I worked hard to learn how to play but as time wore on I seemed to have less and less time to practice as I became more and more invested in the combat sports I was regularly training and competing in. Then in March 2020 the first Covid lockdowns happened and all contact sports were shut down. I was lost for a while but soon found my way back to the guitar. I was now listening, playing and practicing with a new intensity and focus. In a very serious moment, I wrote out a list of tunes I was going to learn. The first tune on that list was Blind Blake’s “Police Dog Blues”. I’m not sure now how long it took to get that arrangement together but when it was ready we videoed me performing it and posted it on YouTube. It ended up getting a lot of attention, I remember my parents being quite shocked and soon after that Josh Rosenthal got in touch… and here we are! Each individual track on this album was recorded live in the studio and represents one entire take with me singing and backing myself up on guitar simultaneously. Most are either first or second takes. Nothing has been added or taken away, no overdubs or modern recording tricks of any kind have been used at all so at least in some respects this album has been recorded in the same way as those classics of the 1920s and 1930s

Top-rated West Coast garage sounds from the vaults of maverick genius Gary S Paxton. Acknowledged classics, tantalising obscurities and several previously unheard gems, all from the original master tapes, including tracks by Limey & The Yanks, The Avengers, The Whatt Four, The Buddhas_ among many others. Vintage garage rock is only one of the many tributaries of popular music that the maverick Gary S Paxton recorded and produced in his 1960s heyday, and compared to other genres, the off-kilter genius behind 'Alley Oop' and 'Monster Mash' was hardly prolific with it. But for a producer-engineer of his repute, it was inevitable that Paxton would cross paths with the sudden surge of teenaged rock groups that emerged in the wake of the British Invasion. We've gathered the best of them on "Lost Innocence", and for any aficionado of the genre, a treat is in store. As well as a brace of acknowledged Californian punk classics present and correct for the first time direct from master tape, this rockin' little disc also shares further booty from the Garpax vaults, including some obscurities well worthy of re-appraisal, along with completely unreleased nuggets of note. Counting among the well-known are the Avengers, Bakersfield's top dogs in the punk bracket thanks to snot-nosed missives such as 'I Told You So' and the controversial 'Be A Cave Man'. Ken & the Forth Dimension and Limey & the Yanks serve up the highly regarded items 'See If I Care' and 'Guaranteed Love' respectively, with a trio of ear-opening unissued tracks from the latter as a bonus. Riverside's Whatt Four weigh in with the popular ear-burners 'Our Love Should Last Forever' and 'You're Wishin' I Was Someone Else'. And the Buddhas' title cut is still the most eloquent ode to carnal knowledge in the entire 60s punk pantheon. Compiled by genre expert Alec Palao and originally released by Big Beat/ACE on CD only a few years back, it is now available on vinyl for the first time.

FROM RAY CHARLES TO SELAH SUE, FROM NINA SIMONE TO IBEYI, FROM BARRY WHITE TO ALOE BLACC, DISCOVER THE BEST OF THE GREATEST VOICES OF SOUL MUSIC OF ALL TIME IN A 5 VINYLS BOXSET

- Die erste LP-Kollektion der 3 Atlantic-Studioalben von WINGER in einem LP-Set

- Enthält WINGER (1988), WINGER II: IN THE HEART OF THE YOUNG (1990), und PULL (1993)

- Beide LP & CD Sets enthalten als Bonus DEMO ANTHOLOGY - 10 seltene Demo-Versionen von WINGERs größten Hits!

- LP Box Set auf 180g schwarzem Vinyl

- Das LP-Set enthält außerdem ein 16-seitiges Buch im Stil eines Tourbuchs mit Erinnerungen der Bandmitglieder, seltenen Fotos aus WINGERs persönlicher Sammlung, frühen Albumskizzen und vielem mehr!

- Neu gemastert von Ted Jensen - Remastered unter der Aufsicht von Kip Winger

Lupe Fiasco's The Cool (commonly referred to as The Cool) is the second studio album by American rapper Lupe Fiasco. It was released on December 18, 2007 by 1st & 15th Entertainment and Atlantic Records. It was recorded between 2006 and 2007, with Lupe Fiasco himself and Charles Patton (Chilly) serving as executive producers. The concept album The Cool is based on the song and a title character from his debut album Food & Liquor (2006).

The album features guest appearances by Gemini, Snoop Dogg and Matthew Santos, while production was handled by Patrick Stump, Soundtrakk and Unkle, among others. The album debuted at #15 on the U.S. Billboard 200, selling 143,407 copies in its first week.

The album debuted as the number one rap record and lasted for 9 weeks. As of 2022, the album was certified platinum by the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA). At the 2009 Grammy Awards, the album was nominated for Best Rap Album.

“I believe that if they ever had a singing Olympics Donald and I would get (into the) top 3, if not win some gold. If you put us all together and let us have a singoff, we could hold our own with anybody from any era. That maybe sounds a little prideful, but that’s what I believe.” Phil Everly’s words to author and music historian Joe Smith will ring very true to anyone who listens to this compilation. All the tracks on it are half a century old, yet sound as fresh as ever. The fact is, that the harmonies Don and Phil brought to the charts were widely influential on a generation of pop performers on both sides of the Atlantic. For most of their recordings, Don sang the baritone and Phil the higher tenor part. Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel were just one of the acts that copied the Everlys, while Bob Dylan added to the praise by saying, ‘We owe these guys everything. They started it all.’

Belgian producer and curator soFa launches from Strangelove once again, this time with his celebrated compilation series. A second trip round the stars "elsewhere junior Vol 2" features a bunch of unknown and familiar offworld entertainers. Kosmische music lands amongst leftfield club krypton as our crew collaborate with young space cadets.

auchen Sie ein in die aufregende Welt des Rock‘n‘Roll . Unsere neue Vinyl-Serie “Rock’n’Roll Hits“ enthält eine sorgfältig ausgewählte Sammlung von 20 originalen Rock‘n‘Roll-Hits aus den 1950er Jahren, die die Ära des Rock‘n‘Rolls in seiner Blütezeit einfangen.

Mit legendären Künstlern und unvergesslichen Songs bietet diese Schallplatte ein Stück Musikgeschichte zum genießen. Mit dabei sind: Guy Mitchell, Frankie Avalon, Buddy Holly, Little Richard, Elvis Presley, Fats Domino uvm. Erleben Sie die Energie und den Spaß der 1950er Jahre Rock‘n‘Roll-Szene auf dieser hochwertigen Vinyl-Schallplatte. Perfekt für Liebhaber der Musikgeschichte und Fans zeitloser Hits.

Indies Only LP is opaque green vinyl. Both LPs come with a download. The moment the needle drops on Bite, the new A Giant Dog record, one’s conception of what an A Giant Dog record sounds like bends like space and time around a starship running at lightspeed. The biggest point of departure is that Bite is a concept album, concerning characters who find themselves moving in and out of a virtual reality called Avalonia. A Giant Dog’s first album of original songs since 2017’s Toy, Bite finds the band Sabrina Ellis, Andrew Cashen, Danny Blanchard, Graham Low, and Andy Bauer at their peak as musicians, challenging themselves with more complex arrangements and subject matter that forced them out of their heads and into those of the characters who occupy this supposed paradise. “We had to find ourselves within, or project ourselves into, the principal characters. We developed them, got to know their minds, emotions, and motivations, and then expressed those in nine songs,” Ellis explains. Themes of addiction, gender fluidity, living ethically in a capitalist society, physical autonomy, avarice, grief, and consent bubble beneath the promised happiness of Avalonia. This is evident in songs like “Different Than,” where Ellis sings, “My body can’t explain the things my mind don’t comprehend” as if societal gender pressure is squeezing its protagonist out of their skin. The songs on Bite are full of bombast, at turns calling to mind the spacefaring operatic rock of Electric Light Orchestra and the high drama of an Ennio Morricone film score. The album’s narrative sweep is epic in scope, its characters facing impossible odds and certain doom, existing as comfortably with the sci-fi grandiosity of Thin Lizzy’s Jailbreak as it does with the high fantasy of Dio and Iron Maiden. Appropriately, A Giant Dog came to this narrative armed to the teeth with new ideas, unleashing synthesizers and string sections to create what Ellis describes as orchestral, symphonic, futuristic punk. To achieve this, they left their home turf of Austin, Texas, for La Cuve Studio, just outside of Angers, France. Living in the French countryside, A Giant Dog laid down their vision of the future against a decidedly pastoral backdrop. On walks from Angers to La Cuve, Ellis says that they “would see many things, and also nothing at all. Swans on the river. Romani people living in little trailers, with a side hut built for their dog. A juggler on a unicycle—not fucking with you.” “We thought we wouldn’t be allowed back in France after this trip, to be honest,” they continued. “Five loud, stomping, clapping, rowdy Americans who ran through the streets of Angers for three weeks in November 2022.” The experience capped two years of planning and writing, fleshing out the universe of Avalonia beyond the bounds of most concept albums. The resulting nine songs do not merely occupy this space: They’ve lived in it, and they want out.

The "Origins" collection focusses on one the greatest guitarist of all time. More than 50 years after his death, find the titles that influenced the sound of Jimi Hendrix on a double vinyl! With original tracks by : Muddy Waters - Bo Diddley - Chuck Berry - Little Richard - Buddy Guy - Bob Dylan - Elvis Presley - John Lee Hooker - B.B King

black Vinyl, d Reissue ihres 6. Studio Albums inkkl. “I Hate Myself For Loving You,” “Little Liar,” & “I Wanna Be Your Dog.”

Das Grammy-nominierte sechste Studioalbum "Up Your Alley" von Joan Jett & the Blackhearts, das ursprünglich 1988 erschien, enthält u.a. "I Hate Myself For Loving You", "Little Liar"
und "I Wanna Be Your Dog". Jetzt auf schwarzem Vinyl erhältlich

Lemonade coloured LP Vinyl. 'Warchild' charity release. - Up Your Alley, the sixth studio album from Joan Jett & the Blackhearts, will be released on Lemonade Yellow colored vinyl exclusively for Record Store Day. The Grammy nominated album, originally released in 1988, features “I Hate Myself For Loving You,” “Little Liar,” and “I Wanna Be Your Dog.”

Today sees Belgian-Caribbean provocateur Charlotte Adigéry and her long-term musical partner, Bolis Pupul announce their debut album Topical Dancer, due for release on March 4 2022 via Soulwax’s iconic label DEEWEE.
Cultural appropriation. Misogyny and racism. Social media vanity. Post-colonialism and political correctness. These are not talking points that you’d ordinarily hear on the dancefloor but Charlotte Adigéry and Bolis Pupul are ripping up the rulebook with their debut album Topical Dancer. The Ghent-based duo, who broke out with their 2019 Zandoli EP, are rare storytellers in electronic music: they take the temperature of the time and funnel them into their playful synth concoctions – never didactic and always with a knowing wink.

Their debut studio record – which cements them as a duo under both their names for the first time and is co-written and co-produced by Soulwax – is both a triumph of kaleidoscopic electro-pop and “a snapshot of how we think about pop culture in the 2020s.” It captures Charlotte and Bolis’s essence as musical collaborators and the conversations they’ve had over the past two years on tour, as well as their perspectives as Belgians with an immigrant background, Charlotte with Guadeloupean and French-Martinique ancestry and Bolis being of Chinese descent.

Beyond the album’s thematic heft, Topical Dancer reflects Charlotte and Bolis’s idiosyncratic sound: it’s thoughtful but it bangs. Their take on familiar genres is always off-kilter; songs sound undone or a little wonky; but these are nocturnal heaters to make the club throb. “We like to fuck things up a bit,” laughs Bolis. “We cringe when we feel like we're making something that already exists, so we're always looking for things to combine to make it sound not like a pop song, not like an R&B song, not a techno song. We’re always putting different worlds together. Charlotte and I get bored when things get too predictable.”

Topical Dancer is fizzing with ideas – there’s certainly no filler among its 13 tracks. But above all, perhaps, it has a restlessness, a desire not to be boxed in and to escape others’ narrow perceptions of who they are. It’s summarised by the refrain of their new single, ‘Blenda’: “Don’t sound like what I look like / Don’t look like what I sound like.” “One thing that always comes up,” says Bolis, “is that people perceive me as the producer, and Charlotte as just a singer. Or that being a Black artist means you should be making ‘urban’ music. Those kinds of boxes don’t feel good to us.”

‘Blenda’ in particular references how “I am a product of colonialism,” says Charlotte, “and I feel guilty for taking up space in a white country.” The song was inspired in part by Reni Eddo-Lodge’s book Why I’m Not Longer Talking To White People About Race. “It talks about the colonial past and post-colonial present in the UK,” Charlotte continues, “but that isn’t merely a British or American problem, Belgium is part of that as well.” She says that her home country is likewise “oblivious to a big part of its history” which “results in general ignorance and a lack of understanding and empathy towards Belgian inhabitants of immigrant descent.”

On Topical Dancer, it’s less about finger pointing or being dogmatic about all the things they speak about. It’s about emancipation through humour. “I don’t want to feel this heaviness on me,” says Charlotte. “These aren’t my crosses to bear. Topical Dancer is my way of freeing myself of these issues. And of having fun.”

With Cruisin', their second album for Telephone Explosion, Toronto's Bernice distils their playful sense of composition resulting in the most affecting collection of their young career. Across fifteen tracks, a special kind of contemporary, jazz-inflected pop unfolds, miraculous for being both fun and musically adventurous, all in the name of emotional resonance. Each groove in the bassbin is matched by a little scratch at the listener's heartstrings. The album was recorded at home with Phil Melanson (Sam Gendel, Andy Shauf) and Thom Gill (Beverly Glenn-Copeland, Joseph Shabason), led by songwriter and vocalist Robin Dann (Martha Wainwright) and producer Matthew Pencer, with additional contributions from longtime members Dan Fortin and Felicity Williams (Bahamas) being captured remotely.

Throughout their eleven years as a group, working at the intersections of several scenes and spotlights (many of which begin and end at Toronto's beloved Tranzac Club), Bernice have developed an idiosyncratic musical language that feels immediately inviting and wonderfully refreshing. The group's two previous releases, Eau De Bonjourno (2021) and Puff: In The Air Without A Shape (2018) received generous nods from both Stereogum and Pitchfork, who described the music as "unusually mesmerizing". With the songcraft a little more crystalline and the vulnerability notched up, Cruisin' feels like the right record to open Bernice up to a much wider audience.

Development of the album began in Spring, 2021 during a writing retreat at the family farm in Bond Head, Ontario. Members of the band luxuriated in slow time, tinkering with lyrics and melodies, sharing meals, knitting. From this communal gathering, the concept of 'dedication' emerged as a guiding theme. Specifically, developing songs in an almost epistolary form; as love letters or check-ins for friends, community members, pets and other more elusive acquaintances (a longtime working title for the project was 'Songs For People').

Lead single 'Underneath My Toe', one of the first pieces developed under this theme, finds the group at their most graceful and direct. Beginning with songwriter/vocalist Robin Dann singing simply 'Hi / I miss you all the time', the composition proceeds to shift subtly between soft jazz balladry and low-bit funk, revelling in the intimate beauty of a long-time-no-see letter to a dear old friend.

Though being a band that so deeply values the art of fartin' around, Bernice couldn't settle on such a straightforward approach. During the creative process, a clarifying question arose: 'Can you cruise to it?'. This somewhat ambiguous aesthetic criteria became a guiding light for the album. 'Sure, it's a beautiful song about building trust with a new nonagenarian friend... but can you cruise to it?'.

Case in point, both follow up singles, 'No Effort To Exist' and 'Second Judy', fall into a more nebulous, bewildering category of song. Undoubtedly affecting, emotionally charged, existentially searching, yet also undeniably juicy. Drum patterns skitter into place while synth tones shift on a dime to meet thematic twists. There's errant whistling and curious overdubs. Then in come elegant backing vocals, elevating the narrative while an unlikely, left-field groove is established. Miraculously, the listener is not just moved, but Cruisin'.

Therein lies the marvel of Bernice: they remind us that the rec room funk of Mario Kart 64 need not exist in mutual exclusivity to a rich tapestry of human emotions. Even as we live through this most cursed timeline, we can look into the heart of things, dwell on the challenges we're called to witness, and find a little levity to carry us through; grab a lil' mushroom and cruise the existential soup.

As the momentum continues to build for old-school blues rock trio GA-20, the band takes their expanding fanbase by storm with the release its first full-length live LP, Live In Loveland!. Featuring 11 rowdy, blistering performances (including five songs from 2022's Crackdown, three from their 2019 debut Lonely Soul and three previously unrecorded tracks), Live In Loveland! captures GA-20 feeding off the energy of the wall-to-wall crowd and delivering each song with raw emotion and body-shaking force. Live In Loveland! mixes band originals and vintage covers, from early electric blues and honky-tonk country to proto rock 'n' roll, all performed live with deep feeling and punk energy. The album was recorded direct-to-tape on a vintage Tascam 388 at Plaid Room Records in Loveland, Ohio, home of the famous Colemine record label. Produced by Stubbs and engineered by Colemine owner Terry Cole, the band blasts out of the gate playing Harold Burrages' I Cry For You, before tearing into Little Walter's obscure gem My Baby's Sweeter. The previously unrecorded original Hold It One More Time proves to be an instant classic, sitting seamlessly next to the vintage covers on the album. According to guitarist Matthew Stubbs (whose resume includes playing with blues legends Charlie Musselwhite and James Cotton, among others), "There is a special type of energy that is exchanged when we play in front of a live audience, and we definitely feed off of that and wanted to capture that. I love the power and energy of the best live blues albums. Historically, some of the most iconic blues and jazz records have been live ones. B.B. King's Live At The Regal changed my life. So did Hound Dog Taylor's Beware Of The Dog!, and Albert King's Live Wire/Blues Power. We really wanted to continue that tradition and do one of our own."

Alt-rap dissident Jam Baxter announces his newest solo venture, Fetch the Poison. Conceived during a state-wide alcohol ban in Mexico, the album is Baxter’s first to be composed in complete sobriety — though his hallucinatory style of storytelling and cast of monstrous characters make a welcome return. Lyrics on Fetch the Poison meld Baxter’s Latin American experience with visions of a grisly alternate dimension: sun, sea and glittering vistas are sullied by hollow-eyed addicts, shady bar tenders and duplicitous lovers. Amongst deft bars, the rapper includes a number of spoken word pieces that echo the prose in his now sold out book Off-Piste. The album also features Blah Records' Nah Eeto & Black Josh, as well as DJ Sammy B-Side and Jehst, alongside Brazil’s NOG, Black Alien and Xamã. Baxter reunites with frequent collaborator Chemo on production — now under the moniker Forest DLG — for much of the album, with appearances from Jack Danz, Dr Zygote, Wundrop (CMPMD) and Midlands' electronic stalwart Lenkemz. Despite its diverse credits, tracks are connected by icy, spaced-out electronics with beats twisted through tape distortion and anchored by chest- rattling bass. Baxter began writing the album in Mexico just before the pandemic began while holed up in the city of San Cristobal De Las Casas, Chiapas, as the world shut down. “All the streets were eerily empty and it was amazing. I had the city to myself,” he says. “Then suddenly there was a state- wide alcohol ban and I could no longer casually sip tequila as I went about my business. I didn’t really have a choice but to write” With no alcohol to fuel him, and San Cristobal largely silent, the rapper says he was surprised to find himself in a deeply creative — and prolific – state. “I took to it amazingly well, and I wrote this whole album in three months of clear-headed bliss in the same apartment. I would sit and write all day, and occasionally walk up a mountain when I got stuck ... or go and feed the stray dogs at the church on top of the hill. It was weirdly the most fun I’d had in years.” Fetch the Poison is Baxter’s seventh solo album.

Few acts have better captured angst and the agony of young love other than The Everly Brothers. As well as those inimitable harmonies, fantastic songs and Chet Atkins' superb production, the Everlys' success owed much to the fact that Don and Phil were barely out of their teens, and so filled every song with real feeling. Their first recordings led to a series of hits that would come to define the harmonious Rock & Roll of the period; Bye Bye Love, Wake Up Little Susie, All I Have To Do Is Dream, Claudette (penned by Roy Orbison), Bird Dog, Devoted To You, Let It Be Me, When Will I Be Loved, So Sad (To Watch Good Love Go Bad), Walk Right Back, Ebony Eyes and Crying In The Rain. For their influence on The Beatles alone, the Everly Brothers are owed a huge debt of gratitude. The collection of songs found here span Country, Folk, Rock & Roll and Pop, and demonstrate just how influential Don and Phil were on popular music, beginning with those very first sessions in front of their parent's microphone.

Punk pioneers Crass continue their vinyl reissue series, re-pressing their limited releases by adjacent artists through Crass Records, in association with One Little Independent. The series, including over twenty bands and solo artists recorded at the legendary Southern Studios and produced by Penny Rimbaud, continues with two more historic pieces from the Crass Records catalogue; The "Grey" EP by North London post-punks Lack of Knowledge, and "Beware" by US anarchists Sleeping Dogs. Sleeping Dogs were one of only two American bands to release on Crass Records and in 1982 their sardonic and sludgy, but politically sharp, hardcore made up the "Beware" EP. They were first formed under the moniker Arsenal by the late artist, and designer of the iconic Crass logo, David King. "Beware" showed the originality and potential of Sleeping Dogs, even as Rimbaud and Crass guitarist Phil Free augmented the band"s sound for the studio session. The front cover of the single featured its own striking image, courtesy of King. Sleeping Dogs disbanded shortly after, re-emerging briefly under the new guise of Brain Rust a few years later. Distorted, biting, and beat-driven, the collection is a well-researched and poignant expose of Western imperialism. First released on 7" vinyl, limiting the sound, the new series has been remastered for 12" by Alex Gordon at Abbey Road Studios, allowing them to be heard as never before. This, plus enlarged replicas of the original covers, brings new gusto to their already radical sound. Penny Rimbaud notes that "Our (Crass") interest was never in personalities, profits or power, and neither did we have time for reformist liberals. Our position was solidly revolutionary; we took no prisoners. Talking the talk was never enough for us, no, we demanded that we also walk the walk. Ours wasn"t a show, it was a battle, not a living, but a lifestyle, a lifestyle with a difference - rather than looking only to ourselves, we sought to share our gains. I feel that this willingness added great strength to the form of anarchism that we practiced both on stage and out on the street."

Ltd indie exclusive vinyl version of "the best" GG Allin studio album, originally released in 1988 pressed on shit colored vinyl Vinyl edition of what is probably GG Allin's greatest studio album. This was GG's fourth album when it was originally released on Homestead Records in 1988."Die When You Die" is arguably the most famous GG Allin song and this album features the original, best version of the live warhorse. . It also includes GG's rewrite of David Allen Coe's "Longhair Redneck" titled "Outlaw Scumfuc." The punkest man alive (at the time) at his peak. Pressed on blue and bile colored vinyl, sounds interessting...

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.

As a collective thought, Spice's Self-Titled debut album offers a deliberate isolation of pain as interpreted through different vehicles. Less than 30-minutes in length, the record diverts from a singular mood, tempo, or delivery, instead focusing on orchestrating emotional drain as single impulses_fast, slow, driving, simple, and layered_that coalesce in their machinations. At its core, Spice's SelfTitled album is wired together by brawny and brittle guitars, lock-groove rhythms, and vocals announce each moment and mood. Formed in 2018 and based across California, each members' roots are in the North Bay of San Francisco. Comprised of Ross Farrar (vocals) and Jake Casarotti (drums), both of Ceremony, along with Cody Sullivan (bass), Ian Simpson (guitar), and Victoria Skudlarek (violin), Spice's sound pulls from the sense of melody and drive inherent to Bay Area pedigree, peppered with modernity and awash with an anthemic haze. The hook is in the connection as much as melody, with each song building its inner narrative and exploration of affliction. Traversing guitar-driven indie-pop and call-to-action impulse, Spice balances their urgency by interspersing violin melodies and layers, creating depth without oversaturating the heart of each song. Building complexity with laser focus, Spice shares the authoritative drive of Jawbreaker, J Church, The Horrors, and Fugazi, set in their own world of unrest. The treatment of each song is a statement that informs the whole - anecdotes that can bleed slowly or swirl quickly. In a sense, the Self-Titled album itself is an entire song, with each track becoming the verses, choruses, and interludes that narrate its intent. Ending with the final track they workshopped for the album titled "I Don't Wanna Die in New York," the album ends with a punch before winding back into meditation. Honed over late nights at Panda Studios in Fremont, California with producer Sam Pura (Basement, The Story So Far, Self Defense Family), Spice spent hours tweaking it until it became a little world formed by what they refer to as "the power of groupthink." Sprinkled with field recordings_audio snapshots from the member's every-day-lives_the record offers an intimate twist that builds on its theme of a single thread that connects everything with continuity, making it a single organism with as many depths as questions.

As a collective thought, Spice's Self-Titled debut album offers a deliberate isolation of pain as interpreted through different vehicles. Less than 30-minutes in length, the record diverts from a singular mood, tempo, or delivery, instead focusing on orchestrating emotional drain as single impulses_fast, slow, driving, simple, and layered_that coalesce in their machinations. At its core, Spice's SelfTitled album is wired together by brawny and brittle guitars, lock-groove rhythms, and vocals announce each moment and mood. Formed in 2018 and based across California, each members' roots are in the North Bay of San Francisco. Comprised of Ross Farrar (vocals) and Jake Casarotti (drums), both of Ceremony, along with Cody Sullivan (bass), Ian Simpson (guitar), and Victoria Skudlarek (violin), Spice's sound pulls from the sense of melody and drive inherent to Bay Area pedigree, peppered with modernity and awash with an anthemic haze. The hook is in the connection as much as melody, with each song building its inner narrative and exploration of affliction. Traversing guitar-driven indie-pop and call-to-action impulse, Spice balances their urgency by interspersing violin melodies and layers, creating depth without oversaturating the heart of each song. Building complexity with laser focus, Spice shares the authoritative drive of Jawbreaker, J Church, The Horrors, and Fugazi, set in their own world of unrest. The treatment of each song is a statement that informs the whole - anecdotes that can bleed slowly or swirl quickly. In a sense, the Self-Titled album itself is an entire song, with each track becoming the verses, choruses, and interludes that narrate its intent. Ending with the final track they workshopped for the album titled "I Don't Wanna Die in New York," the album ends with a punch before winding back into meditation. Honed over late nights at Panda Studios in Fremont, California with producer Sam Pura (Basement, The Story So Far, Self Defense Family), Spice spent hours tweaking it until it became a little world formed by what they refer to as "the power of groupthink." Sprinkled with field recordings_audio snapshots from the member's every-day-lives_the record offers an intimate twist that builds on its theme of a single thread that connects everything with continuity, making it a single organism with as many depths as questions.

• 180 GRAM AUDIOPHILE VINYL
• DELUXE LIFT-OFF BOX SET
• INCLUDES 20-PAGE PHOTO ALBUM
• 4LP SET FEATURING “HEARTBREAK HOTEL”, “HOUND DOG”, “IN THE GHETTO”, “WOODEN HEART” & “VIVA LAS VEGAS”
• LIMITED EDITION OF 2500 INDIVIDUALLY NUMBERED COPIES ON GOLD & BLACK MARBLED VINYL

Worldwide 50 Gold Award Hits Vol. 1 is a compilation box set by the King of Rock and Roll Elvis Presley. This four-album set was originally released in 1970, as his 38th album. The set peaked at #45 on the Billboard 200 and was certified double Platinum not long after its release. Of the 51 tracks that are featured, four made their album debut in this collection back when it was originally released: “Viva Las Vegas”, “Suspicious Minds”, “Don’t Cry Daddy” and “Kentucky Rain”.

Worldwide 50 Gold Award Hits Vol. 1 is available as a deluxe lift-off box set containing 4LP’s and a 20-page photo album. It is available as a limited edition of 2500 individually numbered copies on gold & black marbled vinyl.

From a humble storefront studio located in a shoeshine parlor on Norfolk, Virginia's Church Street, Noah Biggs built a world. Hustler by day, gambler by night, the always-in-a-suit Biggs took a gaggle of off-brand singers and combined his connections and charisma to forge timeless soul music during a period of deep upheaval. Compiled here are 25 of Shiptown's most compelling sides recorded between 1965-1977, from the likes of Ida Sands, The Soul Duo, The Anglos, Dream Team, The Grooms, Positive Sounds, Barbara Stant, Wilson Williams, Art Ensley, and yes, Flip Flop Stevens.

From a humble storefront studio located in a shoeshine parlor on Norfolk, Virginia's Church Street, Noah Biggs built a world. Hustler by day, gambler by night, the always-in-a-suit Biggs took a gaggle of off-brand singers and combined his connections and charisma to forge timeless soul music during a period of deep upheaval. Compiled here are 25 of Shiptown's most compelling sides recorded between 1965-1977, from the likes of Ida Sands, The Soul Duo, The Anglos, Dream Team, The Grooms, Positive Sounds, Barbara Stant, Wilson Williams, Art Ensley, and yes, Flip Flop Stevens.

21st anniversary of Hey Tank, Miam Monster Miam's second album in limited vinyl edition. A absurd and poetic piece of music from the indie belgium lofi scene of the 90's. The Sleeve note are written by Dogbowl.

Emotive soul singer Doris Duke got her start backing gospel artists and was a mainstay at the Apollo in the early 1960s. cutting some demos for Motown that remain unreleased. After a debut single that made little impact (credited to Doris Willingham), she became Doris Duke at the behest of Swamp Dogg, who produced this acclaimed solo debut, I’m A Loser, regarded by many as one of the best “deep soul”albums ever issued. Cheating saga “To The Other Woman (I’m the Other Woman)” was a top-fifty pop hit and “Feet Start Walking” also reached the US R&B charts, assuring Duke’s eternal reputation, despite the collapse of Canyon Records, the label that first released this hefty gem.